Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Had some excitement this morning.  Our gardeners were here, finished and then left.  As always, I kept my dogs in during.  I let Sadie and Foster out after the gardeners left.  About ten minutes later, I let my older dog out. 

Immediately, I knew something was wrong as I had no visual and couldn’t hear Sadie or Foster.  I went to check the gate.  With a sinking heart, I saw it was open….

At his old home, Foster was a bolter, meaning, given the chance, he’d break away and not come back.  Aware, I began training Foster to undo that habit from the moment he arrived.  His training consisted of me never letting Foster get too far ahead while off leash before I’d call him back, showering him with tons of love and praise upon his return.  Above all, acceptance is what he craved.  Now was the moment of truth to determine if that training would work.

Stepping onto the driveway, I called Sadie and Foster’s names.  A second later, both came bounding out of a raised planter about ten feet away, thrilled to see me!  I could’ve cried I was so relieved. 

Over the weekend, an acquaintance, who’d endured a similar situation, didn’t have such a happy ending.  Like me, two of her three dogs—mother and puppy—had gotten out a number of days earlier.  The puppy was reclaimed soon after, while the mother remained at large.  Posters were mounted in the hopes someone had found the beloved pet.  Eight days passed with no word.  Then, on the ninth day, the woman received a call from Caltrans, the company that oversees the maintenance of our freeways here in California.  They’d just picked up her dog’s body.  Sadly, the dog had been hit and killed by a car. 

Visions of my acquaintance’s reaction played through my mind.  My heart ached for her loss as I hugged Sadie and Foster close, grateful to have been spared that sorrow.