One Lucky Dog

Oreo ran away from me yesterday, and I didn't even realize she was gone.  I was sitting at the dinner table with the girls, eating my spaghetti and meatballs, when the phone rang.  I ignored it.  We were in a rush.  I had three kids to feed, and get out the door to Ariel's gymnastics.  The phone rang a second time.  Better get it, I thought.  This could be important.
"Hi, it's your vet calling.  A woman in your neighbourhood has your dog.  They called our number from her tag.  I'll give you the number to call."
I had no idea.  I thought Oreo was upstairs sleeping on our bed. 
I realized when Elyse opened the door 10 minutes before, Oreo had likely just walked out.
The woman, Deanna, lived on a street adjacent ours, and she kindly offered to walk Oreo back home.  I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact Oreo was missing, that she had been recovered before I even noticed was a blessing in disguise.  Once again, Oreo managed to save herself by running into the right person.
For those of you who are familiar with Oreo, who's now 12 years old, this story won't come as a surprise.  Oreo loves life, but she has a funny way of showing it.  She's survived many escapes, and been recovered more times than I can count despite our best attempts at keeping her contained.  We only let her out on a leash.  I long ago learned she can get out from anywhere, and so I stopped taking chances letting her off leash - even in our own backyard. 
Still, "My dog? Oreo...she's missing?"  Of course she is.  Dan's not around, and I'm at home with three kids.  My chances of finding her would have been low.  She's one lucky dog.

I'm going to share with you another excerpt from our story, this one showing that Oreo has a long history of infamous escapes.

Oreo's story begins with the full D-A-N tale too, which I alluded to in my previous blog post.

Context:
Dan and I are acquaintances, and I can't remember his name.  When we happen to bump into each other on the street, while walking our dogs, he asks me if I'd like to take the dogs to the park with him.

A legendary moment, in the history of our relationship, came out of our visit to the park that day.  A story that is characteristic Dan to a Tee, and also captures my inability to remember a person’s name.

“Um…yeah, sure.  I’ll walk to the park with you.”  What could it hurt?  I told myself.  I already safely determined this guy wasn’t some sort of serial killer, and I enjoyed his company. 

Once at the park, we let Oreo and Sumo off leash to run around in the snow.  I had my reservations about setting Oreo free; like that she might run away – she’d already narrowly escaped with her life after a mad dash across four lanes of heavy traffic on Wonderland not long before.

“We’ll keep a close eye on them,” he assured me.

Standing in the park together felt nice, like the cozy feeling you get from pulling on a warm sweater on a cold day.  We chatted casually, but mostly stood staring admiringly at our two dogs chasing each other in zig-zags through the blanket of snow, like proud parents watching their kids play.  When Oreo eventually seemed to lose interest in the chasing game, and began to wander, nose to the ground, it was time for her and I to head home.

“So…maybe we could walk our dogs together sometime?  Or take them to the park again.  It’s nice having your company.” He said.  I blushed at the compliment.

“Yeah, sure – that would be great!”

“Do you have your cell phone on you?  Let me give you my number.” He said.

And, ladies and gentlemen, this is where I panicked, fully realizing that I had not the slightest idea what his name was, and that we were comfortably past the point where I could ask, and not be embarrassed.  So, thinking fast on my feet, I pulled up a new blank contact entry.

He was patiently waiting for me to input his name.

“Do you have my name in there?”

“Uh…how do you spell that again?”

“Dan?” he emphasized the name.  “D-A-N”, he said, slowly pronouncing each letter, and lowering his brow to look down at me, which only made me feel like more of an idiot.

I quickly tried to save face, and knew I’d never forget his name again.

“No, no...your LAST name.” Silly turkey.

“Purdham.  P-U-R-D-H-A-M.”  I breathed a sigh of relief as ‘Purdham’ was a bit harder to spell than DAN - one of the easiest words in the English language.

After the name incident, I confirmed with him that I’d inputted the right phone number, then quickly gathered my pup to make our way home.  I wasn’t so sure I’d hear from him again. But the very next day there was a text asking me to meet him at the park. 

This trip to the park would mark a pivotal moment in our budding relationship, though I’d have preferred less drama.

Dan smiled when he saw me approaching, and Sumo ran over to greet us.

Two key events happened at the park that day that forced Dan and I closer.  One:  I lost the keys to my apartment in the snow.  They must have jumped out while we were all running around goofing off.  Two:  I lost my dog.  In our efforts to find the missing keys, we thought it best – to expedite things – if we threw the dogs in Dan’s backyard, so we could better concentrate.  That was a mistake.

“What’s he barking about?”  Dan asked.  Sumo was barking his head off.

“Shoot!  I don’t see Oreo.”  I said, looking up from the snow and peering over at the fence to his backyard, where Oreo’s small face should have been.

In a calm, but hurried panic, I rushed over for a closer look behind the fence, and saw that, indeed, Oreo had made her escape.  Dan and I quickly formulated a plan.

“Okay - I’m going to head back towards my apartment, to see if she went that way,” I said.

“I’ll circle around the front of the house, and look around here – oh man, how did she get out?” he said.

“She can get out of anywhere!” I shouted back, as I turned to run back towards the exit of the park, where we’d all come through together.

“Text me!” he said.  “And don’t worry – we’ll find her!”

The rendez-vous in the park was turning into a bad dream.  I felt foolish for believing Oreo would stay put in the yard with her friend, and now she was gone.  I tried to calm myself down by saying this is no big deal, you will find her, but I had a sick, uneasy feeling in my gut, like this could be it for Oreo.  How long had she been missing?  We’d had our heads down searching for my keys in the snow for quite a while.  Who knows how far she could have gotten?  To make matters worse, before I lost my keys, and then my dog, Dan and I were about to end our visit so he could go home and help set up for his household’s annual poker party, which he had invited me to, but I’d twisted my way out of it, even though my boyfriend happened to be away for the weekend – ha!  But now, Dan was missing his own party helping me.  We could see the first guests arriving.  My keys were still lost in the snow and my dog ran away.

As I reached the park exit, I shuddered a sigh of relief to see Oreo wasn’t splattered on the road, but the thought left me shaken.  I turned left, and continued along the sidewalk, following the curved road all the way up the hill to my apartment building.  There was no sign of my black and white shih tzu.  As I neared my apartment building, one of the other tenants, whom I recognized as ‘Sasha’s dad’ – Sasha being a fatter version of Oreo – approached me. 

“You’re Oreo’s mom right?” he called out to me.  His question left me feeling hopeful.

“Yes!!!  Do you know where she is?!  She ran away from me.”

“Well, good news for you!  Our landlord has her in his room.  She ran right to the apartment door and barked.  Somebody recognized her as yours so they brought her in.”

“Oh, thank you so much!”  That Oreo – how could I be mad at her?  People did know her around the building, because she was such a friendly little dog, and look – that attribute probably saved her life.

After a brief communication over the intercom with my landlord – who let keyless me back into the building and my apartment - I pulled out my cell to let Dan know Oreo was okay.  He texted me back,

“Great news!  I found your keys.”

Stay.  Good dog.