I was aiming to get out the door peacefully, but they flanked me and were off to the races. Actually, they were the races. Stopping at every house with a dog along the way- to start a barking spree, my two dogs were on the run again.
I had a bill to pay or a utility would be cut off. I had to get on the road. The day was cold and rainy. I pulled out all the stops. Yelling their names and clapping. Hollering about promised treats. Bringing out meat that I hoped they were close enough to smell. But, nothing worked, and I had to get going. I locked the door. “Fine,” I thought, “this will teach them a lesson about running off.” They were never gone more than fifteen minutes anyway. My errand shouldn’t take that long. I searched for them the whole way to City Hall. Dashing up and back down the hill of steps wasn’t preferential in a mask when you were pudgy, but bill paid- check. Now, home to the doggies. Except, there were no dogs or even signs of dogs.
I could hear dogs barking at a distance. I had to climb a ski slope of a hill to get to them. Halfway up I came three-quarters down and hurt my leg. So much for that stunt. I hobbled home and one word hit my already queasy with worrying body: FACEBOOK. Surely someone had seen them. I even had good, recent photos.
I jumped on Facebook and posted pictures and where they were last seen. The platform asked me if I wanted to tie it to community help. I did that, too. Nothing. Back and forth on my knees to God. Nothing. Phone calls. Nothing. Yelling for them. Nothing. Bringing out meat. Nothing. I was heartbroken. I knew that they would come back if they could. Someone had them, and, with my list of enemies rivaling Batman’s, I had an idea who but wasn’t sure. I knew I would never see their sweet faces again.
I sat down sobbing and wrote the following letter on Facebook.-
To whom it may concern:
Please, treat them well so well that they forget about me. Join me in prayer for them every night to ensure their good health and hardiness and joy. They both have seizures and nightmares from past owners. Simply place a hand on their back, softly say their names, and tell them it’s okay. They know sit and stay. Little One (the Staffy) almost has lay down and roll over. They will do these for a treat. Please, don’t make them bait dogs; it would kill their beautiful spirits. Honor them and they will honor you. I don’t know why you did this to them or me, but you broke up a family today. Please, tell them that Mommy will see them on the other side of the rainbow bridge. Hold them, let them run, keep them safe, warm, and their bellies full.
Suddenly, it hit me. Maybe they couldn’t hear me and needed some help and encouragement getting home. But, where was the highest flat surface nearby? THE CHURCH! MY CHURCH!! I jumped in the car and was in the church parking lot in less than a minute. I scrambled out. Seeing the countryside was rather daunting and depressing, but I yelled their names as loudly and long as I could and clapped my bat wings to limper noodles. Nothing.
I returned home, and, leaving the door ajar just in case, I slumped onto the loveseat and began a soft cry. I picked up a cigarette, which I rarely do anymore, and lit it. Then, I heard myself say, “Don’t look at me like that it’s been a daunting day.” Wait. What? I was talking to one of the dogs! Where’s your sister? Then, she came rolling in. Hugs and kisses abounded! I announced on Facebook that they were safe and home. For their punishment, they had to watch me enjoy a wonderful Joel O’Steen sermon. I thanked God a gazillion times for bringing my sweeties home.