The curious incident...

I was on the deck, smoking the day's last cigarette in the pitch dark while listening to old Ministry on my iPod and reliving my glory days of stomping around the industrial club in my big, black boots and velvet/tulle/leather, size 4 ensembles.

Then it licked my hand. "It" being a neighbor's 100-pound golden retriever, which had escaped its own backyard, leaped the fence into mine, ambled up the stairs to my deck and passed behind me before settling at my right side. I hadn't seen, heard, smelled or felt it approaching me.

I screamed bloody murder. It was probably only three seconds from the lick to the scream to the realization that a big, friendly dog had joined me, but it felt like hours of sheer terror.

I collected myself, then led big doggy, who, by the grace of God hadn't bitten me after I screamed at it, by its collar down the stairs and through the gate and encouraged it to go to its person, who was in his front yard across the street calling for it.

Still shaking, I went back in the house and hovered in the front room for half an hour, waiting for the police to show up after one of the neighbors had surely reported the screaming to the police. They never showed. And even though I was embarrassed, I was even more offended.

When I related this story to my friend Laura today, she said, "Maybe that old lady next door heard you and thought, 'Good. She's being attacked by a bear.'"

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UPDATE:

Well, now that I've seen her in the daylight, I know she's a chocolate lab, not a golden retriever. And since I coaxed her out of mean old lady's backyard into ours so MOL wouldn't call animal control, I know, from her collar, that her name is Sally.

First thing I did was try to lead her home, and I saw that neither photographer man nor designer woman were there. So I brought her back here to our back deck and called the number on her collar. It was apparently the home number and nobody was home. I looked up the number to photographer man's studio and gave him a call. He is such an artist with poor interpersonal skills. He told me that sometimes they have a key in a certain place and to look for it and let her into the house, otherwise please try to keep her in my backyard.

I told him I'd try both. Then he said, "I saw your picture in the paper, so are you going to be writing for them?" "Yes," I responded, I'll be a Lifestyles columnist."

"Okay. Thanks. Bye."

I took Sally across the street, couldn't find a key, but did find her lead and put her back in their backyard. I'm expecting her back any time now.