Coco

The night of the missing dogs
Heather B Armstrong
8/19/2010

It all started when we received our second water bill for this house, one that had more than quadrupled in amount than the bill before it. Meaning we were spending more on water than a monthly payment on an Italian sports car. Maybe this was Jon's mid-life crisis? And instead of losing it and running out and buying a convertible Porsche he freaked out one day, stood in the back yard, and sprayed the trees with water for twenty hours straight. Would that not be the cutest mid-life crisis ever?

Now, I'm taking way more baths than I ever have in my life, but it's not like I'm filling a swimming pool every time I do it. So I know my cleanliness is not to blame for this ridiculous jump in the amount of our water bill. The only explanation is that we've got leaks or some other major issue going on with our sprinkler system. ISN'T THAT FUN. SO FUN. Welcome, sprinkler system, to our collection of home owner nightmares! Sprinkler system, meet our troubled boiler! Here's our twenty-five-year-old roof that is falling off in chunks! Sorry, you missed the dehydrated cat that was living in our attic, but here are all our broken gutters! Oh, and a retaining wall that threatens to crush the garage!

Who in their right mind would buy a house like this, right? Let's just put it this way: have you seen my bathtub? Fifteen minutes in that thing is like four shots of bourbon, and suddenly everything is fine and next thing you know you're drunk dialing friends and slurring YOU ARE SO NICE, I LIKE YOU.

So we called out The Sprinkler People, and sure enough, several spots were just shooting gallons of water into the air every time they were turned on. Did I actually just write that sentence? Oh my god, I did. I'm not going to edit it because the thirteen-year-old boy in me is begging me to elaborate.

A few hours later and things were mostly fixed, and all that was going on while we were upstairs shooting video footage for the office remodel. In fact, they finished their work just as we were playing back the video and realized that Jon had plugged the microphone mixer into the wrong hole.

(Thirteen-year-old boy snicker)

(Sixty-eight-year-old father eye roll)

Meaning the microphone I had been wearing hadn't been working the entire time. Meaning he wanted to reshoot the entire thing. Meaning my face turned an angry shade of red, and I said through gritted teeth, "You know that appointment you're supposed to make with our marriage counselor? HERE'S THE PHONE."

Right then my niece came bounding up the stairs. It was her last day with us since she starts school next week, and I thought she was coming to say goodbye. So I stood up to hug her, and she was all, dude. Gross.

And then she mumbled something, I couldn't make it out, followed by, "We can't find Coco."

What?

"Yeah, someone left the gate open, and we can't find her anywhere."

Since I have lived through The Missing Dog Scenario more than is fair to a single human being, the script started running through my head involuntarily: I AM GOING TO FIND HER DEAD BODY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD. I WILL NEVER GET OVER THIS. I WILL NEVER GET OVER THIS. I WILL NEVER GET OVER THIS.

It all happened so fast, but I remember ripping the microphone off of my chest, running down two flights of stairs and out the front door in my bare feet while screaming COCO! COCO! COCO! And while still in my bare feet I ran a block down the street to the major avenue that circles by our neighborhood, a giant lump in my throat growing in anticipation of what I might find. Where is her limp dead body? Where is her limp dead body?

I know this is morbid, but that's exactly where my brain goes every time we can't find one of the dogs. Maybe because that's how my brother's dog died, maybe because I know so many people who have lost their dogs to cars. And suddenly my head is spinning with scenarios in my brain like, how am I going to wake up tomorrow morning knowing she's dead? How will I bring myself to put her body in the car and drive her to the vet? How am I going to tell everyone on the Internet who has grown to love her like I do? Despite her poop-eating, barking at leaves, non-stop licking everything ways?

