This past Sunday morning we hosted a small brunch for a group of friends. While prepping the delicious dishes we would be enjoying, I noticed two dogs sniffing around in our front yard.
And thankfully this time, they weren’t our dogs out there unbeknownst to us.
At first, I thought they were our drunk neighbor’s dogs who he lets roam the hood to poop in other people’s yards. If the neighbors complain, he comes over and picks up his dog’s “deposit” and claims he didn’t know they were out. Which we all know is a lie, but because we don’t want the drunk a-hole in our yard and he desperately wants to get back to his V-Dub bus with his cooler (not kidding, he sits in the back of it and drinks – we don’t live in a hood, but I see where it sound like we do…) we all pretend that it’s true. Upon closer inspection, these dogs were wearing collars, something our drunk neighbor doesn’t find to be important. So I walked out front with a treat to see if either one of the dogs would come to me.
The Chow mix instantly took off, but the Black Lab came right to me. Her tag said her name was Phoebe and she instantly assumed the “gopher” position – sitting down but with her paws in the air – and absolutely adorable. So I called the number on her tag and left a message for the owner that she was with us and her friend was most likely close by. You see, Bear T. Dog got out of our yard several years ago and was found on a semi busy road by a very sweet woman who coaxed him into her car right after witnessing him almost being run over. So in an effort to repay the cosmos for the favor of returning the sweet and “uses-his-brain-for-evil-rather-than-good” Bear, I tied Phoebe to our bench out front and gave her some water. I was assuming that her owners would be calling any minute frantic that their dog(s) were gone.
An hour passed. Another hour passed and still nothing. We had friends over for brunch and still no call. All the while Phoebe sat on our bench, laid in the shade, barked at passers-by and lapped up her water.
Until her collar broke.
Peter went in from the back patio where we were having brunch to check on the napping kiddo and found that her very old plastic collar snap had broken and Phoebe was nowhere to be found. I called the number from her tag again and still, no answer.
So now in an effort to do a good deed, I’ve not only not found this dog’s owner, but I’ve let her run back out into the wild with no collar. Awesome.
The strangest part is that the owner has still never returned my voicemail. In an effort to keep myself from imagining horrible scenarios and crying myself to sleep while clutching Bear under one arm and Travis under the other, I’ve decided that both dogs have found their way home and the owner chalked the voicemail up to a drunk dial.
Bear says: “What is this ‘uses-his-brain-for-evil-rather-than-good’ business?!? Oh, and do you think you could bother to get me a haircut?? I’m starting to get dreds in my beard. And stop feeding random dogs my treats, damn it.”