I made the casserole, and it sure looked good when I checked it about fifteen minutes before planning to serve it. I have some frozen petit pois in the freezer, and the youngies and I were going to sit down to a cozy, home-style meal. They went out for a few minutes to get something from the store, and I decided while they were gone that I would put the dogs out on their leads.

The crafty and footloose beagle decided to take that opportunity to explore the neighborhood and beyond. I heard her go, as she pulled the lead clasp loose and it hit the porch step. By the time I got outside, the pug right behind me, the beagle was across the street and headed for the hills. I fastened the pug on the lead and headed after the beagle, in the cold and dark, in apron, cardigan and wooden clogs. Around the block, down the street about half a block, and she disappeared behind the church. I decided to head back and change into boots and a coat, and enlist the kids to help.

In the meantime, pug had gotten off the broken lead, but decided the wise course was not to head into the street where I was calling and clapping and threatening. He went back to the porch and waited patiently for his beloved owner, my niece, to return. Good pug. Bad beagle.

The kids came out with me, the niece on foot, her fiance in the truck. We searched. We shone flashlights into backyards. We called. After almost an hour, niece was worn out and cold, and it was starting to sleet. She jumped in the truck and the kids kept looking. So did I. I circled wider, checking the waterfront, the park, behind the convenience store. I climbed the hill and checked the wooded path. Dog prints here and there, fresh ones, about beagle size, but the snow either turned to sodden grass or ice. Finally, I though I might be closing in because I found a lot of criss-crossing prints in the snowbank behind the Girl Guides building. I headed down the street, and was about a block from home when the kids caught up with me in the the truck.

“We found her. She was headed home, so I just jumped out of the truck door right on her.  She’s in her crate.”

Back home, my sister-in-law was waiting, perplexed. She missed all the excitement by being at work. “Well, that turned out all right.” (I didn’t think minor frostbite of my earlobes was all right.) Then she asked the Big Question: “What’s for supper?”

The turkey casserole, abandoned in a warm oven (I had turned it down) for almost three hours. I pulled it out. The biscuits looked like wood chips. The gravy was a shiny paste. I probed a little. “It’s ruined,” I pronounced. “No, it’ll be all right. We’ll just take the biscuits off.”  ”No, it’s ruined.”

A quick consultation between the youngies. “We’re going out.” “Oh, it’s late. I’ll make something else.” “No, no, get your coat.”

So the turkey casserole became fish and chips, a bit late, but solid comfort food, and compensation for my stinging earlobes.

It’s good to have family.