Luckily I didn't find anything on that road, so I ran back up to the house, shoved on a pair of flip-flops and grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen. We've trained the dogs to come running to the sound of pills rattling around in a bottle, and I thought I'd drive around shaking the bottle out the window while calling her name. Jon would stay at the house in case she suddenly showed up. That was the longest car ride of my life, next to being in labor on the way to the hospital. And I know I must have looked completely insane, my head reaching as far out the window as I could stretch it, a bottle of pain meds in my hand, screaming COCO! COCO! COCO!

I imagined a horrified mother playing with her daughter in her driveway saying, "No, sweetie. That's not some new ice cream truck. Hurry inside and hide."

I circled and circled the neighborhood: nothing. Again: nothing. Again: nothing. That's when I started bawling. This is a new neighborhood. She wouldn't know her way home. What if she tried to run to the old house? I decided I'd drive over to our old neighborhood, but I wanted to touch base with Jon first. As I turned up our street, Jon was standing in the front of our house waving madly at me. That's when the lump in my throat sunk and hit my heart. I wanted to stop the car right there and never move another inch.

I know this seems ridiculous to people who don't have pets. It's just a dog, right? And even though I have kids and know the difference between the love for kids and the love for pets, that difference in no way diminishes the love for pets. We have raised this dog, fed her, treated her when ill, improved her behavior, taken her outside in the middle of the night because that's what was required. Yes, she is a total shit, but I love her shittiness. She wouldn't be Coco if she wasn't a shit.

Turns out she came running home from up the street, prompted by nothing, perhaps unable to find poop to eat in someone else's yard and remembering all the poop in ours.

And this is where the line between having pets and having kids starts to blur, because when they come home you have to act very happy about it even though your impulse is to call them names and yell hurtful obscenities. DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU PUT ME THROUGH, YOU SHIT.

I parked that car so fast, ran inside the house, and actually sat on the floor so that she could lick my face with the same mouth she uses to eat all that poop, that is how much I love that dog.

However, that's another ten years off of my life.

And then later that night Chuck wouldn't come when called from the back yard. Usual behavior, except this went on and on, and then on and on, and finally Coco had to drag us up to the hole in the fence where he had escaped into the neighbor's yard. ISN'T THAT FUN. SO FUN. Welcome, broken fence! Meet the sprinkler system! We've got a boiler who is dying to meet you!

Source: http://www.dooce.com/2010/08/19/night-missing-dogs

Leo, a Maltese

December 26, 2008
Dog-gone heartwarming Christmas tale
Jody Purdom Special to the Sun

Local resident Joe Hebel had been looking for a family to adopt for the Christmas holidays when one practically fell in his lap. It happened when one of Hebel’s beloved dogs went missing. Across town and days later, the Lansang family found little Leo and gave him back. Now it’s Hebel’s turn to give back to the family that helped save the day.

Hebel, a dog lover, lives behind Pharmaca, in a house just off Third Street West with three dogs – two of his own and one he watches for his mother, who is undergoing treatment for stage-three breast cancer. The dogs are Sam, his mother’s 12-year-old Maltese mix, Baci, a tiny one-year-old Shitzsu, and Leo, an adorable white Maltese who is six. It was Leo who got lost.

After getting ready for work one morning, Hebel opened his kitchen door and put the dogs in the garage. Little did he know that the big, outside garage door had accidentally been left open. When he went outside to get in his car he realized what had happened and, looking for the dogs he found that one, little Leo, was gone.

“I couldn’t believe that one of my dogs was missing,” said Hebel. “Being single, my dogs are like family to me. I immediately called into work and stayed home to begin searching.”

Hebel searched all day for his lost dog with the help of neighbors and friends. Unfortunately, the night before, he had taken off Leo’s collar to groom him and forgotten to put it back on. “Without his collar, there would be no way for someone to know where he lived,” said Hebel. “He is microchipped but that only works if someone finds him and takes him to the police station or Pets Lifeline. I was really worried.”

