Every now and then, it happens. The dog escapes out the garage. This time it was my fault. I had not secured the two mud room doors and the pup snuck out, while I was taking out the trash.

Drats. Plus it was a rainy night. Double drats.

Yelling “treat” outside did not generate a response. We would need to send out multiple search parties. Triple drats.

I began to look around the yard, when I spotted it. A lone track in the snow. A track that could belong to a beagle.

Another track. Then another. Then another. Plus, the snow between the tracks had been moved on the surface. The sign of a belly close to the ground. Another beagle indicator.

I began to gaze across our fog covered suburban landscape. Our dog was out there, I knew it.

Channeling my inner Daniel Boone, I set off across the snow following the tracks. After a good fifty feet or so, I glanced around a corner and there he was, Kirby the Beagle sniffing snow.

Ah, life happens. Dogs run away. This however is what I know for sure, sometimes snow serves a purpose and sometimes I actually use common sense. Both infrequent occurrences that sure made a fine pairing.