Who Let the Dog Out?

So yesterday I was in my classroom, getting all of my stuff together for the State Writing Test, when my phone rang.  It was the front office.  The following conversation commences:

"Hi Mrs. P., your dog is here."
"Huh?"
"Your dog is here."
"Wait--what do you mean my dog is 'here'?  Define here."
"Here, in the office."
"Um, well, okay.  I'll be right down."

I then proceeded to the office, where I found Cleo--my rambunctious drooling Great Dane--bouncing around in the counseling department, making friends with students and staff alike.  Now normally I would have had a campus aid cover my class for twenty minutes while I dragged my sorry mutt home (in a universe where this situation is considered "normal").  But that morning I was administering the State Writing Test, a process which requires us to watch a video and sign an affadavit in advance.  Today was the one day that a campus aid could not watch my class.  Since running home wasn't an option, one of our secretaries grabbed my keys and my daughter, and the two loaded Cleo into her Jeep and took her back home.

Oh, Cricket and Yang got out too, and also showed up at my school.  The only difference is they didn't hang out like Cleo.  They got tired of campus life pretty quickly and ran back home.  The secretary brought Cleo home and put her in the chicken coop area in our backyard, but put the two smaller dogs in the house, knowing that they would probably get out again.  I gave her my blessing in all of this, but there was a good two hours where I was stressed, wondering what kind of havoc the dogs were wreaking in my house.  They've been in the house countless times when we're home, but never by themselves.  I was imagining trash spilled throughout the house, an upturned bird cage, a chewed up couch....

As it turned out, the only thing that was out of place were a couple of Elijah's toys and a block of dehydrated Top Ramen on the living room rug.

Later my sister-in-law checked on the dogs, and she found Cleo running down the street with our cat.  She then took all three dogs back to her place until Clint got off of work.

Upon investigation, it looks like one of the smaller dogs dug out, the other followed, and--seeing those two flaunt their freedom in the front yard--Cleo jumped the fence.  As far as what prompted Cleo to run all the way to my work and into our front office, either a) I have a very strong chemical trail, or b) She followed a student as he walked or rode his bike to school. 

A little concrete and chicken wire we *think* have resolved these issues.

Here's Cleo at eight weeks old....

Does that look like the face of a trouble maker?

Here's Cleo, a little more grown up.  This picture was taken on January 30th, so she was about four-and-a-half months old.

She turns six months old next week, so she's significantly bigger now.  She still puts her giant head and paws on my lap, but the rest of her has to stay on the floor.