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Mohawk Valley Girl, Canine Rescuer

So there I was, not many ideas of what to write a blog post about and feeling rather poopy in general, so I decided to take Tabby for a walk. I thought at least it would improve my disposition; walking usually does, especially with Tabby. And I might be able to write a blog post about it. The walk itself was fairly uneventful, till the very end.

Just to set the scene, it was about 4 p.m., the sun soon to go down, the sky white-grey, the air cool. It wasn’t as cold as this morning, luckily, because there was not much wind. It had been warm earlier, so some of the snow had melted to gushy mush on the streets and sidewalk. Wet had seeped in through my sneakers. After a while I felt light, feathery precipitation on my face.

As we were getting back to our house, we saw a little brown and white dog running down the street. He had a collar but no leash and no person in sight. Oh dear! I called to him but got no response. What to do? Call dog control? Do I have their number? Call the cops and ask for dog control’s number? The dog started running down the middle of the street. This was not good.

I put Tabby in the house, pausing to wipe her paws (in case she’d picked up some rock salt on our walk; can’t be too careful), grabbed a few treats, and went back out to find the little guy. He was way down the street. Two cars came along but luckily didn’t hit him. He started back towards me then turned down Church Street. I ran to the corner and after him, being careful not to slip on the slush and land on my tush (hey, that rhymed).

The dog was at least half a block ahead of me. I slowed to a walk so as not to scare him. I tried calling to him and holding out a treat. He was having none of it. He turned down Prospect. I was gaining on him, alternating running and walking as indeed he was. At last I caught up, but he did not seem interested in the treat. I persisted, talking nicely to him and hoping he would decide to like me.

A fellow on a bicycle across the street called to me that there was a car coming up behind me. I couldn’t be bothered with cars. That car could just hit the brakes, couldn’t he? But one can’t count on cars doing these things for cute little dogs. The situation was desperate. I scooped up the pooch. He was not happy about it. I hoped he wouldn’t bite me.

“Help!” I called. “It’s not my dog,” I explained. “He was running down the street and I didn’t want him to get run over. Now I’m scaring him to death!”

The bicycle fellow’s house was nearby. He called me over and went to the door and asked someone inside for a phone. I could feel the poor dog’s heart beating. I didn’t know what to do. Bike guy said he would take the dog in but was afraid his dogs would not like it. I didn’t think I could carry doggy all the way home with him being so upset. Finally I asked could I borrow a leash just to get him home.

“I can bring it back later,” I said. He said why didn’t he just follow me home and get it. Good idea.

The dog was OK once he was on the leash. He trotted along nicely, stopping to sniff things as dogs like to do. As we walked up Bellinger, my new friend said, “We may have found his owner.” A lady at the end of the street seemed to be calling for a dog. He rode ahead to see. It was our lost friend’s person!

“Oh, thank God!” I said as she hurried down the street to scoop him up.

“He got off his leash,” she said. “I’ve had him fifteen years! Thank you!” she added to both of us.

“We’re dog rescuers,” I said to the bicycle guy, handing him his leash. “Thank you!”

We wished each other a Merry Christmas as went our separate ways. Tabby was happy to see me, if a little confused. I realized I was silly running off on my own for a rescue. If I had brought Tabby, that dog probably would have come right to us. After all, boy dogs usually want Tabby to be their girlfriend.

So that was my adventure, complete with happy ending.

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