It has been our Summer of Other People’s Dogs. You may remember our visit from Luna, our babysitting for Chloe the husky puppy and our visit from Bugsy, trash can headbanger. One day recently our neighbor, Clueless Lady, dropped by with her dog, Oregano, and asked if he could hang out with my dogs for 20 minutes or so while she took a shower. He ended up in the house with us. And on my travels last week, I developed a close relationship with will smama’s dear Wrigley, who tried to come home with me, and was well-liked by at least one out of two greyhounds while visiting Childhood Friend. So perhaps our experience this morning should come as no surprise.
Pure Luck and I loaded Molly and Sam into the back of the Volvo and headed out for the dog park. As we turned onto Busy Avenue, we noticed a little Corgi taking herself for a walk. I pulled over immediately. Pure Luck got out and she stopped for petting while he looked for a tag. There were no tags to be seen, just a pink collar with a human pejorative/animal descriptor printed over and over, ringing her neck. Contrary to the collar art, she seemed a pleasant little girl. We put her in the car and began knocking on the doors of our neighbors with dogs who live on the block she seemed to be leaving behind on her trek. Molly and Sam gave her a mildly interested sniff. Corgi decided the front seat was a better place to sit and settled in by Pure Luck’s feet. (Don’t worry. I was driving.)
A clergyman friend who lives on that street was home enjoying his last Sunday of vacation and pointed us to a new neighbor who has a Corgi, although he thought this was not the right one. But as it turned out, she was! She had slipped out a broken back door, and the family had been on the hunt for her.
I think they said her name was Attilla, again, just not fitting as far as we could tell.
I have a morbid fear of losing track of our dogs. Molly is so friendly. We sometimes think she would go off with anyone. More than once she has made a break for it, only to go up on the first porch she finds and make herself at home. Sam got out the back gate once, when he was still very young. There was snow on the ground, and we know from the tracks that he went straight to the front door. Now that he is older, he would bark, but that big puppy waited quietly on the steps until we noticed he was gone.
I ran away from home once, when I was 4 or 5. I don’t remember leaving the house, but I do remember where I ended up: on my godmother’s front porch. She lived two doors down from a very busy street, on the other side of which was my church. I think church was my original destination, but I was afraid of that street and tried to hide between my godmother’s storm door and her front door.
Sometimes we run away out of fear; sometimes we run away for a break from the stresses of life; sometimes we run away because we see an opportunity and wonder what we will find around the corner.
I wonder where Little Corgi thought she was going?