Last night when I came home from work with a stop at the grocery store (one day sale on chicken thighs for $.79/lb), Inca was not there to greet me. Holmes and little Nola were waiting at the gate to the kitchen, but no Inca. I called her — no response. I set down all my stuff. All I could think of was the last time she didn’t meet me when I got home — and I found her bloody in the back yard. “INCA! Where are you?” I pulled open the sliding patio door. “INCA?” Nothing! The gate to the house yard was still locked. Inca wasn’t behind the wood pile or the potting table. I unlocked the gate and went out into the back-40. INCA!!! No dog. Meanwhile Holmes and Nola are trotting along beside me as unconcerned as a pair of dogs could be.
Then I caught a flash of color at the edge of my vision. Inca had managed to fall through the cover to the crawl space access under the house. (Note to self — another thing to fix this weekend.)
I lifted the entire top, which is pretty heavy. I stood it up on its back end, and reached down to grab the Red Empress. She wasn’t overly concerned because she knew I would rescue her at some point. I think she had been down there long enough that Holmes and Nola were no longer worried. No broken bones, no scrapes or cuts — just one dusty red girl.
So, I’ll measure the top and have Home Depot cut me a piece of plywood. I think I still have roofing from the puppy pen. What’s that you say? Oh, yes. It’s always something.