Jail Break at Wayward Hounds Correctional Facility

By Rebecca Harp, Warden

Jack has a history of criminal mayhem. When I first adopted him, he leapt through a Taco Bell drive-through window, only to be greeted by a shrieking worker who had an irrational fear of primate-like dogs jumping through windows at her face. In a flurry of hot sauce packets and drinks, Jack pursued his right as an American citizen to have tacos. There was lots of screaming and I truly believe they thought it was a monkey causing the ruckus, not a dog. Somehow, Jack was tossed back out the window to me, and I drove off as fast as I could—and this may be the worst part—without my burrito.

Jack has also brought knives into my bed, and once a screwdriver—perhaps he was working on convincing the crew dig out a path below. Jack is as charming and persuasive as Ted Bundy; Jack is cunning and he has monkey paws ... this is how I know the jail break was all his fault. Recently, a friend called me, “I just saw two of your dogs posted on social media as FOUND.“ Whaaat?! These are the things that cause cardiac disturbances. As I sped home, I tried to think of how they could’ve gotten out. And, if two were out, where were the other seven (yes, we have nine inmates at Wayward Hounds Correctional Facility.) My mind reeled with fear and incredulity.

I called the kind person who had found the two—she told me the “wild and crazy brindle one” was sopping wet, as he somehow got over a fence and jumped onto the tarp-covered pool. With that revelation, I knew she indeed had my chimpanzee-bugg felon, Captain Jack Sparrow. She was concerned that the other one had been hit by a car because she couldn’t walk. She described my sweet Emma, who has a spinal condition and doesn’t walk very well—she’s actually usually in a wheelchair when out and about.

I stopped at my house to make sure it was just the two that had gotten out. My heart sank as I saw the side door ajar. I ran in to count the dogs, and luckily the others had the good sense not to leave. I did entertain the thought that someone had broken in, but nothing was missing—besides Jack and Emma.

I brought the escapees home, and tried to figure out how the Alcatraz-level break out occurred. It seemed Jack used his ape paws to pull the handle so hard that he moved it enough to open the door. Emma succumbed to his seduction and followed, even though I’m sure she knew it was the wrong thing to do. I shut the door, checked it repeatedly to make sure it was secure, then left back to work.

Five minutes later, I had a terrible feeling in my gut that something wasn’t right—trust your intuition, people! I turned around and headed back home. I reached my driveway and my heart sank again.

The door was open! Captain Jack had escaped again, this time taking Vivien, my newest rescue, on the break out.

I took off on foot yelling their names frantically, terrified that they may have been hit by a car, and that all I would find were bodies. I was thankfully aided by neighbors, friends, and perfect strangers. After a bit, a car drove up with Vivien gleefully smiling in a woman’s lap, “Is she yours?” I thanked her and through tears asked, “Have you seen another one, a similar looking Brindle Chimpanzee?!” “No, but we’ll help you look!”

About that time, a man who was walking by heard me desperately screaming JACK! He also offered to help. Miraculously Jack appeared a block away, running “flyball” fast to me, through a couple of lanes of traffic. I can hardly tell you in words the absolute supreme relief I felt at that moment.

I took Jack to my parents’ house, where he usually goes for doggie day care. He remained in solitary confinement (as all fleeing felons should) and I returned home to dead bolt the door. I thwarted their attempts at another escape—for now. Higher level security measures are currently in the works. Another prison break could damage my reputation as a Warden and give me a heart attack.

Freedom is a concept long revered by both humans and canines alike. Some of us want it more intensely than others, as I’m learning from the apparent leader of my Wayward Hounds posse.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s freedom they were seeking, or were they simply searching for me? When I rescued Jack from a duct-taped shut cardboard box, my face was the first he saw after four days in that box. For Jack, I suppose I am the key to his freedom. And for that, I cannot blame him. •