just ponderin'

… on a prison break and a very special bawston moment

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Who…….us?

What were you doing yesterday afternoon at approximately 3:47 p.m.?

Huh. Sounds reasonable.

You wanna know what I was doing?

I was meeting the police at 170 High Street.

Two fugitives had been contained in the back yard and I had to I.D. them.

I got there before the helicopters with heat sensing equipment arrived, so it was pretty quiet.

The officer, who was parked in the middle of the street so as to prevent anyone entering the area by car, potentially giving the criminals a heads up, waved me over and I flashed my badge (okay, I waved and said hello). I was directed into the driveway and told that the suspects were between the two properties.

I drove slowly down the driveway so as not to alert them to my presence, stopped the car and turned off the engine.

I got out of my car and made my way to the back yard boundary, an officer was right behind me – he had my back… I mean, he had my six.

As I rounded the hedgerow, I saw one of them right away. I got down low so as to appear non threatening, per my psych training.

And Blaze got so excited!

She began to whine and dance. She was on the other side of a chicken wire fence and knew exactly where she had scrambled through. She ran to her left for about 6 yards and wiggled through a hole in the wire and right to me.

The felon who was Marshal Dillon Dingle did not remember where he had wiggled through the fence, and did not watch where Blaze went when she saw me, so he just belted out a succession of very loud barks and ran the fence line like crazy, with the occasional leaping and rearing up on his back legs thrown in.

Lunatic.

So I talked softly to the little truant and got him to the hole in the fence, and – while Blaze visited with the three police officers who came to back me up, and the two folks who were working at the house when they found themselves in the center of a crime spree – Marshal puffed up and barked and howled at the sky (Marshal doesn’t make eye contact when he is trying to sound big and scary). He kept coming back and checking in with me and would then puffily hip hop toward the officers.

One officer smiled and said, “Dogs hate police officers.”

I called Marshal back to me and then put him in the car and told the officer that all perps hate the fuzz.

But now that I had my two collars – literally – in the back of my station, er, paddy wagon, I was ready to call it a day.

When I got home, I paw printed my two prisoners and dressed them in orange jumpsuits and went out and walked the outside fence line. I didn’t see anything obvious but it was getting dark so I’ll do it again today.

I think Blaze got hold of a spoon and they may have tunneled out.

It is a distinct possibility. After all, it’s Blaze.

They were found nearly a half-mile away from the house, headed toward Main Street.  We actually don’t leave our dogs alone outside, even though we have a fenced in yard.  We go out with them, just in case. But there are a few areas that are wooded (so we’ll check those areas closely), and my guess is that, while I was hanging out in one area, the shepherds made their move.

We’d never, in more than 20 years of living in town, had this happen before. Boy, I’ll tell you, that was about 107 minutes of panic on my part.  I was never so glad that I live in a small town where neighbors were supportive and kept and eye out, and the police were happy to help (because there weren’t any bigger deal offenders perpetrating crime in our area at the time).

So late yesterday afternoon, after I had a serious talk with Blaze and Marshal Dillon Dingle (she seemed to be giving me her undivided attention. Marshal seemed more concerned with the fact that Fred might have found something under the refrigerator), I decided that the fright of police involvement was punishment enough for my two delinquents.

Blaze seemed relieved.

Marshal?

I don’t think Marshal even knew our yard didn’t extend a half-mile down the street.

So late last night, I was sitting on the comfy couch with Blaze and we were watching the Sox play the Cardinals at Fenway in game six of the World Series.

I asked Blaze where she thought she was going. I asked her what was so important that she would take the risk of leading Marshal Dillon Dingle out of the fenced in area – and out into the world where there are strangers and roads and cars – without an opposable thumbed escort for safety.

She looked at me with her beautiful, liquidy eyes, and then looked at the TV.

I asked her why she was headed down Main Street, rather than to Mr. Kennedy’s farm or to where the neighbors’ dogs were barking, which were the first two places I searched.

She again looked at me, and then looked at the TV.

I asked why she needed a new adventure, so soon after her return from Europe. I asked what could possibly have been going on that she would need to leave again.

She looked at me, and looked at the TV and whined a little bit.

And just as I was ready to ask her another question, Koji Uehara struck out Matt Carpenter and players rushed to the mound, and Dirty Water blared over the speakers at Fenway Park, where a baseball team that had finished in last place the year before, had just won the World Series.

This was a team that was playing for a city shaken to its core by a terrorist bombing, at the Boston Marathon, on – of all days – Patriots Day, April 15th 2013.

It was a team whose beloved ‘Big Papi’ took on the television censors five days later, at the first game the Sox played back at Fenway after the bombings when he said, “This is our f***ing city!” And a team that fought hard and played well and grew beards under banners and fan signs that read ‘Boston Strong’ all season long.

It was a team that put Big Papi back in the position to once again declare – though self-censored this time – “This is our city!” last night, as players leapt and danced with their families and friends and teammates under the lights, with the Fenway Faithful in the stands.

And Blaze looked at the TV and looked at me, and looked at the TV as scenes of people gathering at the site of the bombings, and actually kissing the ground, flashed on the screen.

And I realized right there what she’d tried to do.  And I forgave her for scaring me half to death. I knew why she was leading Marshal down our roads and through fields, toward Main Street.

Blaze recognized the importance of last night. She wanted to be right there in the middle of the action. She knew what it meant.

She wanted to take the kid to a ballgame.

And what a ballgame it was.

Thanks for readin’.

smiley-face-button-14267615As always, you can come on over to Just Ponderin’s facebook page to comment or just hang out!

Elena Peters

midlife blogger & pinterest master

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