We have been walking the dogs pretty regularly at this point, and were going to do are usual 5 miles this morning, but the cable guy is coming to fix the %^&*ing internet connection, so I didn’t want to be away from the house too long. The dogs didn’t actually understand this concept and were starting to prance at the front door.
So we figured we’d do the short walkie, the one we do with Bernie, who can’t go very far with his short legs and high blood pressure and advanced years (13x7=91??) On the short walkie, we just go up the block, around the divider, and back. Then we continue with Esmeralda the Fearful.
Along the way we always on the lookout for the two dogs that neighbor Jim thinks killed Front Porch Mama Kitty.
We were just rounding the divider when two huge German shepherds came bounding along to join us. Esmeralda, of course, went nuts. She starts pulling and twisting and trying to run and trying to attack and trying to do flips through the air. Bernie was mostly annoyed.
He was wondering: Who are these interlopers, anyway?
Chris was wondering: Were these the cat killers?
I was wondering: Can I carry Esmeralda all the way home?
Esmeralda was wondering: OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODHELPMEPLEEEEEEEEEASE!
I tried walking quickly, getting Esmeralda back to the house. The dogs, of course, followed, trying to jump on her and play with her and get to know her. Esmeralda was hysterical.
I dragged her the rest of the way home, with Bernie commenting from behind and the strays leaping and following and bounding and frisking.
A car slowed to ask if these were our shepherds; the guy had seen them loose before and thought they were Jim’s cat killers.
Then a woman pulled up to ask if they were ours. She’d seen them and thought they might be the cat killers.
Her nanny was out with Baby Omar, who was starting to freak out. He's never seen a cat killer and wanted to be sure these weren't any of those... whatever those were.
When we got to the house they (of course) followed us up the stairs and started to eat the stray cats’ cat food, which I keep in front. I got Esmeralda inside and put the cat food up higher so they would have to at least stretch their necks to get it.
Then we hauled them to the street. Omar’s mom and nanny (and Omar) were there by then. I got a hold of the tag on the larger shepherd, which was a city tag. Chris got his cell phone to call it in. Omar’s mom took the animal control number and the tag number to call it in. Chris stood there on hold until I was convinced he must have called the cable company, so long was his wait. He was eventually disconnected. He tried again, and took some photos.
Only the male had a collar and tag. The female was collarless and looked like she might have been nursing puppies sometime in the not-too-distant past. Whenever the female would wander off to check something out, the enormous male would whimper and talk until she came back. Then they would do some kissy face together.
It was hard picturing them as cat killers.
Eventually I let the big guy go and we told them to go home. They went up to the front porch again, headed to the hill, wandered up the street…
I went inside and tried to input the tag number into the computer ID system, but the system was “busy” and suggested I try later…. which seemed odd. I tried 6 or 8 more times and got the same message.
I called again, got two long waits followed by a disconnect and finally got through to the automated voice system where I pounded 0 until the voice told me my call was important to them and I would be helped soon. I then learned about spaying and neutering, vaccines, adoption, breeding licenses, and various other things until I was ready to scream.
After an eternity I got a human who, from the tag number, gave me two phone numbers for the owner. She was not allowed to give me the address. I asked if it was Lemoyne Street, and she said no.
Called the first number, which was a disconnect. Called the second number and got a woman named Lacy. I told her my name, that I lived on Lemoyne, and that her dogs were loose. “Oh no,” she said. Sounded like this might be a recurring problem. She was at work but would call her husband to come get them.
She called back a while later to say her husband was on the way. Was I holding them? Uh, no…
The male was huge and where would I put them? With Esmeralda, poised at the window for her imminent death? It turns out that the dogs are mother and son. The son, Harley, who must weigh 100 pounds, was born in September. They had just been fixed last week. (I thought I’d seen a shaved strip on the female’s forearm, like she’d had an IV).
So help is on the way. Or capture. I am wondering if these two are regular escape artists who bust out by day and are back in their pens smiling when mom and dad return at night.
Oh yeah. I made a dog bracelet and earrings… but these dogs bear little resemblance to Harley and Mama.
And their home is on etsy. http://cornerstoregoddess.etsy.com
There’s a dog necklace, too.
Looking for a good home… and a FENCED YARD!