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captainsblogThe middle of my day did not go as expected.
After yesterday's full-day blast of noveling, I added a chapter-ish chunk to the manuscript, vowed to dictate more on the drive to Rochester at around the noon hour, cranked out some pre-departure work-work, and said g'bye to the Beloved moments before she had to leave right before 11. I took my usual route to the local office, where I had to drop off some things and pick up possibly others, but as I drove down my preferred Sheridan-to-Main side street a block from the office (all residential except for one building at each end, huge set-backs, "radar enforced" and they mean it), I experienced a sudden case of canis interruptus:
He was leashed, but with nobody on the other end of the leash, wandering between these two major state highways on a side street that gets far faster cut-through traffic than I (knowing where the speed trap is) ever dare to proceed. I had to stop and make sure he was okay, and he was. He let me pet, he let me investigate his collars, he let me curse when I realized the one collar had a ring for a name tag but no tag resided on it.
That meant going door to door, and, ultimately, fail to fail. Despite the abundance of WELCOME FRIENDS mats and flags and signs, not a human soul was around at this 11-ish hour. Plenty of other dogs, though, from the sound of them larger and meaner. He batted not a cute little eyelash as we encountered a few on their sides of doors. Then we saw a woman walking three of her own back where I'd come from- a medium size wire terrier and a couple of yippy-dogs (as we Lab mix owners call them)- and my sweet new friend went ape when he saw the three of them. Eventually we confirmed that he wasn't hers, nor did she know whose he was.
In time, another neighbor came along, thinking he might belong to someone way back toward Sheridan, and he joined us in my car. That turned out to be Walkie Dog Lady, who still had no clues, but finally someone suggested the Last House on the Left on the Main Street end.
It had cars in the driveway, with paw-print decals on the cars. Good sign. Before I even got him out of the back, a car pulled in and honked.
Did you find a dog?
I let him out. "You mean this one?"
She seemed relieved- him, maybe, a little less so.
Oh, Duffers, you silly dog. She was 70ish, I'm guessing, and she said he got away from her, although I'm not sure where.
She thanked me, and I mentioned the missing tag on the present collar and tag ring. You really should get one for him if he's prone to getting out.
"Oh," she replied. "I have one of those for him. I guess I should put it on his collar, huh."
YA THINK?
Please. Do this for me. Check your furry friends and be sure they have tags, the names and numbers are visible and correct. I say this as one who's been letting Tasha go commando for several weeks. No more.
After yesterday's full-day blast of noveling, I added a chapter-ish chunk to the manuscript, vowed to dictate more on the drive to Rochester at around the noon hour, cranked out some pre-departure work-work, and said g'bye to the Beloved moments before she had to leave right before 11. I took my usual route to the local office, where I had to drop off some things and pick up possibly others, but as I drove down my preferred Sheridan-to-Main side street a block from the office (all residential except for one building at each end, huge set-backs, "radar enforced" and they mean it), I experienced a sudden case of canis interruptus:
He was leashed, but with nobody on the other end of the leash, wandering between these two major state highways on a side street that gets far faster cut-through traffic than I (knowing where the speed trap is) ever dare to proceed. I had to stop and make sure he was okay, and he was. He let me pet, he let me investigate his collars, he let me curse when I realized the one collar had a ring for a name tag but no tag resided on it.
That meant going door to door, and, ultimately, fail to fail. Despite the abundance of WELCOME FRIENDS mats and flags and signs, not a human soul was around at this 11-ish hour. Plenty of other dogs, though, from the sound of them larger and meaner. He batted not a cute little eyelash as we encountered a few on their sides of doors. Then we saw a woman walking three of her own back where I'd come from- a medium size wire terrier and a couple of yippy-dogs (as we Lab mix owners call them)- and my sweet new friend went ape when he saw the three of them. Eventually we confirmed that he wasn't hers, nor did she know whose he was.
In time, another neighbor came along, thinking he might belong to someone way back toward Sheridan, and he joined us in my car. That turned out to be Walkie Dog Lady, who still had no clues, but finally someone suggested the Last House on the Left on the Main Street end.
It had cars in the driveway, with paw-print decals on the cars. Good sign. Before I even got him out of the back, a car pulled in and honked.
Did you find a dog?
I let him out. "You mean this one?"
She seemed relieved- him, maybe, a little less so.
Oh, Duffers, you silly dog. She was 70ish, I'm guessing, and she said he got away from her, although I'm not sure where.
She thanked me, and I mentioned the missing tag on the present collar and tag ring. You really should get one for him if he's prone to getting out.
"Oh," she replied. "I have one of those for him. I guess I should put it on his collar, huh."
YA THINK?
Please. Do this for me. Check your furry friends and be sure they have tags, the names and numbers are visible and correct. I say this as one who's been letting Tasha go commando for several weeks. No more.
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Date: 2012-11-28 04:53 am (UTC)