A miracle happened. Fluffie, the maltese-poodle mix, escaped the Dog Pound some weeks ago:  He was my dog, cause after the Dog Pound picked him up -- looking like a rastafarian with very bad hair, it cost me $50 to save him from death row at the Pound.   Why do you want this dog, lady?  Fluffie isn't tame you see.  He's Street. Not a bad type, just keeps a safe distance from people.  At the pound, on Death Row, I explained my whole year of trying to catch this cabron.  So, they felt sorry for the little hellion, and he got registered, neutered, shots, micro-chipped, and shaved down to his nakedness. I guess Lady Destiny had something to show me, cause when I went to get him the next day, he slipped under his collar and ran for the hills as he was getting into the back of my car, thanks to the help of a Dog Pound staffer who thought I was abusing Fluffie who was doing some twisty-tango moves.  It wasn't all my fault, I asked the Dog Pound Clinic to make that collar tigh