Not Good . . .

Calling and calling until your throat is sore then getting in your car and scouring the streets in the vicinity of your house looking sadly for a dog you realize FAR too late, never escaped to begin with.  My mom's dog Gypsy, it looked to me like she got out when three of our other dogs escaped.  Two of them came back, I got one other in, but she was not among them.  I called and called, took up vigil in a lawn chair on the porch, my eyes glancing first at the huge quarter moon, then to the gate where surely any minute she'd come bouncing though.  Got in the car and drove around where I thought she'd be wandering around, saw nothing but cats, black and white cats.  Finally, heart broken, I opened the door to the trailer next to ours, in case she came home and wanted to go in there to stay sheltered, then came into the house, only to find the little fart on the couch wagging her tail and glad I'd come in.  I was not mad, just so GLAD to see her.  My heart can stop thumping in my throat now.