Amy: Protector of Neighborhood Dogs

I helped another wandering doggie find its way home this afternoon. A few months ago I looked out my window and saw a lovely Boxer wandering through my front yard. I went outside, hoped it wasn't a vicious killer Boxer, and walked it home. I wasn't overly impressed with that one's owner, she seemed unconcerned that her dog was wandering around the neighborhood. (This was the same person who was unconcerned by the fact that her young, brain-not-yet-formed-enough-to-fully-comprehend-cause-and-effect toddler was teetering at the top of the staircase while we were talking. They make baby gates for a reason, people!)

Today's dog in need of a little help finding his way back home happens to live next door, named Clinton. Clinton is a very large black lab...I recognized him by his buffalo-sized head. Also by the fact that he has not been *cough* "altered," another characteristic of his that qualifies as "buffalo-sized."

I was on my way to the grocery store and noticed this large, black lab crossing Peterson, the busiest street in my area. I dread crossing it whenever June and I walk to the park. Clinton, on the other hand, wasn't nervous in the least about crossing a very scary street, and at a rather ambling pace. He was panting heavily and, judging from the lack of direction and purpose in his walk, knew he was lost. Worried about him wandering aimlessly over and around a busy street, I stopped my car (on a quiet side street) and slowly approached him. He barked at me. This was not overly surprising, he's very protective. He was lost, confused...if our positions and intellects were reversed, I would probably have words for someone approaching me as well. As a result, I was not really into putting my hands near his mouth to check his collar. Just in case it wasn't Clinton.

Knowing I couldn't walk him home (he was not as interested in being friends as the Boxer was), I did the next best thing and drove back home myself, leaving him there to hopefully not wander much farther. I knocked on my neighbor's door, explained that I really don't want her to think I'm crazy but was Clinton home? Clinton was not.

Shortly after I got back home from the grocery store, there was a knock on my door. It was my neighbor, thanking me for letting her know that he was off on an explore. He had been pretty disoriented when she found him sniffing around between strange houses. When he saw their car he refused to get in through any door but the driver's, while she was sitting in it. He stayed just about that close to her for the (thankfully, I'm sure) short ride home.

See, there is a point to my being hyper aware of what dogs live where! I'm particularly aware of the new baby Brussels Griffon living at the house we looked at in the neighborhood before buying this one. He's adorable. If ever he were to wander through my front yard, I have a feeling I would be so captivated by his cuteness that I would forget where he lives and bring him inside. To keep him safe until I remember where he lives, of course. No intent to just keep him forever and name him Benny. Or Paco.