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The beginning of the saga: the night before Thanksgiving we find an older dog, clearly of the mostly in door variety, lost in the alleyway behind our house. He has no tags and is clearly very cold and disoriented. We take him in for a couple of days while we canvass the neighborhood and take him to the vet to check for a nonexistent chip. We start looking for no kill shelters, file reports with the Humane Society and Animal Control, and check with the local vet and pet food shop. No missing dogs of his description.
Meantime, some of our wonderful and amiable friends who volunteer for Small Dog Rescue (http://www.petfinder.com/shelters/MN99.html) take him in for fostering. They take him to the vet, get him some needed dental care and have a chip implanted over the next 3.5 weeks. The dog makes friends with their animals and is generally a joy to be around so all is good.
Then Friday night, one of our neighbors stops by to mention that she saw a flyer a few blocks away for what might be the dog we found. Now since we don't live in a neighborhood where middle-aged purebred Pekingese named "Rocky" (we were calling him 'Butterball,' as he is quite round and golden, our friends were calling him 'Pugsley' and he answers to all of them) with breeder's tattoos (hidden by fur when we found him) and occasional seizures roam the streets, we figure it's safe to assume it's the same dog. We chat for a bit, get the phone number from the flyer and pass it on to our friends who are housing the dog.
They attempt to take it from there and wacky hijinks ensue. Small Dog Rescue wanted to be reimbursed for their expenses, not unreasonably seeing as they were not insignificant. Then the fun begins.
In the midst of a small dinner party with friends, I get a call summoning me to the doggy exchange because these folks have shown up with the husband: a. drunk (with a baby in tow, no less) and b. highly belligerent. They proceed to accuse my friends of stealing the dog and trying to extort money from them. Then they want to know why my friends won't take a check.
I show up and fix them with a steely eye while recapping the events of the dog rescue. By this point, I'm holding the very heavy little dog since I'm the only one considered neutral enough to not run off with a nearly 20 lb. Peke (my tendinitis is killing me this morning). On the bright side, the dog is quite happy to see them and clearly knows them. I point out that they're damned lucky to be getting the dog back at all under the circumstances. They respond by bursting into tears and there is much wailing and apologizing and drama. Eventually, expenses are reimbursed, 'Rocky' goes home with his people and the rest of us return to our regularly scheduled programming, if somewhat the worse for the wear.
Here's to less fun and games for the rest of the holiday 'season'! Urgh.
Meantime, some of our wonderful and amiable friends who volunteer for Small Dog Rescue (http://www.petfinder.com/shelters/MN99.html) take him in for fostering. They take him to the vet, get him some needed dental care and have a chip implanted over the next 3.5 weeks. The dog makes friends with their animals and is generally a joy to be around so all is good.
Then Friday night, one of our neighbors stops by to mention that she saw a flyer a few blocks away for what might be the dog we found. Now since we don't live in a neighborhood where middle-aged purebred Pekingese named "Rocky" (we were calling him 'Butterball,' as he is quite round and golden, our friends were calling him 'Pugsley' and he answers to all of them) with breeder's tattoos (hidden by fur when we found him) and occasional seizures roam the streets, we figure it's safe to assume it's the same dog. We chat for a bit, get the phone number from the flyer and pass it on to our friends who are housing the dog.
They attempt to take it from there and wacky hijinks ensue. Small Dog Rescue wanted to be reimbursed for their expenses, not unreasonably seeing as they were not insignificant. Then the fun begins.
In the midst of a small dinner party with friends, I get a call summoning me to the doggy exchange because these folks have shown up with the husband: a. drunk (with a baby in tow, no less) and b. highly belligerent. They proceed to accuse my friends of stealing the dog and trying to extort money from them. Then they want to know why my friends won't take a check.
I show up and fix them with a steely eye while recapping the events of the dog rescue. By this point, I'm holding the very heavy little dog since I'm the only one considered neutral enough to not run off with a nearly 20 lb. Peke (my tendinitis is killing me this morning). On the bright side, the dog is quite happy to see them and clearly knows them. I point out that they're damned lucky to be getting the dog back at all under the circumstances. They respond by bursting into tears and there is much wailing and apologizing and drama. Eventually, expenses are reimbursed, 'Rocky' goes home with his people and the rest of us return to our regularly scheduled programming, if somewhat the worse for the wear.
Here's to less fun and games for the rest of the holiday 'season'! Urgh.
