Day 26 -- Lost Dog

Day 26...a little bit late.

There is something that has always seemed poetic about the day after Christmas.  Maybe it is that Ben Folds Five song, “Brick” which starts out as “6AM day after Christmas…”  A few years ago, my then land lord knocked on my door early on the day after Christmas to ask if I could take care of his family’s dog while they went to Visalia to visit the in-laws.  I obliged and ending up taking their very friendly dog, Jack, on a long walk through our neighborhood where I could savor the feeling of the day after Christmas.  I decided I would write a story beginning with the scene of the land lord requesting for his tenant to take care of his dog.  I still haven’t done squat on that story. 

But on the day after Christmas, I am thinking about another dog.  Yesterday, for those of who live in Southern California, know was a very rainy day.  I spent Christmas Eve night at my parents house.  Very early in the morning on Christmas day, my father discovered a dog in our front yard.  My dad was very curious about the dog who tried to make his way into our garage liked, as my dad put it, “he belonged there.”  I saw the dog briefly in the morning – a black lab mix. 

Later in the afternoon, I saw the dog again.  This time the very good natured dog tried to get into my car (the dog has boundary issues) as I had left it open while I was loading the car.  I put my foot down but in the meantime studied the dog recognizing she had a collar and a tag.  Working alone, holding the phone, the squirming dog and dialing the number was unsuccessful but I was able to see the area code of her owners was 323; very odd as my parents live in the 626 area code. 

I shared this with my family; could the dog have walked all the way from the 323 to the 626?  Was Emma really that lost?  My dad’s eyes lit up at this prospect because he thought perhaps it would mean he would get to keep the dog which was his desire all day.  By this time, my brother helped me with the dog.  We wrestled the dog into our side yard, gave her water and a plate of ham.  Together we were able to call the dog’s owner who lives next door to my parents.  Emma’s owners were not at all worried about their dog being out in the neighborhood in the rain as they were in Baldwin Park presumably at a Christmas party and had no intentions of coming home any time soon. My dad, whose hopes of having a new dog, were shattered, was unhappy with this arrangement.  I think he would have called the canine equivalent of DCFS on the dog’s owners if he could have.  In the end, he and my brother returned Emma into her own yard.