Cute Little Dog

One Lucky Pup
Fox and Bunny and Woodpecker Stew

I started running to and from my pilates classes this week. It’s not far, just under a mile and a half each way. I figure it helps me get the most bang for my caloric buck. Or something.

So I’m running there today (ok fine, jogging and clutching all my shit in my hands, gasping for breath like a wild boar) and there’s this cute little dog rummaging through a pile of what my dad would term “lawn mulch” on the side of the road. You know, big clippings from around someone’s house — palm fronds, tree branches, that kind of stuff. He was so engrossed I didn’t think he even noticed me, and I would have stopped to check his tag and return him home (surely one of the few houses nearby) had I not been late to class.

So I’m huffing along and he sprints after me, gleefully galloping along beside me the rest of the way there. The problem is, he’s young — I don’t know, maybe one or two? — and rocketing through traffic without so much as batting an eye, all while beaming at me. And I’m running through the hood, not on busy streets, but still. Drivers have to slow or swerve or stop, and all give me these withering death stares like how could you be such a bad pet owner. But I’m late, and huffing, and opt not to defend myself to annoyed strangers.

So we finally get there, after running into someone I haven’t seen since high school (go figure), and the parking lot is full of people coming and going from different workouts. So of course everyone is cooing over him and there’s all sorts of confusion as to whether or not he’s mine or if someone else saw him come from another direction, blah blah blah, I had to tell my story like sixteen times. And of course the pup is ECSTATIC to be getting so much attention.

Turns out the gym is directly next door to a vet. Who knew? Not I, that’s for sure. So some woman mentions that little tidbit and takes it upon herself to take him there for safekeeping. After pilates (which, by the way, I HIGHLY discourage anyone from wearing running shorts to pilates — you know the kind that slit all the way up the sides and have the mesh underwear-esque lining? — yeah well the whole legs in the air and spilts and such make for a horrifying hour during which EVERYONE thinks you’re wearing ridiculous floozie pants and parading your grannie panties for all to see — they’re RUNNING SHORTS, I swear!), I seek out the woman and ask her what the deal is.

The pup was imbeded with one of those chips (yay!) and the vet was able to track down the owner, who promptly said the dog ran away weeks ago and that he didn’t want it back (how’s THAT for pet owner FAIL?). So the woman was going to take it home and see if she could find a good home for it (the alternative being it would be shipped to the glue factory, aka pound); I gave her my name and number and figured I was just about to make my mom’s YEAR by granting her the dog that we’ve denied her for decades.

So I’m running home, getting more and more excited about this dog surprise for my mom, and wondering what she’ll call it. The cat’s name is “Ziggy Stardust” (think Bowie), which is about the worst name you could possibly come up with for an animal. (Hence we call him The Pick. WAY better.) And I’m all up in my thoughts and not paying attention to the world (a nifty little trick you learn in high school cross country to distract yourself as you’re running so many wretched miles) and some random dude sort of half pulls over to the side of the road (while blocking as many cars as possible) and starts talking to me through his window. And I’m all “whaaa?” Enter scratching noise as you yank a needle across a playing record.

I make him properly pull over and guess what he’s looking for? His dog! And before I even ask him to describe it I’m all beside myself and “yes I’ve seen it, I know exactly where it is, let’s get you your dog!!!!” And then reality sets in and I’m like uhh, maybe you should describe your dog. Small, black, white feet and belly, short hair, blue handkerchief around his neck — yup, that’s him. So I hop in and direct him to the gym/vet and the two of them jumped all over each other. That dude was CRAZY happy to see his dog. And the pup took the opportunity to scratch up my poor legs some more.

So the back story, to fill in the blanks, is that this guy found the dog at a gas station a few weeks ago and adopted him. Hence he had no idea who the owner was, and had never thought to have the dog checked if he had a chip in him. (Uh, isn’t that the point to the chip? You mean there are lost dogs and people aren’t bothering to take them to vets to CHECK?!) Anyway. So the original owner doesn’t want him, and the newly adoptive owner is stoked to have him back. Pun will never miss the dog she almost had. (And if you can believe it I told her the story like a giddy little school girl and she was all “eh.” Eh? EH?!? That’s the last time I almost bring you a pup home lady.)

But seriously — how weird is it that both the dog AND the owner found me?? I mean, really. If that guy hadn’t asked, he never would have seen his dog again. That’s some seriously nutso shit. And me? I am PUMPED about the karma headed my way.

Source: http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/not+like+that+you+sickos