Saving Private Scruffy

I have super powers. Really. And one of my powers is the ability to spot a lost dog along side of the road.

Yesterday we were on our way out to get some dinner and groceries after cleaning the boat. My spider-sense started tingling as I glimpsed a little white dog trotting down the sidewalk, and I pointed him out to the Admiral. As I pulled Adventure Truck to the curb we could see that this little dog had no owner present.

The Admiral jumped out and started following him down the sidewalk. He was obviously some kind of small breed. Not a toy poodle, but maybe a Maltese or Bichon.

Normally we are not lovers of small dogs. Most, with notable exceptions, seem to be spoiled and ill-tempered. The Admiral does not refer to them as “yip-yip little rat dogs” for no reason. Regardless, this little guy was running loose near a busy street and was likely to get hit by a car if we didn’t grab him.

And grab him she did. Though it took a couple of minutes to get close enough to him and gain some trust, the Admiral was was able to snag him as he was distracted by his need to spread some scent on a signpost.

So now that we had him, what to do? They Admiral checked him for a tag and found none while I shut down the truck and locked it. We walked up to the house directly where we found him and rang the doorbell. An elderly couple came to the door. They didn’t recognize the dog, so we thanked them and started walking up the street in the direction we had seen the dog come.

Our next data point was a guy sitting out front of his house. He told us he had seen the dog come by, but didn’t recognize the dog at all. He suggested that we should continue to the next intersection.

As we continued walking, two things happened. First, the Admiral began noticing his condition: shaggy coat, matted fur, dirty eyes, and generally bony condition. We theorized that either he had been missing for more than a couple of days, or was generally mistreated and/or abandoned. Second, the dog got a name: Scruffy. This was a sign.

It was a long street, but the day was nice so it made for a pleasant stroll. After checking with a few other people along the way, it’s obvious that no one recognizes the dog, which leads us to a quandary: What to do with Scruffy?

We don’t have many options. We already have a menagerie as it is, and though Scruffy is fairly endearing, we’re not sure if we’re up for this right now. I decide to call the county to see if the animal shelter is still open. A nice police dispatcher informs me that there is someone on staff and that I can leave him in a cage and they’ll check every hour or two.

We talk it over: Scruffy doesn’t seem to be simply recently escaped. He may not even by from this area. Though young, his condition indicates either abuse or several weeks on the run. If we turn him in to animal control and he goes unclaimed, he would likely be euthanized.

Neither the Admiral or I like this idea after all. Then she gets a gleam in her eye and tells me to call a friend of ours who recently lost one of her doggies and who is known to have a soft spot for abandoned ragamuffins.

I call her home: no answer. I leave a message telling her we have a dilemma and that I’m calling her cell phone. I then dial the cell. One ring. Two rings. Three rings. I’m losing hope. Then she answers!

I tell her we have a doggie problem that weighs about six pounds and needs some love. She becomes very excited. Should she drive down now? Can she come tonight? I tell her we are out and about as it is, and ask if we can bring him over. She says that would be great!

About forty minutes later we arrive at her house and she meets us at the gate. She immediately takes a shine to him, and, apparently, so do her other two pups: a greyhound named Mannie, and a Yorkie (I think) named Cassie.

The dogs all get to know each other in typical dog butt-sniffing fashion, though Scruffy is having a hard time sniffing the Greyhound without a step stool. Our friend, meanwhile, has already planned a vet visit and will contact a rescue group.

We end our trip with Scruffy safely confined to our friend’s kitchen while we head to a local eatery for some dinner. Later than night I see on Facebook that our friend wrote that Scruffy might already have a new name: Blanc.

Maybe Blanc has found a new home. And maybe the big red ‘S’ on my chest hasn’t faded as much as I thought.