Catching Dawn: Check.

Dawn

Shed was locked tight, all holes, cracks, loose boards nailed closed. Hunter’s earthy wipes applied. The weather was just right too; drizzly Christmas Eve morning, the kind that kept humans and dogs in bed for another hour or two.

Like ground hog’s day, five minutes after I dropped Mason off, he called, said Dawn was trapped in the shed. This time we didn’t wait for daylight. Donna, ICHBA’s head honcho, and her daughter arrived five minutes after we shared the news, bringing her van with a crate in the back.

The three of us stood outside the shed’s door, blocking any attempted escape with metal fencing, while Mason slipped inside, and we slammed the door behind him.

It took a good ten minutes for Mace to collar Dawn with the catch-pole; there was a whole lot of banging, cursing, growling, whining, and barking, but when Mason yelled, “open the door,” I knew we had her.

Right now, Dawn’s caged in our basement with her remaining litter. And she’ll stay here until her milk dries up, and we can get her fixed.

After seven months and nineteen puppies, on a drizzly, black Christmas Eve morning, we caught Dawn.

Merry Christmas y’all.