I had a funny feeling as we left to do
the weekly shop last Sunday. ‘We should
shut the front gates, too.’ I said to
Tom, and went to hop back out of the car.
‘Why?’
Was his reply. ‘She can’t open
the side gate.’
Recently there had been some conjecture
over whether or not Belle, our dog, was able to open the side gate, as on
several occasions we’d returned home to find it swinging in the breeze and our
mutt sniffing around the nearby laneway.
‘No, not I!’ The housemates had
cried in chorus when questioned, and so we’d had to conclude that Belle, in her
infinite wisdom, had deciphered how to jump repeatedly at the mechanism,
forcing it after a time to spring open.
Our dog is not smart. This was never a likely scenario. A bashful housemate fessed up to me after
some coaxing, and the gate-opening theory was dropped.
Still.
I’d become paranoid about the side gate and against my better judgement,
sat as Tom pulled away. ‘We’ll only be
gone a few minutes.’ He reminded me.
When we got home the dog was gone. ‘Jenny!’
I screamed at my housemate.
‘Where’s Belle?! Who let her
out?!’
Jenny had just arrived home and knew
nothing. ‘You go that way!’ I instructed Tom and we started up down
opposite ends of the street.
For approximately half of one block, I
managed to stave off the panic. She will
be in this laneway, I told myself as I neared her favourite sniffing-spot. She was not.
I broke.
‘HEEEEEY!’ I shrieked at a couple of Bulldogs supporters
sauntering down from the footy oval.
‘Have you seen a black dog?!’
Obviously there was something
particularly desperate about my appearance, because despite not having seen the
pooch, the two seemed intent on being of assistance, each interrupting the
other as they reeled off competing ideas on where a dog might be likely to go.
There was no time for politeness. I left the old couple standing on the street
corner squabbling. As far as I know
they’re still there, stuck in an infinite loop of old dog stories, vaguely
aware of some purpose long since lost.
Wild eyed and dripping with sweat, I
began a loop of the footy oval. Repeatedly
asking after the dog was demanding too much extra energy, and so I resorted to
a process of dashing up to people, pleading stare glued to my face, in hope
they’d already registered my incessant cries.
‘No’, ‘No, ‘No’, came one reply after another, until people began waving
me away on approach, a mix of apprehension and pity on their faces. Keep going, running girl. We can’t help you here.
Finally, and just as I was about to
give in to a full blown melt down, an annoyed looking man approached. ‘Hey! Your
dog was here.’ I got the impression he
was providing the information on the condition that I cease tearing around the
oval. Two bewildered children were
huddled behind him. ‘She went that way
10 minutes ago.’
A lead!
I gasped something at the exasperated man and ran off, my heart
straining as I wheezed and coughed. The
people on the street adjacent having apparently been briefed on my imminent
arrival, I was met with yet more waves and carry-ons. I saw a black dog across the street. It wasn’t Belle. I felt I might throw up.
‘Hey!’
Another man. ‘I saw her. She was following some puppies up that
way.’
‘HOW LONG AGO?’ My voice frightened even me.
‘Not long,’ said the man, who seemed
genuinely sympathetic, ‘maybe 5 minutes.’
I could make it. All I knew at that moment was that if I ran
fast enough, I could make it. Adrenaline
flooded my system and somehow, I broke into another sprint, my heart now
seriously threatening to explode. I
ran. And ran. I had to stop. I couldn’t go on. I saw my dog.
The silly mutt was happily trotting
after a friendly German Shepard, its concerned owner dialling a number into her
phone. ‘BELLE!’ I screamed as tears began to flow. Blissfully unaware, my dog ran over to hug
and lick me. The lady, looking almost as
relieved as me, told me she’d been just about to call the council. ‘She’s such a lovely girl.’ She mused.
‘I’m so glad you found her.’
Intending to thank her, I instead could
manage only a garbled, teary noise. She
got the idea.
I have no idea the extent to which
Belle comprehended what had happened. I
do know that on the way home, she trotted beside me at my exact pace, not
pulling or sniffing once. Like returning
war heroes, we were waved at and applauded by those who’d become involved in the
incident. ‘Lucky dog!’ A few of them yelled. Indeed.
