And I thought Nebraska was going to be challenging to my eye for life...NOT!

I have been blase for the past couple of months since moving here. It is not because I have not had a ton of news to report, but rather because most of it would bore you all to tears. That all changed this week and last, and I find myself inundated with fodder for my almost daily column here. Ready? Here we go.

Mel and I are driving home in separate vehicles Monday night. I happened to leave work late, and we were quite mellow. The goal: hang out at home for the first time since we got here. Sounds wonderful, eh? Well, such is not the plan life ever has for either of us.

The drive home takes about an hour - no big deal - I like to listen to music and watch the countryside change colors as we lapse into spring. It is marvelous. Mel and I are blabbing to each other on our cell phones when we both see two dogs by the side of highway 87. "Oh no, the big one has been hit." We both exclaim. "Should we turn around?"

"Duh" Around we go. A young girl on a horse who looks like she just stepped out of a Ralph Lauren ad stops to watch the roadside action.

I am first on the scene, ready to administer aid to a large springer spaniel I now am convinced has been sideswiped. I instantly realize the dog we thought was a puppy...is not. Nope, Jack Russell Terrier boing boing boing boing. This was the type of bouncy dog that seems set to launch into orbit without provocation. Boing boing. JUMP. Now I have Jack Russell in hand, literally, as Mel is just turning around. I deposit the bouncy dog into my car and he promptly makes for the dashboard, the backs of the seats...you get the picture...boing.

Phew. Ok, so now the springer spaniel sees her compadre leaping into the vehicle and she, too, wants to go for a ride. She is panting when she stands, and I suddenly realize why...she has three legs. My eyes about popped out of my head. After all, this is not something you see every day, let alone on a back country road en route home from work.

I lift her gently into the car as Mel and I plan to drive to the nearby farm houses. Surely, we reason, they belong here...close by.

No answer, no answer, and one big rottweiler later, wow, no luck. Hmm. Although the Rottweiler did bark at the Jack Russel I had now dubbed, "Boing."

We cautiously approach the Nordic Queen of the Prairie who is staring at us as if we had just run naked down the road. "Are these your dogs?" we ask as Boing leaps to the ground and then the shy one. "Nein, nein, get them out of here," she shrieks with a very pronounced German accent. Boy did we call it on the Nordic Queen thing or what? That was simply surreal.

We decide maybe they came from one of the other farm houses along a back road. A few minutes later, we stop at a house loaded with dogs...the lady had 15 dachsunds and had just moved there...hmmmm....that one for another day. She was very nice in a tye-dye shirt. Boing went nutso competing with the dachsunds in a vigorous barking competition. "Nope, don't know who they belong to. Try that house."

We decide this would be the last before we turned Boing and Compadre in to the police. Now the sun was starting to set and Boing was still jumping. Mel had left his window open and all I saw in passing was Boing's butt flying through it. "Oh crap, there goes the Jack Russell," I exclaimed.

The farmhouse people were hiding. A purse was on the table, door open...all signs of life. Can't blame them I suppose. After all, two of us sporting Cali plates one with dark skin and two dogs, one with three legs...that spelled trouble in any country I guess. I suspect everyone was hiding under the beds in fear for their lives.

It was then that Boing decided to disgrace himself. During his little foray of the yard, he discovered the universe called "the chicken coop." He liked that world and clearly was making an earnest effort to snag a chicken for dinner when Mel finally caught him.

Somewhat dejected - we really had wanted to get them home - we headed for the police station. The Rushville Police Station is very tiny. "Ok, this is a small town. Really, really small," I started in. "Now tell me with a straight face you guys won't know who belongs to a three-legged dog?"

She smiled. "Does it have red spots?"

"Aha! I KNEW you would know the owner."

"Hey Dave, Ed Holstein's dogs are out again." Laughter from a back room followed soon after.

"Yep, they're Ed Holstein's dogs. He lives in town. Probably out in one of the fields ploughing. They run away and he's always out huntin' 'em down somewhere."

Needless to say, Ed Holstein's dogs got a free ride home. Hooray. As we were leaving, the lady cleaning the glass in the precinct window laughed as the schmutts passed her. "Ed Holstein's dogs out again? Sheesh that guy. He runs them behind his pickup for exercise. Beeps the horn and they follow." At that point, personally, I wanted to kick the guy's butt for being completely assinine, but that's a different story. I figured he was probably as old as his dogs and then some.

As we drove home, the odor of foreign dogs now soaking into the seats, I began laughing....and laughed all the way home. Nebraska, it appears, definitely has potential.