The saga of my little, four-legged friend has taken so many twists and turns since last Sunday’s post. So many people have asked for a follow-up and although I’ve told the tale a few times, I promised that I would blog it out…just to get it off my chest.<\/p>\n
Before I trudge through the sordid details, let me start by saying that the dog – who’s given name, I learned, is Paris – is back home, with her “real” mom. Little Paris’ journey was not a smooth one, not by any<\/span> stretch of the imagination. But as that saying goes, all’s well that ends well…even after you’ve thought evil thoughts about the person with whom you’re trying to reunite a beloved pooch. I added that last part in.<\/p>\n So, the second half of the story picks up last Monday morning when I took the dog to not one, but two<\/span>, nearby animal clinics to get her scanned for this infamous chip. Much to my dismay, there was no chip to be scanned. My heart sank when both of the pet nurses (is that what they’re called?) ran the scanner across her back and neck, without the “beep” I’d been praying for.<\/p>\n Maybe it’s just me, but I found that everyone at both clinics was so sweet, almost nicer than the front desk personnel at my doctor’s office. As I stated previously, people love dogs in this town, so everyone, including the doggie parents sitting in the waiting room, was oohing & ahhing when I shared the story of finding the dog on the street. I left my name and number with both vets in the hopes that someone might inquire about their missing dog. By now, I’d given up on the signs that I’d posted because at this point, we were three days in. Where were the dog’s parents?<\/span><\/p>\n Let me back up for a few. In the days that the dog – who I didn’t name, but referred to, ever so kindly, as “c-mon, c-mon” – was in my care, she was a joy, except for the few accidents she had on my floor. I did give her credit for making her mistakes on the hard wood in the living and not the carpet in my bedroom. She’d been sleeping on her little, floor pillow between bouts of sitting up under me on my bed. She seemed to enjoy her morning and late afternoon walks and danced in circles whenever she heard me pour her food into her “bowl,” which was actually one of my empty tofu containers. And no matter how many times I insisted that she sit in the passenger seat while riding in the whip, she continued to inch her way into my lap until she found a comfortable position, adjacent to the breeze coming from the window. I even cracked up laughing one night when she snapped up a carrot stick that I’d dropped and dashed into my bedroom where she discovered that it was, well…just a carrot. Dogs can really be quite hilarious.<\/p>\n My heart got softer every time I looked down at her, yet I knew that I couldn’t keep the dog. I’d been replaying the whole vet scenario in my head on Monday afternoon when my phone rang around 3pm. I didn’t recognize the number. When I picked up, I heard a woman’s voice. She sounded excited that I’d answered and I thought, Finally, the call!<\/span> But after a few seconds, I realized that this was a concerned dog lover on the other line, not this dog’s owner. The woman – let’s call her “Dale” – had a sister who lives in my neighborhood and had visited the first vet that I’d taken the dog to. When the receptionist shared with her my story, she passed my number on to Dale, who, in turn, called me to say that she would be more than happy to make a home for the dog. She, too, had a poodle and had been looking to add another to her brood.<\/p>\n I was happy to have such an offer on the table, but I was still determined to exhaust my options to return the dog to her rightful owner. After we hung up, I posted my first-ever ad on craigslist.com, filed it under “pets,” and crossed my fingers. I actually got two responses from people hoping that I’d found their dog, but still nothing from the real owner. Monday ticked by, then Tuesday, and I felt as though I’d made no progress. I really didn’t know what to do. Dale’s offer was seeming more and more appealing, so much so that when she called again, I told her that I’d still not heard anything and if she wanted to add to her family, the dog was hers for the taking. She came by at 1:30pm Wednesday afternoon.<\/p>\n As we stood outside, talking and playing with the dog, I started to get a little misty. I was holding onto the leash when it hit me that I was actually going to miss the dog. After a half-hour chat, during which time, Dale and I exchanged contact information and made a pact to return the dog if “the call” ever came, I handed over the leash, patted the poodle on the head and waved as they pulled off in the opposite direction. I really thought I’d done a good thing.<\/p>\n The second my phone rang, five hours later, I knew. Again, it was a phone number that I didn’t recognize, but this time, it was the call that I’d been waiting for. I was relieved, but also anxious about refiguring the details. When I tried to explain the situation, the woman – let’s call her “Eve” – said, “I can’t believe you gave away my dog. It would have been better if you’d just taken her to the pound.”