Because I am very pregnant right now (its two days before my due date as I write this) I did not participate directly in the events I’m about to describe. However, I have eyewitness reports from the participants whom I consider to be reliable witnesses and so I feel justified in reporting the incident here.
At one end of our neighborhood is a large parcel of land owned by a biomedical research facility. Much of the land is taken up with their buildings, but they have a large section that they keep clear and on this section, every summer, they host a balloon festival. The bad thing about this for those of us living in the neighborhood is the amount of traffic it brings, but that is a small price to pay for proximity to the magical world of hot air balloons.
My mother was especially excited about seeing the balloons and since I’m in no condition to do any kind of walking, she decided to spend the night on Friday to be able to get up and bring my son to the balloons for the 6:30 am lift off. We saw them off around 6:00 and then my husband and I settled down in our camp chairs in the backyard to enjoy the show. Well it was lovely of course, very magical; the balloons would drift silently over (although one pilot yelled and waved) and suddenly we’d hear the dragon roar of a burner as another balloon hove into view over our yard.
My mother and son eventually made their way back around 6:45 or so and the four of us were sitting there enjoying the peacefulness and novelty of the balloons when suddenly the quietude was shattered by a blur of brown fur and tongue: we were being visited by a chocolate lab. He came from our neighbors’ backyard, but this was not Dixie, their geriatric pug (Dog #8). At first I thought it was Whiskey (Dog #60); her owners had rented the house we now live in before buying a house several streets away and we often have her as a visitor. But though Whiskey is a chocolate lab and therefore one of the friendliest dogs you could know, she is old and doesn’t move as fast as this dog was moving. Also, when this dog turned his back to me I noticed that he possessed something that a female dog like Whiskey definitely would not. This was not a dog I knew, and yet he looked familiar.
Whatever small affinity for animals I may possess comes from being raised by my mother, a diehard animal lover. Some of my earliest memories are of her stopping the car to aid turtles in crossing the road. We had a myriad of animals in our home over the years including dogs, cats, fish, rodents, reptiles and birds, and we were docents at the local zoo for all of my teen years. She is not the type of person to see an animal in distress and ignore it. It was a foregone conclusion when the dog entered our yard that she would be the one to help him find his way home.
Grabbing his collar, she quickly ascertained that he had no identification and muttered something about people who don’t know how to take care of their animals. “And he’s obviously completely untrained,” she added darkly, which definitely seemed to be the case. He jumped all over us, even cutting my husband’s bare foot with a claw. My son had already run inside, the danger of getting clawed outweighing the delight of the hot air balloons still soaring overhead. We watched as my mother walked away down the street, bent over as she tried to hold onto the dog’s collar.
“That dog looked familiar,” my husband observed. I agreed but I couldn’t get the image of Whiskey out of my mind, and we knew it wasn’t her. After a moment he said, “Are you sure he’s not in the dog journal?”
Of course, the 100 Dogs project! I didn’t even have to look; it came to me as soon as he said it. We had met this chocolate lab in our own front yard as his owner was walking him around the neighborhood. When TyTy had asked to pet the dog the owner, a man in his late 60s, had agreed but warned us that the dog was very young and still untrained and might jump in his excitement. Of course that didn’t deter my son that day, when the dog was on a leash and somewhat controlled, and we had a very cute picture of the two of them. This was Dog #63: Thor.
Hurriedly I called my mother’s cell phone. “Mom, his name is Thor! He’s dog #63!” By that time she was quite a ways down the street and had asked many people if they knew the dog. Because of the balloons, our neighbors were out in force. Many people had recognized him, but chocolate labs are much of a muchness, and only one person actually thought she knew where he lived. Mom was with the lady when I called and she did not recognize the name Thor but said she would walk with Mom down the street to where she thought he lived.
It’s a long street and Mom was already dripping with sweat when they started, and walking hunched over trying to control an overgrown puppy is no picnic when you’re nearly six feet tall anyway. At some point Thor broke away from her and took off at a pace even another dog would probably struggle to match. Mom didn’t even try. She and the lady watched as the dog ran far down the street and darted into a driveway, disappearing into the backyard. The lady thought it was probably the house she was thinking of, and because of his obvious determination to get there my mom agreed. She made her way back to our house to cool off and we thought that was the end of it.
TyTy spent the afternoon playing with Dixie’s young owner, JJ. Because of thunderstorms the balloon festivities were cancelled for the evening, including the children’s village, but concentrated wii time together seemed to make up for that disappointment. But darkness began to fall and JJ’s sister came over to bring him home. The two boys plodded sadly through the backyard as they said their goodbyes; I watched from the window as TyTy disappeared around a vehicle to walk JJ all the way to his backdoor. Suddenly he came tearing back through the yard.
“Mommy! Get the camera! There’s a dog to take a picture with! And we’re going for a walk!” He flew past me to his room to get shoes on and I went to the front door to greet JJ’s dad. JJ’s wonderful parents often include TyTy in walks and bike rides these days knowing that I am unable to walk much in my condition. My husband and I consider them to be the best neighbors we’ve ever had.
Out on the driveway were JJ, his sister, his dad, and…Thor. On a leash. Just like the mighty hammer Mjollnir, owned by the hero for whom he was named, he had returned. JJ’s father addressed me.
“Hey, we found this dog and we’re gonna try to find his home, but we thought y’all might like a picture for TyTy’s book first!” Best. Neighbors. Ever. I thanked him and surprised him by introducing him formally to his charge. “We’ve already got him, he’s dog #63!” JJ’s mom was actually down the street, already knocking on doors. She met us in the driveway and I told them the morning saga of Thor, and pointed them in the direction Mom had taken him earlier. The five of them set out on the walk and I settled down in front of the window in the front room to await their return. It was still hot outside and I did not envy them their task. Soon they returned, Thor still in tow, and TyTy came inside. Our neighbors continued down the street; it was fully dark now and my son was too tired to continue the odyssey. We waited; I stayed in my seat by the front window. I noticed a car go into our neighbor’s drive but thought nothing of it as their parents live nearby and often visit. The car left.
Soon a knock came at our door. Our neighbors were outside, dogless.
“Mission accomplished!” JJ Sr. announced jubilantly. “And it was because of the dog journal!” As it happened, one of the neighbors they spoke to is well connected in the neighborhood association. She got on the phone with people whom she knew had dogs and asked about Thor, quickly tracking down his owner (who actually lived in the opposite direction we had thought). Thor’s owner was directed to our neighbors’ house, where he left a note for them. They had intercepted the note when they brought TyTy home and were able to deliver Thor safely. Thor’s owner was, by their account, incredibly happy and grateful. He explained that they had gotten Thor when their eleven year old chocolate lab died last year and that they were still struggling to get him trained.
I happily called my mom to report Thor’s happy ending. She started talking again about the negligence of people who do not properly train their dogs but I told her JJ’s mom’s opinion. She thought that Thor’s owners, a couple in their late 60s, were probably not used to a puppy’s energy after so many years with a well-behaved adult dog, and I agreed with her. After all, I am about to start the process of raising a human child all over again, and I have been reminding myself daily of nearly forgotten routines of diapering and round-the-clock feeding. And even to their owners, chocolate labs are much of a muchness.
