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The doggone blues
By LENNIE BENNETT © St. Petersburg Times, published May 9, 2001
This is the probable scenario of his departure: He is alone in the house, sitting at his usual perch on the living room window sill. A dog passes and George barks. He jumps down to reconnoiter the interloper's progress, first through the kitchen window, then out to the sun room where French doors look onto the back yard. The doors are locked, but on a good day, if they are not pulled shut just so, George can sometimes push them open. This is a good day for George, and soon he is on the brick patio. The wind blows the doors shut. George does not care. His territorial imperative takes him to the gate, where he barks again. He manages to wiggle through and in five minutes he is on the sidewalk, a free dog. I am pretty certain that was the sequence of events because it has happened before. Always, I or a kind neighbor quickly took him to heel. But the streets were empty that Saturday night. George must have felt wonderful with the wind at his back and no leash to restrain him. My son arrives home about 9:45 p.m. and sees that George is gone. He calls me at the Salvador Dali Museum, where I am attending a party. I come home and together we traverse the neighborhood in ever-widening circles. For some reason, I think of the last line of a John Updike novel: Ah, run. I can hardly breathe. Our neighbors, Tom and Rosemary, are walking their new Jack Russell terrier and come over. Tom gets in his truck to continue the search. My son strokes my shoulder tentatively. "It's going to be all right," he says. * * * A Pembroke Welsh corgi was never part of my plan. I wanted a pound dog. About four years ago, my daughter and I went to a pet store to buy bird seed and the corgi was there, growing out of the cute puppy phase and his crate. He had been marked down several times. I, who never do anything spontaneously, said, I'll take him. Even with the discounts, he was so expensive I had to charge him on my credit card. The staff called him George and so did we. Someone once observed that corgis are the dogs most like cats. It is true. They are playful and loving but also stubborn and willful. They want to please you but, perhaps even more, themselves. They are smart and observant. They have a sense of otherness from their masters that most dogs do not. People have said to me: He's like one of your children. No, he is not. I love George about as much as a person can love an animal, but I have never once mistaken that feeling for the profound love I have for my children. Still, that night, standing on the sidewalk barefoot, in evening clothes, howling, I was caught off-guard by the depth of my bereavement. It's a dog, I told myself. It's just a dog. * * * Losing a pet is a traumatic experience. Losing one on a Saturday night, I was soon to learn, is a disaster. No one to call, nothing to do but continue an aimless search. At 5 a.m. Sunday, I finally conceded any chance of sleeping and rose with new purpose. Today I will find George, I decided. When he disappeared, George was wearing a collar with a current Pinellas County license. Surely, I think, the people who found him have called in his tag number. I telephone the Lost Pet Hotline of Animal Services Department of Pinellas County and get a recorded message. The shelter is closed until Monday morning at 9 a.m. The SPCA doesn't open Sunday until noon. But I am armed with resolve and walk, then drive, around Snell Isle, where we live. My son's theory is that a neighbor saw him wandering and picked him up. I don't believe it because George is well known in our neighborhood, and a neighbor would have called or left a note at the house. At this point I am hopeful someone found him and is out with George looking for me. No luck. Complicating the situation, the St. Anthony's Triathlon is this day and police are beginning to block off all the roads in and out of my area. At 8:30 a.m., my daughter arrives home from a sleepover. I tearfully tell her what happened. She makes a "Dog Missing" sign on her computer, to which we affix a photo. I drive to the grocery store and make copies. I start crying. The bag boy looks nervous. A police officer on Brightwaters Boulevard tries to bar me from driving to my house. He notes my don't-mess-with-me look and waves me through. With hammer, nails and missing dog signs, I again walk the neighborhood, dodging runners. The day passes slowly with no word of George. I begin to imagine terrible scenarios. He was hit by a car and lies injured under a bush. Worse, he was hit by a car and the evil driver has thrown his body into the bay . . . maybe while George was still alive. I watch the runners through the window where George usually sits. I think: One of them saw him during a practice run and kidnapped him. Probably a sadistic animal hater who will chain him outside and feed him only dry dog food. I start crying, again. I call the Animal Emergency Hospital. They do not have George. Okay, that's good news. I eat an entire pint of Mazzaro's lemon gelato while in a fetal position on my bed. Both children come in several times during the night to assure me that George is fine. I do not sleep. * * * On Monday morning, they are relieved to be able to go to school, probably the first time they have ever felt that way. I go to the office. I have a social column to write. I remember that at about the time George got loose, I was attending a fundraiser for the SPCA. The irony is laughable. Instead, I cry. Several co-workers express