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February 6, 2006

There and Back Again . . .

. . . A Pug's Tale

To celebrate Brenda’s book, Monkey Love, we’re sharing our favorite animal stories. Here's mine.

Last year, we were renting a house out in the boondocks of Florida. The house was located on a golf course, but was surrounded by woods on one side and an orange grove on the other.

One night, I took my pug, Maddy, out for a potty break. Maddy was nearing the end of her life, and was blind and at least partially deaf, so she always stayed right at my ankle. She was also obese, and was opposed to any sort of exercise, so I rarely bothered with a leash for these little jaunts. It wasn’t like she was going to run off anywhere.

Except that night, she did.

She suddenly dropped her little squashed-in nose to the ground, picked up an irresistible scent and took off toward the tangle of trees that lined the far end of the golf course. I’d never seen her move so fast, and particularly not since she’d gotten sick.

“Maddy!” I yelled. But she was gone, swallowed into the darkness, running toward God only knows what.

I went racing inside for George, a flashlight and a pair of shoes, and the two of us took off after her. We combed through the golf course, shining our flashlights into the darkness and calling for Maddy. She was nowhere to be found.

After searching for hours, we were both losing hope. This was rural Florida; there were all sorts of predators out there. Alligators lived in the water hazards on the golf course, and there were bobcats in the woods. They’d view an obese, slow moving pug as a walking hamburger wrapped in bacon.

“I think she’s gone,” George said sadly. I knew what he meant: she was gone for good.

“I’ll put up flyers first thing in the morning,” I said. And we both went to bed in tears.

The next morning, I printed up a stack of MISSING DOG flyers, put Sam in his stroller, and we walked up and down the neighborhood. I put a flyer in every mailbox, handed one out to every person we passed, and posted one on the bulletin board by the guard shack, so that all of the cars passing into the complex would see Maddy’s picture.

The news was grim: no one had seen my wayward pug. I turned Sam’s stroller around, and headed home.

The phone rang as soon as Sam and I walked in the door.

“I’m calling about your missing dog,” a man said.

“Yes?” I asked hopefully. “Have you seen her?”

“I just saw a dead dog over on Kings Highway,” he said. “I thought it might be her, and I wanted to let you know.”

My throat closed up.

I thanked the man, and we hung up. I sat there for a minute, knowing I would have to drive over to see if the dead dog was indeed Maddy, but not wanting to do it. And then the phone rang again.

“Hi, Whitney, it’s Glen.” Glen was the tennis pro at the club. “I think I found your missing dog. She’s here at the club.”

“You found Maddy?” I asked. “Is she okay?”

“Well . . . she looks hungry,” he said doubtfully.

I strapped Sam into the car, and we went racing over to the club . . . and there was Maddy! She was tired and hungry, but otherwise looked healthy.

“She was waiting by the club doors when I got in this morning,” Glen said.

Which explained a lot – the tennis club is located directly next to the dining room. And Maddy was first and foremost a glutton.

Still, it was truly amazing. Blind and deaf, Maddy walked over two miles, past at least two of the resident alligators and the water hazards they lurked in, past cars and pools, and somehow survived the night. Which says a lot about her nature. Yes, she was a diva, and she was certainly spoiled. But she was also the sort of dog to always land on her paws. George and I always joked that if you dropped Maddy in the middle of a desert, she’d emerge a few weeks later with a little white turban tied around her head, perched on top of a camel. It was just her way.

Sadly, it was a brief reunion. Two months later, I held Maddy in my arms while the vet administered the shot that ended her life. And as my tears soaked into her fur, I knew there would never be another girl quite like her.

This blog was brought to you by Monkey Love, Brenda Scott Royce’s hilarious debut novel about love, odd jobs and odder pets.

Posted by Whitney at 10:09 AM | Comments (7)

Comments

Posted by: Eileen at February 6, 2006 11:41 AM

Posted by: Michelle C at February 6, 2006 2:36 PM

Posted by: Brenda at February 6, 2006 5:13 PM

Posted by: George at February 6, 2006 9:11 PM

Posted by: Alesia Holliday at February 7, 2006 9:31 AM

Posted by: Loocy at February 8, 2006 1:38 PM

Posted by: Courtney Gidts at May 8, 2006 11:26 PM