The Big Dig

Man's best friend is his dog?  Wrong. The dog is a BOY'S best friend, especially if it helps the boy get into trouble.

 

When David, Penelope, and Jeffrey were preschoolers, our home was on a corner, one street of which was a cul-de-sac. Most of the neighbors along that street also had small children or early school age kids.  Routinely, David and Penelope spent their late mornings visiting somewhere along the cul-de-sac. Jeffrey, not so much, as he wanted to be with them in principle but did not hesitate to "smell the daisies." That is, he inspected the quarry, followed delivery men, entered kitchens unbidden, and otherwise casually separated himself from his siblings.

One fabulously gorgeous spring morning, David and Penelope wandered down the street as usual, with Jeffrey kept in our very large backyard along with "Jim," the more or less Australian shepherd.  Jim didn't mind at all.  He had appointed himself Jeff's nanny.

 

But Jeff had apparently decided that, as of that moment, he should have been promoted to the next trust level.

 

First, he tried opening the gate latch without success. Then he went to the yard tree.  But none of its branches got him near enough to the six foot fence.  He entered the garage, but he couldn't manage its opener.  So he went to work on the support frames of the fence nearest the cul-de-sac.

Jim had been at Jeff's heels all the while and now was beneath Jeff as he climbed the fence. When Jeff reached the top, Jim's tail began switching.  If Jeff was going over, Jim hoped to be let out, too.  But Jeff couldn't figure how to get down the smooth street side of the fence.  After a bit,he began to cry.

ENTER BOY'S BEST FRIEND!

Positioning himself directly beneath Jeff, Jim began to dig.  Jeff looked down, and the light went on. He climbed back down and joined Jim in digging. Eventually the two had created a tunnel under the fence large enough for Jim to wriggle through. Jim then turned and waited for Jeff to follow.

Neither dog nor boy looked Sunday school bound, sprinting to the far end of the cul-de-sac.  But their faces both showed their triumph. I couldn't bring myself to intercept their flight. Perhaps they deserved to be promoted to the next level. Besides, there was  an ace in the hole:  the cowbell.

Instead of phoning neighbors to locate our kids, we used a real copper cowbell. When I rang the bell, Jim always responded. He would come out from wherever, look and see me. Then he would disappear for a few moments, reappearing again with the children, literally herding them home. 

Now there would be three instead of two; but Jim probably found that to be even more fun. He hadn't been trained at all. For Jim, it was just a herding dog doing his thing.