A year ago, on the 11th birthday of my son, I was in Ohio with my parents when I got a phone call that changed my life. My 4 year old Yorkiepoo, Pretty, had run away.
While I raced home to CA - driving 48 straight hours without stopping; efforts were made at home to find her. Signs were going up and neighborhoods were canvassed, while I ran an extensive online campaign from the car. I watched her saga unfold as I was driving across country. Neighbors on Nextdoor were spotting her and trying to catch her. She was even seen at the end of my street once. But she was elusive. I heard horrifying stories of her darting into busy streets narrowly escaping traffic. She was wandering up to doors. She was ducking under fences. Each night my heart sank with the sun as I imagined her vulnerable to coyotes. And each morning it rose with the sun at the first sighting of the day.
Friends and total strangers turned instantly into lifetime friends, formed search parties. For three days I went without sleep. Each time I tried to close my eyes, they filled with tears. I kept imagining this scared little homebody out there lost and afraid. I own her Mom and Dad. I had seen her born and prayed for her even before that. I knew every minute of her life and she was so dearly loved. Why, then, didn't I get her chipped? Why did $50 seem too much to spend (I've since found clinics that do it for $15) to add a measure of security? I won't be able to answer that, except to say I couldn't imagine a scenario where she would go missing. This pain is unimaginable even after a year of living it.
On the third day she was seen for the last time. An older gentleman saw her going door to door and had pity on her. He followed her for an hour. She eventually ducked under a fence and into a back yard. This is behavior she learned at our house when once or twice she exploited a hole and got into the neighbor's yard. She knew going under a fence brought her home.
Since January 10, 2016, I have done everything in my power to find her. We posted signs everywhere. We bolted out of the house all hours of the day and night, whenever someone called who spotted a little dog. We went to the two area shelters twice a week every week and have gone to Sacramento, and Hayward to check out look alikes. I learned to set live animal traps and caught and released a possum. I spent a night outside where she had been spotted. I paid a service to call every house in our county. I paid another service to send flyers to vets, groomers and merchants in the area. I went door to door in several neighborhoods. I went to every vet, groomer or pet shop in the area. (And many out of the area). I paid for Facebook ads. I set up and maintained a care station for her in various spots where small dogs were sighted. I approached complete strangers, followed every lead, even into dangerous neighborhoods. I dragged "scent items" along the street and even left a trail of trace amounts of her feces from the house of the last sighting to our house. I consulted with dog trackers and a psychic. I signed up for every online lost animal site I heard about. I got two full page stories in two area newspapers. We peppered the Main Street any time there was a fair or event in town. We passed out flyers to people at the events, at Safeway or wherever we could reach a lot of people in the same place.
I also got creative. She has her own Facebook page. I tweeted it on Twitter. I taped lost dog signs to my car. I dressed like a giant green dinosaur and danced with signs on the busy intersection. I even took out an add on a Times Square billboard - not because I thought she was in NY, but because I wanted to attract the attention of the local news who didn't think "just another lost dog" was a story.
But she's not just another lost dog. She's MY lost dog. And I don't have words to describe what it means to be my dog, but if you've ever loved a dog I don't have to, you know. You know how deeply connected I am. You know how seriously I take my responsibility for her. You hopefully don't know, but maybe can imagine, that just because she is not in my care doesn't mean my heart can ever rest. I have an unmet need to know she is safe. In the early days, after a full day of driving around or searching online, I would drive to the last place she was sighted and say goodnight, hoping my love would be carried to her on the wind.
There have been so many kind souls who feel for her and have compassion for our loss. I have lost track of the many different friends of Pretty who have reached out, but I remember each and every call or kind word. Priests, police officers, hardened war vets, mail carriers, delivery people, people who didn't speak English (we made signs in Spanish), homeless people - all were approached and they all told us sympathetically that they would keep an eye out. It is an indescribable comfort to know a total stranger has allowed their heart to hurt on our behalf. People made us soup, gave us money, and took time out of their lives to help us look. Even now, a year later, people let me know when a look alike is out there. Even now people tell me "I'm looking for her. I'm praying for her. Never give up!"
There have been a handful of folks who have said, "She was eaten by coyotes". Some of these folks said this in front of my son. Some of these folks have felt compelled to tell me horrific stories of consumed pets or describe in detail the method of hunting and means of devouring their prey, that a pack of coyotes employs when eating a dog, not realizing I suppose, that I was imagining my baby in this gruesome scenario. I have no words for that pain. If I were to give into bitterness, it would be over something like this. Unless you know for certain a coyote has eaten someone's pet; don't mention it. We all know the threats to lost dogs - predators, animals, cars, puppy-mills, bait dogs, psychopaths, euthanasia.
