Sad Story

I have been thinking a bit about doggies lately. I love dogs. I'm obviously a big fan of my own dog. In fact, we are planning on getting Maggie bred which will hopefully mean 6 or 7 new little puppies around :), we won't keep them all. I've heard about some doggie rescues lately, brave people saving dogs from running into streets. I also just finished watching The Sandlot with Amanda - in that case people are running from the dog instead of the dog running away. This reminded me of a sad event in my life, one with my dad. It was a rescue attempt.

I was in high school, not sure how old. It was night time and my dad and I were driving in Santa Clarita, Canyon Country to be exact. I think we must have been on Sierra Hwy. I'm pretty sure I was in my pajamas. I'm not sure why I would be in my pajamas, driving around at night with my dad, but that's what I remember, so work with me.

Sierra Hwy is a pretty busy road, one of Santa Clarita's major roads with lots of traffic. As we were passing through we noticed a scuffle on our left side as we were driving along. There was a man running down the road and yelling, who soon slowed and put his hands to his head. We looked down the road and noticed a little black dog running down the sidewalk as fast as he could. Both being dog lovers my dad and I felt for the guy and wished there was something we could do. My dad looked over at me and said, "let's head him off." Or something like that. I eagerly agreed to the challenge. I was already imagining the fun of having a cute little black dog in my lap as we drove him back to his owner, and the joy of seeing the relief and thankfulness of the owner at our successful return. My dad drove down the road ahead of the dog and took a quick left into a group of homes. We parked and ran out of the car. Our plan was to meet the dog as it ran, to greet it with open arms. We ran to the road and I saw the little guy running furiously toward us. I remember my dad calling the dog to us, I think he just said hi in a calm, kind voice. I can't remember if I said anything or not. All I remember is seeing the dumb little thing spot us and take an immediate right into the heavy traffic. After calling after the dog in horror I turned away. I knew the inevitable had to happen. I could tell you about the sound but I will spare you.

And here's the part where I confess. My dad and I got back in the car and drove away. On the ride home my mind kept returning to the man with his hands on his head who would eventually follow his dog's trail to the end of his little friend's life. I had wondered if my dad and I should have waited for the man, if we should have explained how we had tried to help, how our intentions were nothing but honorable. Maybe that would have been the better way, but then maybe the man would have wondered the same thing as me... Why hadn't his dog just trusted us and made the right choice? The truth is, neither of us wanted to see the man's reaction to what happened and we certainly didn't want to be held responsible, and boy did I feel responsible. Later that night I wondered, why couldn't we have just minded our own business and left well enough alone? Maybe then the dog would have stayed on the sidewalk and eventually his master would have caught up to him. The "what ifs" killed me.

I don't feel so guilty now, now that I know we tried our best and now that I know sometimes the next dog is the best dog :) (sorry Higgins)... The other day I saw a dog crossing Newhall Ave. and I actually shut my eyes for a few seconds, but my dad wasn't driving this time so I had to open them. Thankfully the dog had made it safely to the other side. This time I didn't stop to try and help it. Instead I remembered my sad story and wondered if I would ever have the guts to try again.

So, for all of you would be dog rescuers, I hope you have a better time of it than my dad and I, and remember that dogs don't really make choices, they just react.

--this post is dedicated to the little black dog and his owner... sorry.