<\/p>\n Wow. Really? I would never take a dog to the pound. I’ve been to the pound before and I wouldn’t leave my worst enemy there. Aside from the fact that the animals look sick, unloved and sad in the eyes, I always think that they are going to be put to sleep, no matter what the staff tells you. That’s just my opinion. But then again, I’m also someone who would make sure that any pet of mine would either be chipped or at the very least, have on a tag. Had I really picked this dog off the street, cared for it for almost a week and tried to help her get back home, only to be on the receiving end of some attitude? I was shocked and amazed, but instead of cursing out the ingrate on my phone, I gave her Dale’s number so they could work out the details.<\/p>\n After a few minutes, I was about to burst. So, I called Eve back. I wanted her to know the real-deal and proceeded to walk her through every, single detail of what happened with her dog. She was silent when I told her about watching her dog walk across the street at 10pm. She was silent when I shared with her the lengths I’d gone to try to return her dog. When I repeated, three times, “Please get your dog chipped,” she finally spoke up. She told me that her son had let the dog out on Friday, in error, but didn’t fess up until Sunday. Huh? She also told me that she should have listened when one of her co-workers suggested that she look on craigslist. She told me that the dog’s name was Paris and then she finally spoke the two words I thought I deserved to hear – “Thank you.” Was that so hard?<\/p>\n So, how did Eve find me, you wonder? Well, she was putting up signs in her neighborhood when a man stopped her to say that there had been a woman walking around with a poodle and posting signs. Ironically, that man was someone who I’d stopped to speak with when I was making my rounds. In fact, I’d put a sign on the tree right in front of his house, which he pointed out to her. I wonder if she thanked him?<\/span><\/p>\n On Thursday, a much more grateful-sounding Eve called and left me a message to thank me again and to say that Paris was happy and settling back into her old life. She said that she wanted to meet me and also, give me the opportunity to really say good-bye Paris. I called her back and we made a tentative date for Sunday morning. She said she would be around all weekend, so anytime time was good. In Eve’s defense, I did call her an hour after I’d promised. I was exhausted after hanging out on Saturday night, but when I woke up, I called and left her a message stating that my early afternoon and early evening were open for our meet-and-greet. That was on Sunday. It’s now Tuesday morning and I haven’t heard back. I’m not sure if I ever will, but that’s OK.<\/p>\n Little Miss Paris taught me a very valuable lesson. Sometimes, it’s just about doing the right thing, simply because it’s the right thing to do. Period. Although I was initially shocked by Eve’s response to the whole situation, none of that really matters at this point. At the end of the day, the dog made it home, safely, and that was my sole mission when I picked her up off of the street on that Friday night. My work is done.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The saga of my little, four-legged friend has taken so many twists and turns since last Sunday’s post. So many people have asked for a follow-up and although I’ve told the tale a few times, I promised that I would blog it out…just to get it off my chest. Before I trudge through the sordid… Read More »a pooch named paris.<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":2663,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"neve_meta_sidebar":"","neve_meta_container":"","neve_meta_enable_content_width":"","neve_meta_content_width":0,"neve_meta_title_alignment":"","neve_meta_author_avatar":"","neve_post_elements_order":"","neve_meta_disable_header":"","neve_meta_disable_footer":"","neve_meta_disable_title":"","_ti_tpc_template_sync":false,"_ti_tpc_template_id":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/reginarobertson.com\/rrrsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1645"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/reginarobertson.com\/rrrsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/reginarobertson.com\/rrrsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/reginarobertson.com\/rrrsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/reginarobertson.com\/rrrsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1645"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/reginarobertson.com\/rrrsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1645\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2664,"href":"https:\/\/reginarobertson.com\/rrrsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1645\/revisions\/2664"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/reginarobertson.com\/rrrsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2663"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/reginarobertson.com\/rrrsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1645"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/reginarobertson.com\/rrrsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1645"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/reginarobertson.com\/rrrsite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1645"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}