Happy Tails Books Guest Post: Counting Noses (dog lovers tale
June 01, 2011 • Trends • Rescue •
Each month I’ve been given the privilege of entertaining you with a story from Happy Tails Books wonderful Lost Souls: FOUND! series about adopted dogs and cats. I kept trying to write an introduction to this story, but anything I say would be a spoiler. Just read it to the end, already! You’ll be happy you did.
When you have five dogs, you do a lot of counting noses. You do it when dispensing medicines, special meals and the like, especially with rescues. At any given meal, I could be heard muttering to myself, “One, two, three, four, and five,” as I parceled out the goods. At the time, Harry, my Basset Hound, was suffering with glaucoma (the breed is susceptible to this painful eye condition), and he alone received 21 drops, pills, and salves each day in our attempt to save his eyesight.
On this particular day, I came rushing in the door later than planned to feed the evening meal. Truly, it wasn’t that late, but they wear watches and know when it’s feeding time. The horses were whinnying, and the pups were howling. So still in suit and heels, I doled out dinner (each of the five ate something different, so I had to put each meal in the right spot). I uttered my traditional, “One, two, three, four, and five,” even though there was a great deal of canine craziness rushing around me.
Alpha dog Winston, a rescue Basset/Beagle mix, decided to lecture me on my tardiness. Winston took his job as alpha dog seriously. He, too, counted noses, (canine, equine, and homo sapien), barking at offenders who snuck into the wrong eating area or attempted to grab a bite out of someone else’s dinner. If I hadn’t been late, I might have picked up sooner on the fact that my counting wasn’t doing the trick. Somehow, on a recount I found, “One, two, three, four, five, and six.”
Huh. I distinctly remember counting and thinking to myself, “I think we have an extra tail tonight,” but then dismissing the notion. I knew I hadn’t adopted anyone recently, and with my airtight security, escapees or break-ins were nonexistent.
I finished feeding the dogs, changed quickly to hand out medications, and then raced off to feed the horses. Once again, I had this nagging sense that my count for the night was off, but I kept telling myself, “Don’t be silly. You have five dogs, not six.”
Winston kept keening and dogging me as if I was missing an all-too-important message. If only I had listened better and sooner!
An hour later, after the horses were fed and the dogs medicated, Winston marched into my home office. He seemed quite indignant and howed up a storm. Okay, I thought. Something was bugging my elder statesman; something that seemed to be more important than just the fact that I was late. It was time to figure out what.
Winston and I went marching off to the doggie room, which is specially equipped with doggie beds, water, and even a lounging chair and ottoman for canine comfort, to determine the cause of the ruckus. “One, two, three, four, and five,” I muttered before stopping dead in my tracks. There were six dogs in the room, and the newcomer was a dead ringer for Winston!
I looked back and forth between Winston and the visitor and was shocked at their mirror images. When I sat down to check out the new guy, I noticed he had no collar, but he was in very fine condition and as friendly as could be. My “kids” all acted as if this pup had been with them all their lives; their acceptance of him appeared instantaneous and complete. I was stunned. Where did he come from? More importantly, how did he get into my pad locked, completely fenced-in back yard?
I knew we had to find his family, so I immediately called the local humane society and posted him to various websites designed to help reunite dogs and their families. I also called the local emergency vet clinic, as harried and upset families often turn to vets to report their missing dogs.
After exhausting my resources to try and find his family, all I could do was wait. This dog, whom I decided to name Bogart, seemed thrilled with his new digs, and his three brothers and two sisters seemed quite pleased to have a new member of the family. Even so, I just knew someone would call for him soon. Someone had to be looking for this beautiful dog. Although I live in an equestrian community, there are freeways to the east, major thoroughfares to the north, and large home developments to the south and west. His family had to be near, as he couldn’t have come from too far away.
Nearly a month passed since the mysterious arrival of Bogart—Number Six—and I still hadn’t heard from anyone looking for him. I checked and rechecked the locks on the gates and walked all the fences, but I still could not figure out how he got into our back yard. None of my neighbors knew anything about him, and no one called. Bogart was just fine, but I was certain his family was missing him terribly, and that made me feel bad.
Then the call came! A gal from a neighborhood five miles away called to say a friend had been running and stumbled onto Bogart’s now weather-beaten and mangled poster. Bogart would have had to cross two major intersections to get to my part of town from where this woman lived, with cars, trucks, and buses zipping by, so I held out little hope that she was his mom. Even so, I invited her to come see him and gave her directions to my home.
Like usual, when I opened the front door to greet the woman, Winston marched out to check her out. The woman ran up the walk way upon seeing him and yelled, “Oh, it’s Rusty!” I started to explain, but then she, too, realized Winston was not hers. Simultaneously, Bogart (really Rusty) heard his mom and began woofing up a storm before flying out the front door. Rusty and Mom had found each other! We laughed excitedly over how much our two “boys” looked alike before Rusty headed home with his mom.
I was happy the two were reunited but still left to ponder how he got into our yard in the first place. A few days later, when a neighbor returned from a month-long trip, I had my answer. Upon seeing Winston and me picking up the mail, she waived and said, “Glad to see Winston with you.”
I thought the comment was a bit odd, but at the moment it didn’t register. Later that day, the neighbor called. She said that right before she left town, she found “Winston” pawing at the gate to get inside. She knew my pups are never allowed out without leashes and human escorts, so she grabbed my hidden key, opened the gate, and let “Winston” back in. She was just wondering how he had escaped. I laughed and told her the story, that the “Winston” she saw pawing to get in was actually “Rusty” the runaway, who had traversed over five miles to pay us a visit. She couldn’t believe that Winston and Rusty could look so much alike!
The moral of this story is twofold. First, when counting tails, double check by counting noses! It’s a surefire system to readily uncover any “visitors.” And second, when your dog wants to tell you something, LISTEN!
Jeanette Harrison
