CASEY'S BIG ADVENTURE

“Mugs was always sorry, Mother said, when he bit someone, but we could never understand how she figured this out. He didn’t act sorry.” This James Thurber observation is my favorite of all time with the possible exception of this one from Jean Kerr: “Now the thing about having a baby – and I can’t be the first person to have noticed this – is that thereafter you have it.” But this column is about a lost dog, not parenthood, except that the lost dog in question belongs to my daughter and her family and that we (Pete and I) rescued her. Unfortunately, it was not in time to prevent her from having a rap sheet complete with mug shot. This is not my first rodeo with a delinquent dog. During the 13 Bandit years (aggressive Aussie) we were gifted with three – count them – THREE – drop-ins from the local cops. The subject was biting. Once she bit a baseball coach on our front porch who was trying to deliver a cabbage. Once she bit a kid playing flashlight tag in our backyard. And then there was the time she took a nip out of a cyclist’s leg and he and the baby in the carrier seat, sprawled on the ground. Oh, and once Bandit bit our eight-year-old son on the head. After each incident we (Pete) decreed we were going to send her back to the breeder. But other (I won’t say cooler) heads prevailed. Okay, so this is the story of the recent rescue. Pete and I were sitting in a doc’s office (a common location for us these days) when our daughter (I’ll call her Emily for the sake of the story) called to announce that her eleven-year-old lab mix, Casey, had run away. To tell the truth, while I was worried about Casey, I didn’t mind postponing the opportunity to schedule a colonoscopy which is my least favorite medical event, including childbirth. As I wheeled out of the doc’s parking lot my husband said, “when there’s someplace you want to go you’re like a teamster) and headed for the neighborhood around Emily’s home. It’s a planned community full of townhouses and good Samaritans so I figured someone had already rescued Casey and I was right. We found the rescuer PDQ and jetted off to pick up the scofflaw at the animal shelter down by the dump. After about forty-five minutes of red tape this very nice young man produced Casey who flew past us toward the door. Outside she raced for the car so fast I was flying behind her in the breeze. Needless to say, Casey learned her lesson about leaving the backyard. But then, she’s a smart doggie. Several years ago when our golden retriever, Lucy, got out of the house I walked/drove around the local streets asking folks if they’d seen a golden that looked like an Irish setter. One neighbor laughed. “Yeah. She ran by here about twenty minutes ago,” she said. “If it’s any consolation to you, she looked really happy.” I don’t want a reward for the rescue but I have decided to take it as a sign that I don’t need a colonoscopy this year. Or ever. Feel free to call me in the spring about your lost dogs.