The Great Escape

On Friday night, after a very pleasant dinner at the Sugaroom in Piermont with David and Mel (in summary: great atmosphere, great cocktails, OK food), i received a disturbing text message from my mother which simply read:




"Reggie and Ennis have escaped. Been looking for them since 6 but no luck. Will resume search in morning."




Reggie and Ennis, my brothers dogs, have been in my parents care since he and Ashley have been in the USA the last two weeks. My Dad goes down to feed and play with them every night, but alas, on that fateful Friday night, he was dismayed to find the gate ajar and the boys long gone. Arrivaderci Roma. Adios Amigos. See ya suckers.




I rang my mother immediately to begin preliminary interviews, and she, close to tears, recounted the search that had taken place once the discovery had been made. After 4 hours, i agreed it was safe to declare them officially missing. The old man was stonily silent in the background - as much emotion as we would get from him - while mum was clearly distraught at the thought of the two of them out in the cold and stormy night.




"How did this happen??" I asked again and again. Did they two of them plot their escape once they'd realised their owners had abandoned them (well. for 5 weeks at least. but how do you explain that to a dog?)? Did they watch as my Dad opened and closed the gate every night, silently taking in the mechanics and then spending the long, lonely days wondering how they could achieve the same results with opposable thumbs? Did they stockpile food, plan a route, call a mate and ask if they could put them up for the night? "We're blowing this joint Scruffy. Gonna need a place to stay. Just the one night mate."




Maybe they had someone on the outside helping them break out. Some fellow canines who formed part of an elite gang - The Boneheads. Maybe they had to pass initiation - "break out of your own backyard and shit in ten others before daybreak and you're in boys!" They spend their days graffiting toilet bowls before drinking out of them.





Or maybe (likely...) Dad just didn't shut the gate properly and they saw an opportunity.





"Holy shit Reg. The gate. The old geezer didn't shut the gate! We're free!"
"What? No way Ennis. He checks it every time. There ain't no way we're getting outta here. Just shut up and eat your kibbles."
"I'm telling you Reggie! It's swinging open! Look! Look!"
"AY! WHADDID I TELL YA? JUST SHUT UP AND EAT YOUR DAMN...wait. Is that gate swinging? WE'RE FREE! Let's get the hell outta here!"
*dogs gleefully scamper into the night*





After watching the CI channel regularly on foxtel, we knew the first 48 hours would be a critical time - after that, the hope of recovering a live victim steadily decreased. So Jo and I headed straight out there to conduct a thorough search of the surrounding areas and comb the scene of the crime for clues. When we turned up at Andrew's, Jose the cat revealed nothing useful and the gate had already been safely secured again by Dad, so we discovered exactly squat that would be valuable to our investigation.




Instead, we combed the streets yelling for them to get their butts back home right now or there'll be big trouble, but to no avail. Other dogs came running. But no Reggie and no Ennis. Despairingly, we headed back home and hoped the dawn would bring answers. Would we ever see them again? If only i had patted them a little extra last time i visited...





But all's well that end's well, cause in the morning Mum called with good news - the RSPCA had BOTH dogs, who had been dropped off the night before by a kind man who had seen them wondering the streets in a rather forlorn manner, suggesting that they actually had no plan whatsoever for what to do after their Great Escape, and probably couldn't find their way home.





We'll never know what really happened that night, and no-ones talking (not even Jose the cat). But i can tell you this - that gate has been newly padlocked within an inch of it's life. If they get out again, it'll be put down to divine intervention. Or dad's shoddy workmanship.





The end.