A Canine Rescue Operation

Yesterday, Aug. 1, as I was returning home from my latest (and typically unsuccessful) attempt to be less fat, I noticed a lone, shaggy-looking creature wandering unattended through a neighbor's yard and urinating all over various vertical objects. My first thought was, "Gosh, Russell Brand has really let himself go," but then I realized it was a dog -- along and unaided in the harsh climes of South Texas.

I parked at home and walked over to the little guy, looking around visibly for any sign of an owner, but there was none. I started to ponder how I might capture him, but the next thing I knew the dog trotted right up to me and practically threw himself into my arms. Although he was a bit unkempt, this was enough to convince me he had an owner somewhere and most likely was not abandoned either. He had a bright blue collar, but it had no tags. I hoisted him under one arm and started to knock on nearby doors, especially ones with visible holes in their backyard fences, but I had no luck locating the owner.

It became clear I was going to have to host the wayward pooch for a little while, so I took him home and introduced him to our backyard. With Mrs. Pad's help, I was able to get a decent picture of him in order to start printing "Found" posters throughout the neighborhood.

Since it was supposed to hit 100 degrees or better that day, we decided to bring him indoors. He was remarkably well-behaved, so we figured his owner either was already or would be looking for him soon. While Chuckie stuck his nose in the stranger's face trying to discern whether he was a threat to him being the Center of the Universe, we printed up a few posters and Mrs. Pad walked them down to the communal mailboxes. Our temporary house guest gave Mr. Chuckie a couple of "get away from me, you lunatic dog" growls for good measure.

After what must have been only a couple of hours, we heard someone calling loudly from the road. Mrs. Pad intercepted them and, sure enough, it was the owner's daughter who had missed her furry companion.

It turns out the gate to their backyard got open somehow and Rufus escaped for a little unsupervised Saturday stroll. We never did ask what breed of dog he was, but Rufus is a service dog for owners who suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), so we're especially glad to have detained him and avoided any unhappy endings. Although he has tags like any good dog, they had been prone to falling off his collar.

So, as the Gaffer would say, "All's Well As Ends Better!"

Padhric
Master of Toons