I don’t mean to keep going on and on about my dog (really, one post about a dog on a blog with the word “cats” in the title should be enough, right?) but she is much on my mind lately. Mostly because it’s a little lonely being the only one in the house barking anymore, but also because she is coming home today.
And so, this post is an ode to the dog who is afraid of almost everything. Everything except death.
She’s eluded it a number of times here at home when something has frightened her enough to make her run away and she’s been lost over night. And sure, we’ve got coyotes and hawks and other hungry predators wandering around these parts. Not to mention the cars. Lots and lots of cars.
But does this dog
look like she could survive in this?
|(No, my parents don’t live in Antarctica.
But, seriously, it’s cold in No. Utah!)
or fight off this?
Because one of those has been spotted behind my mom and dad’s house where, presumably, Lola ran to escape the fireworks. Apparently that is a lot less frightening to a small dog than loud noises followed by pretty colors in the sky.
I mean, sure Lola’s got those frightening alien eyes. But that’s only in this picture. And, as is also evidenced in the picture, she wears scarves.
You know what’s not intimidating to predators?
She wasn’t wearing one at the time of her sojourn in the wilderness, but I think predators know instinctively when they’ve come across accessory wearing prey. I imagine had Lola met the Big Bad Wolf (I’m assuming she didn’t since she’s still alive) and been wearing her scarf, the conversation would have gone something like this:
B.B. Wolf (eyeing Lola menacingly): I like your scarf.
Lola (answering a bit nervously): Thanks. I got it at the groomers.
B.B. Wolf: Hmm. You know where I get my scarves?
Lola (feeling a little more at ease): No. Where?
B.B. Wolf: From little dogs who get groomed.
Lola (not so at ease anymore, she slowly starts inching away): Oh.
B.B. Wolf: Know where I get my dinner?
Lola shakes head no.
B.B. Wolf: Same place.
I’ve tried to imagine other conversations Lola could have had with some kinder, more herbivore than carnivore, sort of forest animals who may have helped her find the way home. But she’s not so good with her own species, so I can’t imagine she’s any better with other animal groups. I’m guessing she spent most of her time running and hiding rather than chatting up any squirrels or magpies.
And, in fact, she didn’t make her way home. Instead a neighbor of my parents found her and, knowing there were three sad, dogless, little girls in California, determined to rescue her. So he called her name. Which, naturally, made her run. (She has a healthy respect for stranger danger, that one). His next step was to hop on a bicycle and chase her. And chase her.
And chase her (she may be little, but she’s fast).
When that didn’t work, he got in his truck and continued to chase her. Up a mountain (which is easier to do in a truck than on a bicycle). Until he finally got close enough to throw a piece of canvas over her and capture her. He topped off her new canvas ensemble with his own hat (more to keep her from biting him than as an accessory) and Lola was rescued!
The best part is, this neighbor went to all that work to save a semi-loved pet for someone he doesn’t even know. I may have met him before, but I can’t remember. I imagine he looks something like this, though:
Or maybe even this:
Then, not to be outshone by one neighbor’s neighborliness, some other neighbors came over to help nurse Lola, who looked like this:
|this is her matted, cockleburr fur
|so tramatized, she’s lost the eerie shine to her eyes
They were also kind enough to help bathe her and give her a much needed haircut. With sheep shears. (Work with what you’ve got, right?) I don’t have a picture of these neighbors either, but they look a little like this:
And you may remember them from here
The final piece in Lola’s Incredible Journey is Melinda, who looked like this the last time I saw her (and went by Mindy):
Which is a LOT better than what I looked like twenty years ago, but you get the point. It’s been a while. Yet she has volunteered to bring my dumb dog back to me all the way from Utah to California. I can only assume she’s undertaken such a task for one of the following reasons:
A. She remembers me being much nicer than I actually was, lo those many years ago.
B. She likes to roadtrip with dogs and doesn’t have one (nor has she met mine).
C. She really wants to get out of Utah.
I’m pretty sure it’s that last one.
And so the lesson learned this week from Lola the Dog (affectionately known as Dummy) is this:
It takes a villages both far and near for me to not only raise my kids, but also my dog.