It all began a few months ago when I took Foxy the 14 year old Pomeranian to the Glenn Dale Vet. An elderly woman there was asking if anyone wanted a Dachshund.  I replied that I did, as Foxy is in need of an assistant.  I gave her my card, and thought  nothing of it. 

            Then last week she called. She said that her daughter loves the dog, but she has to take care of him herself, and just can’t put him out every time he has to go out, and he isn’t actually trained yet.  I replied that I had a fenced-in yard where he can dig to his heart’s content and not get away.  I meant fenced on 3 sides, planning to run a long line to put his leash on. I started making plans to take Rusty cave exploring this summer.

            Wednesday afternoon, Mrs. Thomas arrived with a rather ungainly looking Dachshund puppy and a bag of food, toys, a bed, and papers.  His rabies tag with her name and the Vet’s address was taped to an envelope, and not on the dog. I was busy quoting C. S. Lewis to the dog, and socializing him with Foxy, so that they would get along when locked in the kitchen while I’m at work.  Everyone seemed agreeable that Rusty would stay with me.

            I had a Dachshund when I was a kid, and I had forgotten that it was the runt of the litter. This dog seemed huge in comparison, although he was only 7 months old and not completely grown.  He was a fine brown dog with an incredibly long nose and a stupid look on his face.  I should have noted that earlier.

            We began with Rusty’s bed under the TV, and Rusty in my lap.  He would immediately look at his thing, then at me, and whine to go out. But when outside, he didn’t seem to know that he could relieve himself out there.  He finally settled down in my lap for awhile.

During the time I should have been at choir practice that evening, I was introducing Rusty to the neighbors, getting our picture taken by the daffodils, and planting carrots and spinach. Rusty would help by climbing up in the raised bed. It is difficult to plant, even in a raised bed, when your left foot is in a cast, but we managed with some help from a neighbor’s son.  After dark, I took Rusty to the back of the property and showed him what he could do outside. He seemed to catch on, and covered the patio with dog manure.

That was fine for the evening, but when I took Foxy upstairs to bed, Rusty couldn’t seem to figure out how to climb the stairs. So I left him downstairs, hoping that he would use his bed. I had plans of bringing him upstairs the next night so he could sleep with Foxy and me. In the morning I found him outside the kitchen, just as happy as ever to jump around and beg to go out. Such a contrast with the sessile Foxy! Rusty climbed into my lap and helped me prepare my daily report, as I was working at home that day. I then locked him and Foxy in the kitchen while I went out to get the Range Rover repaired, buy some knockwurst, and whatever else needed doing.

When I came home, the 2 dogs were very happy in their beds at opposite ends of the tiny GHI kitchen, and manure all over the floor. I emailed my cousin Rusty and declared him a godfather of sorts.  He suggested ways to even out stairs so the dog could get up and down. I didn’t need this advice, but filed it for later and continued talking genealogy with my second cousin, the dog constantly blocking the computer screen with his head.

            It was time to go to the Astronomical Society meeting that evening, and I was a bit tired. So I let my houseguest Bill bring Rusty in. Bill assumed that Rusty would just come in and wait for him to shut the door after being unhooked.  But not Rusty!  He is scared of the back door area, with the cuckoo clock just over it. He would come up the back steps several times, and come half way into the house, then go back out. This is the time of year when it is warm but the insects haven’t started yet, so I didn’t mind leaving the back door open for awhile, but this got ridiculous.

            So at 7:00, with just ½ hour before the meeting would start ½ hours’ drive away, Rusty bolted out the back door with no leash, and headed into the woods.  Bill and I chased him as far as the back of 56 court, where we lost track of him. I put his bed out the back door, and kept calling him, with no response.  Finally, after we returned from the meeting, I called him a few times more, and left the back light on for him.  I also opened the window in my bedroom, which overlooks the back yard, in case Rusty came home whining.  I never did hear him bark, but he whines all the time in a high pitch that I can’t imitate.

            The next morning, no Rusty. I called a few times, made breakfast, and went to work.  I packed a lunch, but didn’t eat it.  Instead, I finished my work for the day, made 56 “Runaway Dog” signs, and headed home. I left one with the Animal Control officer, then started posting them up and down Ridge Road.  This is a tiring job on crutches, but then I decided to go through the woods and try to find him where I had lost track the night before. I had 2 plastic bags over my cast, but they didn’t stay on for very long.  I finally went home for a breather, when Mrs. Thomas called, planning to bring more stuff over. I had to tell her the bad news, and she was horrified. She said she was coming over, and I told her I would be out on Ridge looking for the dog.

After posting signs in every store in Roosevelt Center, I headed up Lastner Lane to Ridge. A kid was walking with his mother, and ran after me with one of the posters that I had been handing out. He said he had seen my dog playing at the lake that morning.  I gave him a $5 reward, and headed for the lake. There City worker Darlene Sprengel drove me down the hiking trail on the north side of the Lake so I could look for Rusty.  No sign of him.  I went home for lunch, and read email at work and home. Cousin Rusty had sent some pictures of his wife’s and son’s families, which I downloaded and tried to figure out whose wife was which.             When I go that taken care of, I went out back with Foxy and worked on some garden tools that needed repairing. It sounded like the neighbor’s phone was ringing, and when I finally realized it was my phone, I went in to answer it.

            Darlene Sprengel and her husband came up to the front door with Rusty. I let them in and thanked them, offered them a reward, and sat down and called Mrs. Thomas. She was relieved to know that Rusty had been found, and I was relieved to see that he was not filthy and wet, so I wouldn’t have to take him over to Pet Smart for a bath.  But Mrs. Thomas suggested that she get me another puppy, and that she should take Rusty back, intimating that I was not honest with her about the fenced-in yard, and reminding me that her daughter didn’t want her to give Rusty up anyway. I had to agree that she could take Rusty back, in spite of all the introductions I had made to the neighbors, and the press release “from Foxy” taking on a junior partner, due to be sent to the newspaper on April 1.  Rusty continued to try to be friendly, but I was no longer happy with him, since he had precipitated this loss of my spare dog. I told him off pretty good as I worked, and in just a few minutes Mrs. Thomas was there to get him.  She repeated her offer to get me a new puppy, but I repeated my reluctance to try raising a puppy while working full time, getting over a broken leg, and taking graduate classes at the University.  I needed to study for my midterm exam, and didn’t have time for an unpredictable dog.

            When Bill arrived home a little while later, I asked him to take down all of the posters I had put up around town. I finally remembered to email the listserv to say that the dog had returned, but never did call the Animal Control officer back, assuming that if she ever did get into work she would call me. I took down the long line down the garden path, and packed up my tools for the evening, as it was getting cold again.

            As usual, Bill and I had deep discussions of the ramifications of getting and losing a dog, who was at fault, and what I was going to do about it.  I didn’t really care any more, having had this one bad experience with someone else’s dog not becoming mine.

            So I wrote this and went to bed.