concern. When I snuffle through my story, not one of them is dismissive or acts as if I'm crazy. I call Animal Services at 9 a.m. They tell me that they cannot identify animals over the phone. I head for the agency. Pinellas County Animal Services sits on several acres in a wooded area of Largo. The facility is only 5 years old. It is bright and clean, and the staff is helpful. I fill out paperwork and am led to the holding areas. I walk down row after row of crates containing lost dogs. It is a mournful experience. So I cry. I go through three large rooms full of dogs, then am taken to a fourth. "These are the biters," the woman says. "George is not a biter," I say, but I look anyway. "Come back at 4," she says. "That's when we get our first shipments of the day in." Next stop is the SPCA. Same sad procedure. No George. I return to the office, where I fill out paperwork for a classified ad at the first floor counter. Of course, I cry. My editor, on the third floor, is alerted that one of his reporters is having an episode in the lobby. He comes down and tries to be comforting. At this point the waterworks will not shut off because I know George is gone for good. He suggests I go home for the day. The column can wait. Fishermen are out along Coffeepot Boulevard. I stop and ask them, one by one, if they fished Saturday night. "No, senora," they all say. I trudge into my house and find a message waiting on the telephone: "Mrs. Bennett, this is Kippy McCall and we have your dog." I cry. * * * The McCalls live about a mile away. I race over, my heart overflowing with love for George. When Mrs. McCall opens her front door, I am squatting, ready to receive my dog into my arms. I am sure he will look gaunt and tired from our 36-hour separation. I remind myself to apologize for his mopey behavior. George comes to me, his oversized ears flattened like airplane wings as they always are in moments of excitement. He is clearly glad to see me. But he looks fine. Great, in fact. The McCalls' two young children come in and sit with me on the floor. They have a Welsh corgi puppy. They tell me about my dog's time with them. George, it seems, has been having spa days with a new play group that adores him. "He's a wonderful dog," Mrs. McCall says. She explains how they found him. She and her husband, John, were on their way to a movie when George ran across Brightwaters Boulevard. They almost hit him and thought for a heart-stopping moment he was their corgi. They opened their car door and George jumped in. (The faithless canine, I think.) They drove around thinking someone might be looking for him. They took him to their beautiful waterfront home until they could call Animal Services to find his owner. George quickly acclimated himself to the new lifestyle. "We keep our dog in a crate," Mrs. McCall says. "But your dog just jumped up on our bed and made himself at home, so he slept with us both nights." (He's been sleeping, I think. Good for him.) "He really likes to play, too," their daughter Kinsey says. "He follows my husband everywhere," Mrs. McCall says. At this point, I'm hoping he will get in the car with me. He does and actually seems glad to be back. My kids give him some contraband treats. Tom, our neighbor, comes over with a roll of galvanized poultry netting and crafts a barrier across the back gate that George will never be able to crash. Friends from work and the neighborhood call, relieved. One brings ice cream; George gets a lick. I am exhausted. George and I sprawl on the sofa and sleep. * * * I called Animal Services several days later and spoke with Greg Andrews, operations manager. He said that more than 19,000 cats and dogs were impounded at the center last year. They hold them for as long as they can, minimally one month. "If we have the space," he said, "we continue to try to find them a home." They also work with other agencies such as the SPCA to place animals. Less than half of the animals were reclaimed or adopted. About 12,000 animals were euthanized in 2000. A county license and a rabies vaccination are required by law of all pet owners, "and the tag is still the best way to find a lost pet," he said. "If they have one, we will contact the owner on the next working day." You can acquire both at the center for $5 each. This is Pet Week, with vaccinations discounted to $1. The agency has more specials on cat adoptions in June and dog adoptions in August. Animal Services publishes a book for pet owners and has a Web site, http://www.co.pinellas.fl.us/bcc/anmlsv.htm. Andrews said owners of lost pets should also always call the SPCA, Save Our Strays, Friends of Strays and the Humane Society of North Pinellas County. And if you find a lost pet, he said, use good judgment, but take it in, temporarily, if you can. The county receives 900 animal complaint calls a day and cannot always respond quickly. You may buy a lost-animal ad in the St. Petersburg Times, but beware of scams, Andrews said, such as people who demand a reward. The Times lists found animals for free. * * * Our lives have returned to normal. I have gotten George a second tag for his collar with our phone number on it. George has an appointment for a microchip implant (about $30) so he can be identified even if his tag comes off. I believe myself to be a very fortunate person. I have a new sense of the world's being a good place inhabited by kind and generous people. And I have decided to try to be a little more like George, who has shown me the value of taking happiness where you find it.
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