2 Wishful Mulligans for My New Friends
Let me set the scene:
6am (and throwing on sneaks and a quick pee later), nearly pitch black, raining pretty hard. I'm running down a main city street.
I see two dogs. In the middle of the road. They were very scared. Because there were cars. And lights. And noise. And they had probably never seen any of these things leashless. Like mom and dad just dropped you off for the first day of your freshman year of college, and you immediately spilled into a frat party at 2am where everybody is already drunk and making out.
So, anyway, we have here a graying black lab and a shepherd-mix type, who I noticed from about 100 yards back trotting along Milo&Otis/The Incredible Journey style, stopped --like dogs in headlights (well, yea...)-- in the middle of a busy street.
Of course, I try lamely to be a hero.
I motion them towards me (who do I think I am-- the pied piper?)
"Babies...c'mon honeycakes...c'mere...come to me, sweeties, here, here..." Now, granted, they had every right to be offended by my infant-catered tone, but shouting brusquely didn't seem like a better option.
They were frozen, looking at each other and back at me, wildly. They may have been discussing amongst themselves, but the rain muffled the sound.
So, inevitably, I proceed to slide into a state of panic, trying ardently to mask it (listen-- dogs know).
I decide, quickly, that my mission on this dreary morning is to save puppies' lives.
Since the dogs were not responding to my sweet beckonings, I could either:
a. Run back to my house and call animal control (they had tags).
b. Run to de Policia Stationia and tell them and see if they can contact animal control.
c. Run to the nearest Dunkin' Donuts in the hopes that there is a cop sitting at the counter.
Okay, so three Dunkin Donuts' later (shocking, really), I find a cop sitting in the parking lot.
I begin my sob story with the always-effective: "This is probably a stupid thing to tell you, but..."
The cop listened intently, expressing only mild annoyance, and then said "okay."
Now, I understand that I didn't just tell her that the town hall was being bombed by guerilla monkey children (as opposed, of course, to the less dangerous-- and more predictable-- gorilla monkey children), but still.
As such, I continue to press: "Can you call animal control right away?"
She replies, so totally bored with me and my dog-anxiety already: "sure."
I continue to babble: "I'm sorry...I'm just scared for them...I could tell they were disoriented and frightened and..."
I could read the cops eyes: "Please go eat shit and leave me alone, over-humane puppy-girl." No, really, they said that... her eyes.
BUT-- BUT-- When I ran back through the scene of the original doggie sighting (5-7 minutes later), there were two cops cars parked on the side, holding patrol. So then I obviously (and freakishly and obsessively) ran up and down all the side streets around and checked the main drag for dead dogs in the middle of the road, of which I thankfully saw none. So hey hey-- here's hopin'.
Godspeed, new doggie friends.