Our family dog is a Bichon Frise. They are among the most fluffy dog breeds you will ever see.
They require a lot of maintenance to keep their extraordinarily poofy hair in good condition. Her name is Poofter Froth Wyoming, named after a Frank Zappa song.
My dad loves Frank Zappa for the silly adventures that many of his songs describe. Poofter got her name because of the strange adventure she embarked upon almost immediately after we brought her home for the first time.
We took Poofter from a family friend who lives on a farm. He told us that the dog was too rambunctious for the farm, that she would run out the door and immediately get messy and then track the mud indoors.
Because Bichon Frise is a fancy breed, it’s hard to imagine making them be outdoor dogs. But Poofter has a funny way of getting out no matter what her owners do.
We decided our home would be a good fit for Poofter because we have a very large, closed-in back yard with a lot of grass and very little opportunities for trouble. So we had her at our house for about three days.
She had been in and out to go potty several times. There had not been any problem with Poofter getting into any trouble up until that point.
We were getting pretty relaxed with her. She was very energetic, sometimes too much so not to let her go out. But we were always right there to supervise her.
On the fourth day, it became my job to trim up some of Poofter’s poofy hair bobs.
She had started to get shaggy and her hair is hard to get off the couch.
It was 9:00 AM on a Saturday. I had her outside and I was carefully trimming around her eyes and ears. I was home alone. The phone rang. I went inside to get it. I left Poofter outside alone.
When I came back she was gone. I looked around frantically and saw her, just a streak of white – like a fast-moving cloud – running. I shouted “Poofter!” Then I felt embarrassed since someone almost certainly would have heard me shouting a very silly, and possibly insulting word.
Then I saw her make a hard bank for the BBQ grille. It was right next to the fence.
I didn’t think much of it until she jumped onto it and immediately leaped over the fence and was gone.
I shouted “Poofter” again, louder this time.
I ran out into the street faster than I had ever run before. I got out into the street just in time to see Poofter run into the doggy door of the Miller’s house.
She just ran right in like a shot! I ran after as fast as I could.
But by the time I got there, the neighbor Mrs. Miller had her in her arms. Poofter was calm, but Mrs. Miller looked exasperated.
I staggered up to her. I said, “Oh my. I’m so sorry. That’s our dog.”
Mrs. Miller told me half shocked, half laughing, “I found this animal standing in my dining room chair eating my bacon and eggs. She finished the whole plate!”
I managed to hold in a fit of uproarious laughter until I got home. But I’m sure Mrs. Miller could hear me laughing uncontrollably for the next couple of hours.
