Message in a Bottle

I've never really been what you would call an animal lover.  I mean, don't get me wrong, I like animals, and for as long as I can remember I've begged to have my own dog.  My Dad finally gave in and let me and my youngest brother have a pet hamster once.  We named him Phil because at the time my Dad was addicted to the movie "Ground Hog Day."  Obviously a hamster is a long stretch from a dog, but we loved Phil and since hamsters only live for approximately two years, Dad didn't have to worry about us moving off to college and leaving him with the rodent.  Sorry, all of that is inconsequential. 
What I was leading up to was: I can remember traveling and staying with all sorts of people, and every once in a while you would come up on some little old woman whose whole life revolved around her cat, or a family with an ugly, yappy dog that ruled their house.  I've never been that sort of person; I'm sorry.  Recently though, I have accrued a wonderful husband and two, silly dogs.
We are a happy group of four.  Felix is top dog, except for Jamie of course, and he still hasn't figured out where I fit into our pack.  Sally, a beagle with sad droopy eyes, has become my dog whilst Keith and Anne are in Africa.  The dogs love to go for walks around our neighborhood and say hello to all their canine friends.  By the time we make our rounds, the whole block is a sounding toll of yip-yaps and howls. 
Felix and Sally are happy to stay in our back yard and sleep during the day and play at night.  Everything was going so well and they had just accepted me into their lives when Sally, the naughty beagle, ran away with Felix, her accomplice.  Somebody, we won't name names, left the back gate open so it was no surprise the silly dogs took their chance for a weekend holiday. 
Jamie was quite distraught.  The dogs left Friday and as of Monday morning we still hadn't seen any sign of them.  This was when I realized just how attached I am to our foursome.  Suddenly, the little old woman who dotes on her cat wasn't such a pitiful image anymore.  I began to worry that maybe we would have to get a new dog, but that there really wouldn't ever be two dogs the same as Felix and Sally.  Are you crying yet?  You should be...
After much weeping, sackcloth and ashes and gnashing of teeth, we received a phone call.  A lovely couple who had been on a holiday camping trip had packed up their belongings and driven in search of a phone signal just so they could call the owners of two wondering dogs.  Apparently, Sally had sniffed out the steaks they were grilling and upon finding the vacationers the dogs were happy to lay, exhausted, for the rest of the night.  Jamie jumped into the car and drove some six odd miles to pick up our escapees who were found laying like two pitiful, heaps of fur.  Sally didn't even recognize Jamie!  Their paws were quite worn out and a long scratch across Felix's belly spoke of a merry kangaroo chase.  Judging by their rib cages they hadn't caught the roo.
The dogs have been home for a few days now and things are the way they should be.  The poor things did receive a bit of a scolding, and probably the worst part of their punishment was the shampooing and scrubbing.  I think they weren't too upset to be home though especially since I've been going to spoil them every half hour to make up for their absence.  I'm sure the next door neighbors are happy to hear them barking again, and our evening walks are back to a quaint foursome.