Mac and I saved a life the other day, although I suppose the would-be-victim might not have seen it quite that way.

Let me explain. Mac is, you understand, a terrier. Small, somewhat noisy (just ask the neighbors) and fast. Very fast. So fast he actually caught a rabbit once, which is more than I can say for the beagle I once had.

Mac and I take walks. I'm very careful not tell him that because, you see, he understands the phrase "Wanna go for a walk?" (Actually, he understands the phrase "W" - you don't even need the "anna go for a walk" part.) And, once you ask him, you're committed.

Anyway, Mac and I went for a walk a couple of nights before those Alberta Clippers rolled in. It had rained, all day, and the streets glistened and glittered in the light of the street lamps. But rain doesn't stop Mac. Come to think about it, neither do Alberta Clippers.

Our walk began as usual - out the door and down the steps at a dead run with me being dragged along - and we visited every tree, bush, rock, and blade of grass between here and there, "there" being Mom and Dad's house. Mac likes to visit because Mom always find something in the leftover category in the fridge and Dad feels obligated to play ball. (Mac's attention span is short, except when it comes to food, walks, or playing ball. Then it's more like an elephant's.)

So, we visited for a while until Dad tired of tossing Mac's slimy, skinned tennis ball and Mom ran out of leftovers. Sensing that our welcome had worn out, we headed out the door only to catch sight of a yellow tabby cat hot on the tail of a rabbit. Which wouldn't have been so bad except the rabbit couldn't seem to find his way out of the fence, which made his little tail very susceptible to tabby indeed.

Well, figuring Mac would aim for the largest, most visible target, I let him loose. I swear to you, I've never seen a cat clear a fence quite like this one. I don't think he even touched the ground but once between the yard and the next block.

Like I said, Mac is fast. Very fast. But remember, he's caught rabbits. And although he was happy to send tabby flying, I imagine his idea of saving the rabbit meant saving it FOR him, not FROM tabby.

Still, that rabbit had a head start, which he needed. And it would have been enough, except the hole in the fence was a little smaller than the rabbit bargained on. He only made it halfway, stuck in the muddiest part of the garden.

I pushed. I pulled. I sank lower in the mud. Mac had to get in on the action, too, sneaking around my legs toward that poor rabbit's tail, mouth watering. He got a few nips in.

It took Mom pulling from the alley, me pushing from the mudhole, and Mac adding a little extra sense of urgency to send that rabbit on his way home.

I felt good. My shoes told the tale, but still I felt good. And I'd like to think that Mac did, too. At least, he looked proud the next day when he bounded up witha fluffy ball of fur clenched firmly in his mouth.

Somewhere in Parkersburg there's a rabbit with a very cold tail. But he is free.