We noticed that the dogs were missing right after our friends flew in from some sour European country. There'd been threat of rain all day, a threat that was realized almost literally as as they touched down. The torrents were hard to see through on the drive home.
Like always, we got back and let the dogs out. I realized, after playing catch up for a while, after a beer or two, that the dogs weren't back in. So I ran out to get them. Nowhere. Shit! I thought. Went and checked the two gates - both were securely latched. I came back and and reiterated my Shit!
One of our guests said, Oh, I put them in there, pointing the the clothes dyer. I opened it and there they were. Both of their coats were distressed, frizzy like bad perms. That was weird enough - they have naturally short, stiff, blade-sharp hair that should resist curling. What surprised us more was that the dogs had been miniaturized, heated back into puppy size.
BJ and Jess had brought Brooklyn over, and she was in there, too, but even smaller - no bigger than a Hood Hound. But she was still living. Blood was still moving. She was wriggling, licking, and unbelievably warm.