“Call Dad, I just lost the dog!“

Fat Cat has a good friend that raises standard poodles, big strong fast poodles. He drives around with them in his Cadillac, he takes them everywhere, including our house. Last week one had a stroke and he had to put it down, leaving him only one big white one. He put it in our back yard and went with Fat Cat on some errands. This would not normally be a problem but Tank was mowing and upon opening the gate the freaking poodle bolted down the road! He called me at work because Fat Cat once again forgot his cell phone, and we do not know his friends cell number. Tank was chasing the dog around the neighbor hood. (“this dog is freaking fast!”). I call another buddy of theirs at work and told him what happened and he did not have the number so he had to call his wife to look it up. In the mean time, Tank has lost the dog and has now resorted to driving around looking for it (“what the hell is it’s name? I keep calling ‘here boy’ and whistling but I don’t even know if it is a boy or what!”) Finally Fat Cat returns and his friend is devastated.
By the time I get home from work, the dog has been missing 3 hours and Fat Cat has resorted to bracing his friend for the possibility that he may not come back. I go with him, we call the dog (his name is Gunther - a giant white poodle with the pompom tail - named Gunther), we ask people that are out mowing, if they have seen them. I am possitve everyone thinks we are nuts, but I do not know what else to do. After 4 and ½ hours, we are all giving up and the poor man is now thinking the dog has been hit by a car (he says the dog is not real bright and I believe him, because when he looks at you, there does not seem to be anyone there. He is just pretty and meant to be looked at, and maybe meant to run real fast.) We go into the house and are not there 10 minutes before one of Fat Cats neighborhood good old boys calls and says he has the dog! You have never seen anyone so happy ever as this dog owner. The neighbor has the dog in his car and pulls in the drive, looking a little frightened, because the dog is in the back seat growling. (“This is the right dog isn’t it, Because otherwise I just stole someone’s poodle“)
Gunther was covered in briars and dirt. He ate all the dog food and drank all the water, but he was home. And I was glad to see him.