Individuals Paying It Forward

Woofy, my handsome young Golden Retriever, disappeared one day, as dogs sometimes do despite our best efforts.

We have a large, securely fenced backyard, and we thought it was foolproof. There's plenty of shade from huge pine trees and oak, ample water, and squirrels to chase, and he had his Samantha, a Lab, for a companion.

And yet, somehow Woofy managed to "Houdini" his way through a tiny opening in the basement which led under the house and out through another small portal that had apparently been nudged aside by a raccoon. I discovered all of this later, of course.

As a precaution, I locked Samantha in the house and then set out to find our beloved Golden. I drove up and down the streets, calling his name and frantically peering into every yard, but he was nowhere to be found. I called my husband at work, and I could hear the deep concern in his voice. But he couldn't come home to help me, so I continued to drive around, crying -- my fear and dread growing with each passing minute. We have no children, so our dogs are our kids.

The next stop was the pound and I arrived at the same time as the dogcatcher, who had just come from my neighborhood. I described Woofy, and he said, "Oh yes, I have him." Then he pulled a beautiful, limp Golden out of his truck and cruelly tossed him head first into a trash bin. It was the meanest thing I've ever seen anyone do!

I was hysterical but had the presence of mind to ask about his collar, which had his name and our phone number embroidered on it. "Do you have his red collar?" I sobbed.

The man handed it to me wordlessly. Even though the dog looked exactly like Woofy in that brief glance, it wasn't his collar! The tears made it hard to see the road as I drove home, one minute wondering if that had really been Woofy and the collars had gotten mixed up, and the next minute thinking he might be playing in our backyard when I arrived.

He wasn't there.

Miserable, I glanced at the answering machine. The light was blinking! I punched the button and listened to a woman saying she had found my dog.

When I called her to get the address she said, "I saw him playing in the middle of the street. As I would with any child in danger, I put him in my car and took him home!" She hadn't seen the name and phone number on the collar at first because his heavy fur had covered it.

I was at her house in two seconds flat, hugging and kissing Woofy and thanking the woman profusely for her good deed. He, of course, had no idea what he had put me through. He just wagged his tail furiously and gave us that ridiculous, loveable Golden grin.

And then Woofy and I drove to the closest flower shop where I purchased the biggest and most beautiful basket of spring flowers I could find. I put it on her front porch, knowing I couldn't begin to repay her for what she had done.

Woofy lived to the ripe old age of 12, and I have never forgotten the cruelty of the dog catcher or the kindness of that woman. And I have never passed a dog without stopping to rescue it and find its owner. I believe the term is: Pay it forward.

-- Merry Shelburne