The Houseguest

She found us. My friends and family might not believe this, but she found us. We are not keeping her, we have no room for her, we will not name her (and I shall repeat that to myself as many times as is necessary). But I’m getting ahead of myself…

While helping his sister move Saturday morning, Jimmy noticed a puppy wandering towards him with no tags (purple collar, no tags). He took her to houses in the area, but no one recognized her. He took her to a vet, but she was not microchipped. Having to return to the business of moving, Jimmy left the puppy home with me. (Imagine my glee.)

Envisioning a child inconsolable over the loss of the family pet, I pushed my research paper aside to help these poor people who were surely hunting down their puppy. The Humane Society suggested I call animal control, who told me they would pick her up shortly. I hung up with a nagging feeling. I called again to ask what exactly they do with found dogs, and the answer was none too reassuring: “We wait 72 hours, then we do something with them.” After I asked if that “something” involved eternal sleep, the man sounded amused at my naivete: “We do it all the time, ma’am.” The pick-up request was promptly cancelled and I placed a found report instead.

Repulsed by animal control, I began a mission to track down the owners. I put an ad in the local paper and on Craigslist. Jimmy and I posted flyers around the neighborhood, and drove around looking for "LOST DOG" ones. We walked her, asking all dog-walking passers-by if they recognized the dog (we dog types tend to know our neighbors’ dogs’ names more than our neighbors’). No luck.

It’s been two days, and no one seems to be looking for her very hard. I imagine what I’d do if Murph or Scout went missing: the posters, the ads, the skywriting, the sandwich boards I'd wear on busy street corners while screaming their names and throwing Snausages. I often hail the difference of dog people versus the general population, and these owners aren’t helping me make my case.

As I type, the puppy’s sleeping across my feet. She’s a precious dog and deserves to be missed by whoever put that purple collar around her neck. Where are they?

“In the meantime” is a phrase that we use frequently to describe this little dog. In the meantime, we’ll give her Murph’s old crate. In the meantime, we’ll get supplies for her from PetSmart. In the meantime, we’ll call her Darcy.

Dammit.