Doggone - Why Do They Always Find Me?

While jogging around the neighborhood, my daughter found a lost, long-haired, little dog. She took her home and of course, within minutes, we got attached. We named the dog, Sophie. The dog had no tags, and she looked as if she was living on the street for a while. I called the police to see if I should just keep her or take her to the shelter. The dispatcher told me not to let her near my dogs in case Sophie was sick. I guess it was a light night for crime because the dispatcher also said she was sending a police officer. So, as we waited we fed and played with our little visitor.

When Officer Matt (that is how he introduced himself) came to my house, he looked at me, my daughter, Sophie and me again.

"You are already attached to this dog aren't you? How long have you had her?"

"Two hours. Look how cute she is. We're calling her Sophie."

Officer Matt shook his head.

"You named it? Ladies, let the shelter take a look at it, and then if she's okay, you can adopt it."

It was then that my practical mind started to overtake my heart.

"I would love to adopt her, but I already have two dogs and I am a one-woman show when it comes to poop patrol."

"Yes, a three-dog poop patrol is tough, but this dog is adorable." Officer Matt started to pet Sophie's head.

"Maybe you can adopt her," I tried to convince the sensitive cop.

"I can't. I have two big dogs at home. They will eat this one for breakfast. Besides, my wife would kill me if I took home another animal."

We nodded at each other knowing that neither of us could take the dog. Then Officer Matt took Sophie from my arms and put her in the back seat of the police car. She stood up on her hind legs and looked at me as if she were saying, "Don't let them send me to the Big House. I'll be good!"

My heart just broke into pieces. Before I had a chance to yell "Officer Matt, Wait!" the car pulled away. First thing in the morning, I called the shelter to ask about Sophie. They had my name from Officer Matt because he predicted I would call. I hate smug cops. Anyway, the vet at the shelter got on the phone and told me that the dog was in pretty good health, about four years old, and that Sophie was not a good name for her as she was a he.

"Really? A he? I guess with all that hair, I just assumed he was a she, and I never turned him over to see evidence of the contrary. Are you sure?"

"Uh, yeah. Boy dog."

The vet also said that there were already three applications submitted from good families, so He-Sophie would have a good home. Immediately, I felt relieved and a little stupid because this vet thought I could not tell boys from girls. At that moment, I swore no more lost dogs would come into my home.

That promise lasted about six months. Last week, as I was driving on a main road, I heard a screech of brakes, and then I saw this small, terrified dog run to the sidewalk. I pulled over and got out of the car. I squatted down to be on the dog's eye level and called the little pooch over. She was afraid, but she ran over to me and jumped in my arms. I took her in my car, and she made herself at home on my passenger seat. She was so cute and looked as if she belonged there -- and she was a she; I looked this time. I was already imagining her playing with my other girls at home.

What stopped me from taking her right home was that she had tags that said her name was "Brenda". Okay, not my personal favorite dog name, but she had a name. I called the phone number on Brenda's tag. No one answered. I left a voice mail and told Brenda that she might have to be with me until her mom or dad called back. She seemed to understand. On a long shot, I drove into the nearest neighborhood to see if anyone might recognize this dog. I saw a young guy who looked to be about 20 in a driveway, so I pulled in and showed him Brenda.

He looked at Brenda and told me to wait and he would get his mom. A woman came out and introduced herself as Mary, and we instinctively knew that we had to work together to get Brenda home. She looked at the tags and saw that Brenda and her dog shared the same vet. She called the vet who called the owner at work who called us. The owner said that a contractor was working in her house, so he might have accidentally left a door ajar. Mary hopped in my car, and we both took Brenda home. Along the way we chatted and bonded and exchanged phone numbers. Now, Brenda is safe with her family, and I have a new human friend. As Mary hugged me goodbye, she said, "We will always have Brenda."

I guess one lost dog sometimes equals one found friend.