When I came home from my grandparents 60th anniversary celebration (yay!) last night, Patches was nowhere to be found. Since Patches is fifteen years old (that’s Jamison, my 12 year old, hugging the harassed shitzu-poo–note the cool breed name and spiffy 1990’s couch), and it’s been several years since Patches ventured far off the porch, not to mention the yard, we figured he was a goner–that he had queitly wandered off into the woods to find a comfy place to lie down for the last time.

But then this morning, I heard his yip outside. I pulled on a coat and hurried outside, dreading what I might find. Was he hurt? Had an animal gotten him? He sounded like he was in distress.

And he was. You probably would be too, if you had spent the night outside with a plastic pumpkin halloween bucket stuck on your head.

Hahahahahahaha!!! Evidently Patches had helped himself to a little snack, and was too embarassed to respond to all our calling last night. Stinky dog is home, and doing fine. Well, at least as fine as one can expect a fifteen-year-old shitzu-poo to be doing.