Nola can no longer fit through the interior wrought iron fence. I had envisioned the day when I would go out and find her stuck halfway through. I thought a can of Crisco slathered over her hips and rear would be required to extricate her. Fortunately, she is a pretty smart cookie. She headed out to the back forty, found herself stuck and was smart enough to back up. She looked longingly at the dogs next door and, resigned to her fate, played with Holmes. No photo because I had walked out in back without the camera and she made her decision quickly.
There will probably be no puppies escaping to the back-forty for a couple of years, and then they will be Nola’s or Smooch’s or (cover your ears, Susan) Lowri’s kids.