Thankfully, Pretty was last seen at 10:00 am, not prime hunting hour. The hills were green and teaming with prey. A tracker scoured the hills near where she was last seen and the coyote droppings were far from her last house. He got close enough to see that the coyotes had a tapeworm. If there had been a collar with tags or dog remains he would have seen it. Or so I tell myself. But I told myself that if a person picked her up while she was wearing a collar and tags they would have seen it. But apparently they over looked it.
I made finding Pretty my full time job for the first six months. Then I made it my part time job. Now I spend maybe an hour a day online looking. But I never stop thinking, wishing, hoping and praying for her. I revised a musical I had composed about a lost dog, to include a song for her and to incorporate lessons learned through this ordeal. I am working to produce this musical as a fundraiser for the lost dog sites and shelters that helped me the most. I also want to get the word out "think lost not stray". I'm disappointed each time I see people assuming they were given a "gift from the Universe" when a lost dog wanders into their lives, without even making an attempt to find the owners. I can understand how someone would fall in love with her and tell themselves anything to justify it. She is that kind of dog.
I would do almost anything to have her back. I have offered a large reward and everything I have by way of time, energy, ingenuity, prayer. But until now, it has not brought her back. But that doesn't mean it has been in vain.
I have learned valuable lessons, about the kindness of strangers, received the rewards for venturing far out of my comfort zone, understood better the depth of sorrow love can produce, and became acutely aware of the widespread problem of lost and found dogs and the angels among us who champion their cause. I have learned why restrictions on breeding, spay/neuter, and chipping campaigns are so important to the folks who witness multitudes of beautiful, but unclaimed or unwanted dogs and cats die. I have learned exactly what to do when you lose or find a pet.
There is no real silver lining, if I'm being honest. I just want this never to have happened. But I do take comfort in the gifts that have come our way in this dark cloud. Through my search for Pretty and the exposure of her FB site and our lost dog plight, we have been able to help 8 other dogs be reunited with their families or find new homes.
I got called several times about Pretty look alikes who, when I caught them turned out not to be her. I or my family members have dived under dumpsters and leaned over cliffs on the side of the highway to rescue matted and injured stray dogs. I'm happy to say they are all well loved; two of them by our family members.
I have grieved with and comforted others who have lost their pets, and I have genuinely celebrated the reuniting of dogs who I've prayed for or whose story I've shared online. I will be honest, each time a dog is reunited I'm tempted to think "why not us?" But then I read a story of a miraculous return after months or even years and I think "why not us?" So I hope and pray and work for that - the long shot. In the meantime, I send out prayers for her and her new "owner" or God forbid, captor. I think loving thoughts as messages to her. I hang on to hopeful dreams as omens of her return. I don't think I really believed in this kind of thing until I was desperate enough to need something like this to believe in.
A friend called a psychic for me. She said she is alive and well in a new home. That's the best case scenario if she is not coming back. To imagine that scenario satisfies the tortuous element of "not knowing". Seeing the little lost dogs whose back story I will never know, respond to our love also soothes my aching heart. Pretty can love and be loved by someone other than us. Though it is hard to imagine anyone loving her more.
I admit this is a lot of energy over "just an animal". I suppose there is more to this than meets the eye. I've never wanted anything more, worked harder, or had so many folks pray for a reasonable request to instead receive no outcome, no closure. As someone who jumped right into this search said early on, "I can't do a thing about ISIS, but I can help this family find their lost dog!" But alas, this too must be put into the category of things beyond our control which we can't understand, and must accept, though our love and effort would have had it turn out differently.
I suppose that is at the heart of my pain. If I can't protect my little dog, if I can't protect my little son from the loss of his little dog, if I can't affect the outcome using every tool at my disposal, then I am inclined to feel just as lost as she is. And yet, my faith that in spite of evidence to the contrary, we are all watched over by an all loving, knowing, powerful God; is my source of strength, comfort and forgiveness. Through that faith, bolstered by the many people who have promised their prayers, I can find the strength to work for the outcome I want, accept the outcome I get, and forgive myself and others if the outcome is one I definitely do not want. This is the lesson I have learned this past year and of all the dogs I have ever met, it makes sense that Pretty would have been the one to deliver this message. Who better than a really good dog, to teach me about trust, faith, devotion, unconditional love and acceptance. 
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