Friday quickly dragged into Saturday as Hebel put signs up along West Napa Street and throughout his neighborhood. Soon, his anxiety turned to fear that he might never see Leo again. But what Hebel didn’t know was that Leo was safe and sound with another local family who had found him.Lucena Lansang found Leo cold, dirty and looking for help at the other end of West Napa. The little dog had travelled almost the entire length in a very short span of time. She picked him up, took him home and she and her family took care of him until they could find his owner.

Lansang lives with her husband, Amador and four children in a tiny house on Riverside Drive. Three of the children, Amador Jr., Crystal, and Apol, attend Sonoma Valley High School. Another son, Angel, is just five. The family took the little dog in, kept him well fed, gave him a t-shirt to wear and even let him sleep in bed with them. But it wasn’t until Sunday that Luz was able to walk back to West Napa Street to see if there were any signs seeking a lost dog. It was then she found Hebel’s number and made the call.

“I was just ecstatic,” said Hebel. “It had been the worst 48 hours of my life and to get that call changed everything.”

Now reunited with Leo, Hebel has rewarded the family for their efforts. “I was more than happy to pay them the reward money,” said Hebel. “Luz worked really hard to take care of Leo and then to walk all the way back to look for the signs. They deserve to be recognized for all that they’ve done.”

To that end, Hebel has taken the family under his wing bringing them Christmas gifts and necessary household items. Among the presents, a bright red “big boy” bike for Angel, and a new mattress for the girls, Crystal and Apol, for the bed they share.

“This is a wonderful family,” said Hebel. “The father, Amador, works hard to support all of them with his job at Gramma’s Pizza. They have no car, no health insurance. This is the season of giving and it’s the least I can do for a family that works so hard at everything.”

Source: http://3hmm.com/thesun/?p=5968

Dog Lost Inside a Neighbor's House

An email by Stephen Benson Farrell,
submitted by Beth Massey to IndyWeek.com

Shelter from the storm

Hi folks! Some of you may remember me saying today how the storm hit really close to my house last night and the thunder blew open our front door. Well, I had a surprise waiting for me when I got home ...

I got out of my car, grabbed the mail and looked through it to see someone's missing dog poster ...

I opened my door, sat down my books and began my daily routine of obsessing over things to do ...

I walked over to my coffee table to set down the mail, and casually glanced around the room; everything was in place, the TV was off, the room was fairly clean (for us anyway), the cats were conspicuously absent, the fish tanks were humming away, and the black and white pitbull/hound mix was sitting terrified in the corner ...

WHAT THE ... ?

I jumped back, nearly killed myself on the coffee table, and probably made the dog want to soil my carpet!

He was the exact match of the dog in the missing animal poster. His family lost him three days ago, and he had been adopted from an animal shelter after an abused past.

When his Dad got there to pick him up, he went from huddled in the corner shaking to wagging like he'd shake the house down.

It was wonderful seeing him reunited with his family. The fellow offered me a reward but I couldn't take it. I still remember the terror of my cat being lost for a month when I was young.

What really strikes me as funny is that this poor dog had sat there huddled in the corner most of last night and all of this morning unnoticed while Barbara and I got dressed, kissed our goodbyes and shuffle-stepped our lazy-butt and sleepy-eyed selves out the door to work and school. We didn't notice a thing!

And by the way, for anyone wondering, the cats are fine, all present and accounted for!

Click for a larger view of the published email

Source: http://www.indyweek.com/gyrobase/Content?oid=oid%3A262348

Wendy, a mutt

Dog Gone: A Liquor Store Dog Gets in a Snootful of Trouble
By Gene Weingarten
April 8, 2005

This is a true story about the recent misadventures of Wendy, a liquor-store dog. "Liquor-store dog" is not an AKC recognized breed; Wendy hangs out all day at Hayden's, my neighborhood liquor store. She belongs to Tom, the store manager.

(Actually, no one would mistake Wendy for a purebred. She is comically two-toned, with a completely black-velvet snoot and a completely blond body, as though a black dog had been held by the nose, Achilles'-heel style, and dipped into a vat of peroxide.)

