rosa_acicularis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rosa_acicularis) wrote2008-11-28 12:32 am
rosa_acicularis) wrote2008-11-28 12:32 am
Entry tags:
today's a day for lost things being found.
Today, I lost my dog.
The story goes like this:
Jack, adorable little scamp that he is, was harassing birds in our fenced-in backyard while I got ready to go over to a friend's Thanksgiving dinner. When I came out to fetch him, he was gone.
And so I wandered my neighborhood, in the rain, half-dressed, inconsolable, screaming his name at the top of my lungs. The tags had fallen off his collar some time ago, and I had yet to replace them. It was Thanksgiving Day, the streets were empty, and in the two years since I adopted Jack he had never once wandered out of my sight. I called my friend to tell her I wouldn't be coming to dinner; she got in her car and was at my side, screaming along with me, before ten minutes had passed. I called my aunt to ask if she had a photo of him I could use to make signs; she printed one and climbed in the car to begin the hour-long drive into the city before she'd got off the phone. My aunt called my mother; homebound, my mother checked craigslist, searching for 'found' ads. Strangers I passed in the street (many of them walking their own dogs) promised to look as well. And then, on a street corner about seven blocks from home, a man leaned out of a half-open window and said, "Hey, you looking for a black lab?"
A man had found a dog matching Jack's description, and asked the people he met to keep an eye out for the owner. He said he'd take the dog home, and bring it to the Humane Society in the morning.
We met more people along the way who had seen the man and the black dog, and with their help we found a street where my shout was answered by a ridiculously high (and, quite frankly, unmanly) yelp. Jack nearly jumped right over their garden fence trying to reach us.
Apparently, Jack had run straight from our backyard to the nearest grocery store, the outrageously-priced yuppie haven Zupan's, which was open for the holiday and only about four blocks from our house. Jack strolled right past the motion-sensored doors and into the store, where a friendly yuppie couple found him in - believe it or not - the poultry aisle. Staring at the turkeys.
Jack is home now, sound asleep next to me, and - very nice, he just farted - we both got our Thanksgiving dinners. I don't usually put much thought into Thanksgiving, other than oh god, why can't we just have chicken instead and cranberry sauce is the devil's condiment, but this year, I have this to say:
I am thankful for my friends, who know better than to listen to me when I say I don't want help, and who love my stinky-breathed beast because I love him, and because they love me.
I am thankful for my family, dog-people all, who don't say it'll be all right but rather this is something we can fix.
I am thankful for strangers, who talked to a crazy girl standing in the rain and always remembered to mention that the black dog they'd seen was happy, and healthy, and safe.
And I'm thankful for my mutt, for his stinky breath and his dog farts and that time he peed on my foot while I was wearing flip flops, and had the gall to look smug afterward. He drives me insane, and sometimes I forget that he's one of the most important things in my life. It'll be awhile before I forget again.
Happy holidays, everyone.
The story goes like this:
Jack, adorable little scamp that he is, was harassing birds in our fenced-in backyard while I got ready to go over to a friend's Thanksgiving dinner. When I came out to fetch him, he was gone.
And so I wandered my neighborhood, in the rain, half-dressed, inconsolable, screaming his name at the top of my lungs. The tags had fallen off his collar some time ago, and I had yet to replace them. It was Thanksgiving Day, the streets were empty, and in the two years since I adopted Jack he had never once wandered out of my sight. I called my friend to tell her I wouldn't be coming to dinner; she got in her car and was at my side, screaming along with me, before ten minutes had passed. I called my aunt to ask if she had a photo of him I could use to make signs; she printed one and climbed in the car to begin the hour-long drive into the city before she'd got off the phone. My aunt called my mother; homebound, my mother checked craigslist, searching for 'found' ads. Strangers I passed in the street (many of them walking their own dogs) promised to look as well. And then, on a street corner about seven blocks from home, a man leaned out of a half-open window and said, "Hey, you looking for a black lab?"
A man had found a dog matching Jack's description, and asked the people he met to keep an eye out for the owner. He said he'd take the dog home, and bring it to the Humane Society in the morning.
We met more people along the way who had seen the man and the black dog, and with their help we found a street where my shout was answered by a ridiculously high (and, quite frankly, unmanly) yelp. Jack nearly jumped right over their garden fence trying to reach us.
Apparently, Jack had run straight from our backyard to the nearest grocery store, the outrageously-priced yuppie haven Zupan's, which was open for the holiday and only about four blocks from our house. Jack strolled right past the motion-sensored doors and into the store, where a friendly yuppie couple found him in - believe it or not - the poultry aisle. Staring at the turkeys.
Jack is home now, sound asleep next to me, and - very nice, he just farted - we both got our Thanksgiving dinners. I don't usually put much thought into Thanksgiving, other than oh god, why can't we just have chicken instead and cranberry sauce is the devil's condiment, but this year, I have this to say:
I am thankful for my friends, who know better than to listen to me when I say I don't want help, and who love my stinky-breathed beast because I love him, and because they love me.
I am thankful for my family, dog-people all, who don't say it'll be all right but rather this is something we can fix.
I am thankful for strangers, who talked to a crazy girl standing in the rain and always remembered to mention that the black dog they'd seen was happy, and healthy, and safe.
And I'm thankful for my mutt, for his stinky breath and his dog farts and that time he peed on my foot while I was wearing flip flops, and had the gall to look smug afterward. He drives me insane, and sometimes I forget that he's one of the most important things in my life. It'll be awhile before I forget again.
Happy holidays, everyone.