The Escape Artist

So, about Tolie the dog.

When we agreed to watch said dog for two weeks while the owners were out of the country, we were informed, "You cannot trust this dog off leash." Tolie is a known runner. Bruce first found Tolie at his school in Tacoma, Tolie's original owner was found in KENT. That damn dog made it all the way from Kent to Tacoma. The last time he escaped their house he was picked up by the grain elevator at the docks. This dog can move.

So it was the second day. The dogs and I were in the back yard. I'm reading a book (shocking) and the dogs are pursuing doggish entertainment, sniffing, peeing, and fetching. The pool is filling.

Suddenly, a scraping noise. Like the gate door moving across concrete. I turn in my chair. Tolie is sniffing in the driveway.

Shit, damn dog is out. "Tolie, come here."

Tolie turns his head, then runs. The wrong direction.

Shit. I run after him. Down the driveway. Down two blocks. Across two more. He keeps getting farther and farther ahead of me, although he's still in my sights. Freya ran after me and I'm not sure where she is. I only assume Danica is still in the yard because she's the best dog ever except she wants me to throw the fucking ball all the time. As Tolie reaches 12th street and oncoming traffic, I realize that he's coming nowhere near me. I need the car. Shit.

I race back to the house, luckily Freya was waiting on the corner and runs home with me. I turn off the hose, lock up the dogs, jump in the car and start driving. I call my magnificent husband in hysterics and he arranges to meet me.

We spend the next two hours driving, walking, talking to neighbors. Kevin finds a few people who have seen him running around. We go to the Humane Society. I can't stop crying. How am I going to tell my friends that I lost their dog, their baby? On the second day. I feel helpless. I feel like a fucking idiot. They're out of the country, we don't have housekeys so we can't check any messages left at their home phone. We don't know if he's microchipped or licensed. If he is at the pound, we won't be able to get him out because we aren't the owners. And I'm going to be fucking pissed if I have to pay to ADOPT the dog that escaped.

On our way home from the pound, Kevin suggests swinging by Bruce's house in Fircreast, maybe he ran there? Just before we turn that direction, I say "Let's head home, maybe he ran back that way. We're close, it's worth a look." Turning down a boring sidestreet, our eyes are peeled for the off chance, the miracle, the answer to our pleading prayers, that this damn dog will show up.

And there Tolie is. Tied up in a strangers yard. Looking at us to say, "There you are! What a great afternoon I've had! And how are you both doing?"

Kevin and I both hug the elderly woman who answered the door. Seems Tolie was playing in her yard and tormenting old cats. Like me, she's a sucker for a stray dog. The postman got his hands on the dog, and this blessed woman secured him in her yard. After leaving a message, she planned to take him to the Humane Society soon. I'm not sure what I was more grateful for; finding Tolie or NOT having to tell our friends I lost their dog.

But I can't think of the number of stray dogs I've put in my car, driven around North Tacoma, made phone calls, walked home, taken to the pound. My heart weeps at every lost dog I see. So here's my payback from God, the return of my good karma. Tolie was found.

Now that his owners are home, I can share my little adventure online. Most reading might already know. But Kevin was afraid they'd read this on vacation (as if they had nothing better to do in Monaco than read my blog). Because I'm such an obedient wife when it suits me, I agreed.

Damn dog. I already miss him.