Neo-Wiener: My Dog Has Unlocked The Matrix

I have a long-haired, dappled, mini-Dachshund named Wigglepuppy. She loves people, Doritos, and socks. Oh, and she may "lead the humans to overthrow the machines and reclaim the Earth."

I have reason to believe that my wiener dog is the key to The Matrix.

We have a fenced-in backyard and when Wiggles was wee she could pull a Grinch, flattening herself to the point where she could slither underneath the fence. If we turned our backs for a minute, there'd be a knock at the door and an amused-looking neighbor would hand over the wriggling fugitive. Before long, though, Wiggles grew up, eventually topping out at a gargantuan 9-1/2 pounds. A few nose-pokes through the slats and she concluded she was now too big to squeeze through. So she ditched the Houdini bit and life went on. We could even leave the patio door cracked so she could run around during the day. Ours was a relationship of trust and freedom.

Then one day, after pulling in to the driveway after work, I opened the car door and a furry little creature lept into my lap. After calming down--it wasn't a renegade, monstrous squirrel after all--I asked Wiggles how in the world she got out of the backyard. Looking two-parts Max from The Grinch Who Stole Christmas and one part Odie, she simply tilted her head, licked my nose, and told me I wouldn't understand.

I, then, confronted her older sister, a reserved Ewok-alike Lhasa Apso named Chewie. I demanded answers, but Wiggles had obviously already gotten to her. No dice.

So I pointedly marched out to the backyard and blocked any area where the ground sloped even slightly under the fence. I filled in a few gaps with dirt and gave Wiggles a satisfied look. She wagged, tongue lolling with delight. And deceit. Because she escaped the very next day.

My husband and I scoured the backyard. There was no way she was getting through or under any part of that fence. We concluded that gate must've blown open and shut. There was no other explanation.

Until the day Wigglepuppy tore a hole in the space-time continuum and busted out yet again. We were leaving the house one lazy Saturday and our sweet, elderly neighbors told us that Wiggles had escaped the day before. It had been balmy that afternoon and I was coming right back, so I'd left the patio door open. I mean, the yard is totally fenced in, after all.

Apparently, when our neighbors saw a wiener dog dart across their backyard, they tried to coax her back home. Wiggles' greatest pleasure in life is flattening herself--hiding in plain sight--waiting until you get *this* close to her and taking off like she's on fire. So, they chased her for awhile and she ran in tiny circles, laughing all the way. Then she was gone. When our neighbors went to our front door to let us know we had a dog on the run, they were greeted by a beaming, fuzzy face on the other side of the glass. Wigglepuppy was back in the living room, nary a hair out of place. No panting. No mercy.

I checked the backyard one last time. No open gates, no broken slats, no holes, no tunnels. My wiener dog can trot through wrinkles in time. My wiener dog is The One.

I can only hope that Chewie doesn't turn out to be a Highlander.