Stalag 13

There’s a new kid on the block and her name is Ellie, Ellie Mae. Gluten-Free Mama and I swooped her from the Humane Society of Inland Mendocino County, one week and two days ago. She came to us with a rep: Ellie Mae is sweet, people friendly and…an escape artist! 

Sleeps with a perpetual smile...

Well, Ellie Mae is that, of course, having escaped first of all from a home-life that left her ribs clearly outlined, and in need of nourishment not only for the body, but for the soul. Secondly, she escaped from the shelter after only twelve days, not to imply that the shelter is a bad place to be, but a dog belongs in a home just for her.

As far as being an escape artist, that is merely a logistical detail. If I am not smart enough to build a fence tight enough to successfully confine a 42-pound bowser, then maybe I need to reexamine my qualifications for owning a dog in the first place. Besides, the fence in question has long been in place and has proven more than adequate, thank you so much for inquiring.

Famous last words…

Despite the fact that this fence has proven impenetrable to wild boar, cattle and more deer than you can shake a stick at, Ellie Mae is a born-free dog, and scoffed at the concept that there is a fence she couldn't jump. There have been numerous escape attempts, in the early going, with two being successful. 

She is a master at her trade.

This may as well be Stalag Dreizehn (13), because it is no ordinary stockade and does not expect to house run-of-the-mill inmates: Ellie Mae is no common inmate. She has responded to a cascade of attention and affection in a predictable manner: The bond between me and Ellie Mae is welded securely into place; she wants nothing more than to please me. 

A mutually beneficial arrangement,
if ever there were one.

Therefore, she is not trying to escape Stalag 13 because she is unhappy. No, the reality is that Ellie needs to be exercised several hours per day, in a yard that is at least an acre in size, and that she has had much experience in her short life, escaping from the best of them.

Besides, she didn’t “jump” my fence-she is a tunneler.

My fenced-in-yard is pushing two acres, but it is only part of a twenty-acre parcel, over which Ellie Mae and I will spend much time traipsing. It is a quarter-mile up to the top of our driveway, alone, a destination we visit at least once a day.

Nothing is really flat, and there are bodacious oak trees inhabiting the same space, along with a couple of creek beds. The point is Ellie Mae has ample room in which to navigate; she is the fastest dog I have ever seen and that includes farm dog, Great Dane mix, Emma.

It’s not enough to have the property, however, if you do not have the time and inclination to adequately oversee, that the dog you rescued from the shelter gets sufficient exercise. Taking a rescue dog home when you do not intend to follow through with time and attention, is like writing a check for ten thousand dollars to the Humane Society for Inland Mendocino County, with insufficient funds.

Both sound like great successes, when they first crop up, but are ultimately empty gestures.

Hey! Who put this stupid plywood in the way?

After Ellie’s first escape, which took me completely by surprise, I had to bide my time. How did she escape? I had already examined the easily accessible portion of the fence, which was really about three-fourths of it, and was hoping to avoid the arduous task of clambering along the remainder of the perimeter, which traversed a rocky hillside.

It’s kind of fun for a 65-year-old codger, but not that much…

Instead, I waited until the next time I let her off the leash to romp, and then “raced” to follow her straight to the point where she went “under the wire.” While Ellie Mae was gallivanting in dog-paradise, barking up a storm just out of eyesight, I was scrambling to put up a roadblock on her Highway to Freedom. A chunk of discarded plywood out of the bone yard, a dozen or so sturdy rocks, and that exit was crudely-but effectively-blocked.

Additionally, the second time she escaped, I not only saw where she wriggled under the wire, but where she got back in (under the north gate). Therefore, I have now found and repaired three certain escape routes, and reinforced a fourth as well that looked mighty suspicious.

Ellie Mae is not trying to replace the bulldog as
an entertainer, I keep saying, is she?

Ellie Mae has been outside in the yard, off her leash, at least eight times since that second escape, and I think she has taken it for granted that escape is out of the question. So much of a dog’s life is routine-oriented, that if you can disrupt that routine, i.e. always trying to escape, you can break the habit.

Her habit was probably chasing deer, since the ever-present deer in the ‘hood seem to rock her world more so than other critters. At any given time, Ellie Mae may be within spitting distance of one or more deer, and she responds accordingly. 

Exit, stage left? Those days are gone forever...

Heck, she came to us with a case of Lyme’s, for which we give her medication each morning, so there is the best reason of all to keep her away from deer.

I just want a buddy to accompany me as I do my chores, and watch the San Francisco Giants with me, and how can Ellie Mae do that if she’s out chasing deer? 

Inspector Dozer: No dog-treat left unturned...