Returning to my neighborhood following an errand yesterday, I was surprised to see a single woman walking an entire pack of dogs down the street. As I approached, I noticed that two of the dogs were standard poodles, one white and one black. Those sure look like my dogs, I thought. It turns out that they were.

As I stopped the Jeep, I could see that the woman was walking her black Labrador on a leash. Following her were several dogs of various sizes. All wore collars, but none wore a leash. And all of them belonged to my family. I asked the lady, "What are you doing with my dogs?"

Her response was simply, "I figured they must belong to somebody." Unless she knows some way to teach poodles to groom themselves, that's a pretty safe assumption.

My July and Victoria quickly recognized me and willingly jumped into my car. (Although I think they probably would have jumped into just about anyone's car. They love car rides.) Leslie's two dogs were next: Charlie accepted my help up into the Jeep, but Rudy, recognizing my intent, sprinted back home at top speed, refusing to surrender his new found freedom.

I eventually returned home and wrangled the mass back into my yard. It turns out that my mother and brother had put the animals in the yard mere minutes earlier, unaware that the gate to the driveway had been left open. They both got a piece of my mind -- a loud, angry piece.

At least no one was lost or hurt. And the dogs got a taste of adventure. Hopefully, it was enough to last them a lifetime, because I don't plan to duplicate that mistake.

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