He walked in saying, "Umm…I found a dog." As he walked around the corner, sure enough, in his arms, facing out toward us, was the cutest little Ewok face. It was a cute scene. Brevin had his other arm under the pooch's bum.
The pup was cold, and it smelled bad.
We knew, because of our dog, that this one couldn't stay the night at our house. I had seen a similar pup in the neighborhood that an older gentleman walks around frequently. I thought this must be his, so #4 and I set out down the steps at about 9:30 heading toward where we thought the man lived.
The dog, however, had other ideas. No matter how much we pleaded or attempted to direct, the pup went the opposite direction, lifting its leg on everything that didn't move.
Our block is rather large and hilly all around. The man's house we were looking for is simply across the street and down the way just a bit. That would be the easy way. C'mon, dog!
Nope. He would have nothing to do with it. We rounded the corner and headed up a hill….trailing the dog as we went. #4 didn't dare pick it up again because it would nip at him and growl--it had turned into a mean mop on legs. I'm not sure how he got it into his arms at the beginning of this adventure. Poor thing must have been desperate.
After following to the top of the hill, as we headed down the other side, #4 started tapping his foot at the dog. I asked, "What are you doing?" #4's response: "Well, it doesn't answer to anything else. I'm wondering if the old man's taught it Morse code. I just said, 'S.O.S.'"
It's dark. It's cold…..And here's my son cracking jokes.
The pooch leads us up the same street almost to the end. I'm thinking it will lead us around a corner and then another, and then we'll be near his house. C'mon, dog!
Nope. The dog turns around and starts heading back up the hill. WHAT?!
I am SO done with this little knee biter…..I'm ready to leave. He's attempting to pee on every bush and tree, and I have no patience for this. It's cold. I just want to get home.
I start to walk away telling #4 that we have a neighborhood group on the Internet. I'll post something there.
#4 heads back in the dog's direction. "I'm sorry, Mom. I can't just leave him out here in the cold. Poor little guy." He heads back up the hill and disappears into the darkness on the opposite side of the street. First, emerging out of the shadows comes the little white hair ball, shortly thereafter comes my boy.
It's at this moment when I begin to realize what I'm raising. I also realize that this has nothing to do with me (clearly….I'm ready to hit the road), but here's a boy who has almost been bitten three times during his act of kindness, his hand smells like dog food, he's cold, but he's ready to stand by this little beast's side and make sure it gets home safely.
And people criticize women for having more than the socially correct 2.1 children…..
I tell #4 that when the dog goes up on someone's porch, we'll knock on that door to see if he's found his owner.
He wanders around for awhile….I'm well down the street by this time. I'm heading for home, but #4's holding back watching the dog's every move. Sure enough, within a couple minutes, the dog climbs the stairs to the porch. #4 hollers out to me at what the dog's done.
"Go knock on the door," I direct him.
"Come with me?" He hollers back.
I return to the house knowing that this can't be this dog's house. He belongs to the tall, white-haired man down the street. We're going to be out here for a LONG time, and these people are going to be mad that we are knocking on their door at 10:00 at night, but all the lights are on, so it's not like we'll be waking anybody, so we go for it.
He climbs the stairs, opens the storm door, and knocks. The little dog, tail noticeably wagging under all that hair, looks back at us. His little way of thanking us, I guess.
A man with a long, dark beard and a green stocking cap opens the door. He looks down at the dog and as #4 attempts to spit out the question, "Is this your dog?" opens the door and the dog disappears inside. The man utters a "Thanks," and the door shuts.
As we go to return home, just as we're rounding the corner, #4 grabs a handful of kibble out of his pocket, "Here."
"Uh uh! You can take care of that yourself."
"Ooh. My hands stink like dog food…..Can you believe he didn't even know Morse code, Mom? Dumb dog."