Wendy's best dog buddy is Ophelia, who lives nearby. My theory is that Wendy likes hanging around Ophelia for the benefit of physical comparison — the way Lucy Ricardo liked hanging around Ethel Mertz, if you get my drift. Ophelia appears to be a cross between a hyena and a wildebeest.

Wendy and Ophelia are personable dogs, and everyone loves them. So it became a neighborhood crisis when word spread that Wendy was missing. She had been in Ophelia's house on a sort of play date; unexpectedly, someone opened the front door, and Wendy pondered her options.

Option One: Remain in the house and in the custody of people who love you and provide you a comfortable, stimulating life, nourished in body and mind by ample food and exciting adventures.

Option Two: Bolt for the street and run like a lunatic, becoming a homeless cur in subfreezing temperatures in an inhospitable city where you will die of exposure and/or starvation in teeth-chattering agony, or, if you are lucky, get squashed by a car into dog goo.

Wendy was gone in an instant, of course.

(I am not making fun of Wendy's brain. Wendy has a fine brain, for a dog. She is, for example, vastly more intelligent than Augie, a collie I once owned. One day, my wife went into a store, leaving Augie tied up by a leash to a metal garbage can. When my wife came back out, Augie and the garbage can were ... gone. My wife tracked Augie rather easily by following a trail of people doubled over in laughter at the sight of a collie, racing in mortal terror, loudly pursued by a garbage can.)

Once it became clear that Wendy was good and lost, Tom and his wife Sarah leapt into action. Sarah is a take-charge type — a practical woman, a CPA, a rational, prudent, chief-financial-officer, executive-boss type. Sarah telephoned a pet psychic in California. (Have you ever lost a dog? I didn't think so. Let's cut Sarah some slack here.)

The psychic — a renowned expert in "interspecies telepathy," according to her Web site — offered many observations, for a fee of $60. They didn't check out. At this point, Sarah knew she had to take some additional, serious action. So she called another West Coast pet psychic. This one was named "Hilary Renaissance." (Does anyone happen to have any extra slack? My inventory seems to be running short.)

Thus, Sarah and Tom learned many more vital facts about where Wendy might be, all of which, for some reason, proved wrong. By this time, more than a week of cold weather had passed. Dozens of posters had been hung, some in full color and the size of a large-screen TV. A battalion of Concerned Liquor Store Patrons had combed the neighborhood. Nothing.

Deep in their hearts, Tom and Sarah understood how bleak things looked. They sensed what they had to do. Sometimes you have to just Let Go.

So they decided to let go of an additional $1,800. They phoned a pet detective in Georgia.

Carl Washington, professional pet detective, hopped in his truck with his two tracking dogs — a toy poodle named CoCo and a Jack Russell terrier named Rocky — and drove through the night to Washington. (I met Carl the day he arrived. He dresses like Indiana Jones. He talks like Sgt. Joe Friday. When on a job, he sleeps in his truck. He is one serious, studly pet-tracking dude with two little sissydogs.)

Carl worked tirelessly, but he didn't make the difference. Two weeks to the day after Wendy disappeared, a Good Samaritan phoned Sarah to say he'd spotted a dog matching Wendy's description on a golf course 25 blocks from where she had vanished. Tom and Sarah raced to the scene, commandeered two golf carts and roared past startled duffers, calling Wendy's name, until they came to a wooded area from which Wendy emerged, skinny but fine.

Wendy approached them in that slap-happy, semi-apologetic dog-who-has-done-something-wrong manner, where the tail is wagging but the dog appears to be simultaneously attempting to wipe the floor with its butt. Wendy seemed to be saying, "Hi. WhattookyousolongI'msorryIloveyouDoyouhaveanyfood?"

The next day, I brought Wendy a welcome-back present of three dog biscuits and a dried pig ear, tied up with a ribbon and bow. She ate the bow, too.

Source: http://www.jewishworldreview.com/0405/weingarten040805.php3
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