I was a total slacker on Saturday. I had a bit of a hmmm, how shall you say...wine-induced low grade headache (we do not call this a hangover, but you might) so I had spent the day hanging around the house in my PJs, watching reruns of the RIP Patrick Swayze movie marathon until it was time to head to town for date night with my man who was playing big important hotelier for the weekend. So by Sunday morning, after two nights of boozin' (and for me, boozin' means I've had more than 1 glass of wine) I desperately needed to get my derriere to the gym for a double workout and so headed to town.
There he was again, this beautiful little dog, except this time, instead of running in a yard full of children, he was crossing Highway 2, one of the island's busiest thoroughfares, and I had almost hit him. With two beasts at home, you can only imagine my state of mind at having almost hit a dog. A dog that was still on the loose. Crossing four lanes of traffic on his own. Shit.
I quickly pulled over and got out of the cranberry cruiser and after waiting for the semis, motorcycles and cars to pass, crossed over to the other side where the little guy was waiting for me. Or so I thought. Every time I got within 2 feet of him he'd dash just out of reach, run back to me again and then turn and dodge out of arm's length. Quite a game player this little boy was! After chasing him about the lawn of the Christ the Redeemer Church and eventually into the cemetery I gave up. I thought, "Well, clearly this dog does not need to be rescued by me and if he wants to go run amongst the dead people so be it" and I went back to my car.
Just as I was about to pull back onto the highway I caught a glimpse of him in my rearview mirror - dashing amongst the tombstones at a breakneck speed, headed right for the highway and a cavalcade of motorcyclists out on their Sunday ride. WTF!!!! This guy was going to be roadkill before the morning was over, so when traffic cleared I pulled a u-turn and stopped on the other side of the road. I flung open the passenger door and in he jumped - happy to have a lift it seemed and happier to be clear of the bikes.
He was a beautiful dog - with a long black coat and a tan head, bright eyes and a sweet disposition and it seemed he liked to ride in cars. Thinking the only place I thought for sure he belonged was that little bungalow back at the corner so I parked in their driveway and knocked on the door. No one was home.
What to do, what to do? Of course he had no tags or any other identification. What to do, what to do? I don't have a cell phone, so I couldn't even call the Humane Society to report him. What to do, what to do?
Oh, you know damn well what I did. That's right, my new little buddy and I headed straight to the hotel where I planned to drop him at Buzz's office while I got my workout in and figured out what to do. You know the road to hell is paved with the best intentions, don't you? I had no sooner gotten to the hotel, arrived at Buzz's office, new dog in my arms when he took one look at it and after listening to me go on and on about how I almost hit him and how he had no fear of the road and how I had seen him on the loose the day before and, and, and. "And you're going to call the Humane Society, right?" Buzz asked.
"Of course!" I assured him. "He's young, but he's obviously well cared for. He has no mats in his coat. SOMEBODY must be missing him!"
So, Buzz dialed the Humane Society and shockingly, no one had reported this guy missing! I had the dog for over an hour by this time and I was stunned that no one would be missing him. He had such a sweet disposition. The Humane Society said they'd send someone right over to pick him up and hold him until his owners called.
Of course by this time, I'm even more beside myself, because:
1) This guy's owners were obviously idiots not to know he'd been gone.
2) He was destined to spend at least the day, if not the night or maybe even longer in a cage at the already over-crowded Humane Society.
Shit.
While we waited for the phone call that the dog-catcher was there, we took the young guy out for a walk. We knew he was young because a) he hadn't been neutered yet and b) he had absolutely no manners on the leash. I was starting to understand why he had been running free.
I'm pretty sure he was a Yorkshire Terrier or a very large Silky, but after spending the better part of the morning with him, it didn't matter what he was, quickly he was becoming "ours." We even had a name for him: Guinness. Because of his black & tan coat.
Before too long Buzz's phone rang and I thought, well, here we go...this is my last chance to convince him that I'd sooner go door to door where I found Guinness to locate his owners - anything rather than having him go with the dog-catcher.
So it was agreed.
I would retrace my steps and knock on every door I could until I found his owners. So off we went, he and I, with him riding shotgun in the front seat, nose out the window.
My first stop was to the local country market where I inquired if anyone had come in looking for a missing dog. The young girl behind the counter told me "no" and when I offered to give her my number in case someone did, she asked "what does it look like?" I described Guinness - a young, un-neutered, black & tan terrier about 15-lbs.
With that, she rolled her eyes and said, "Oh, I know that dog. That damn dog is always getting out of its yard. It belongs to the house next door. It's always running across our parking lot and getting in the way of our customer's cars. He's a real nuisance."
I have to say, I was kind of heart-broken. I had sort of hoped that finding his rightful home wouldn't be so easy. I gathered up Guinness and headed over to his yard where I found his owner just getting into his car. He greeted us with "hey, I was wondering where he was!"
At this point all I'm thinking is "You've GOT to be kidding me! I've had this dog for 4 hours! I've notified the Humane Society as having a found dog. And you're just now wondering where he was?"
Some people should not be allowed to own pets.
Reluctantly, I handed Guinness back over to his owner who had explained that "Sarge" is a bit of an escape artist who likes to slip his chain whenever he can, which must have been what happened today. I'm thinking "You don't say?"
I told the owner the dog was very sweet and what a dangerous situation he had been in that morning when I almost hit him going 80-km/hour down the highway. I explained to him that his dog had no fear of the highway and also had zero recall and how that combination was a recipe for disaster. The guy assured me they were trying to figure out a better situation for Sarge and so with that and not so much as a thank you very much, I left.
I had no sooner walked over to the country store next door when I hear "OH NO....SARGE!!!!" coming from the direction of the house. I looked behind me and there he was, blazing his way through the trees, over the marigolds and right through the parking lot of the country store.
HERE WE GO AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
For the SECOND time that day I was in hot pursuit, and somehow convinced the dog to jump into my car. His owner came running over and shame-faced offered "I put him on his chain and he broke his collar clear in half. That's how he got out again!" I hooked him up to Snickers halti-lead we leave in the car and handed him back over.
I could not have gathered a more withering look as I said to him - "You know, these dogs are generally regarded as HOUSE dogs, not dogs to be chained in the yard."
And with that, off they headed, back across the parking lot, through the yard, past the marigolds and into the trees. I watched them retreat and thought to myself the next time I see that dog loose I will pull over again and convince him to hop back into my car.
And the next time, I'll just keep on driving.
