My plans actually didn't fall through this weekend.
Went to my parent's house. Things seemed good, things seemed normal. Then I was informed that their old dog Bean had gone missing on the 4th of July while my parents had gone to Cincinnati to visit one of my cousins. My old friend was missing. He hates guns, thunder, fireworks, anything of the sort, but has NEVER RUN away in all his 14 years of being loose at my parent's house. Never.
My parents, of course, blamed themselves for not tying him at his box (a thing he always hated but was sometimes necessary, though rarely since the road/neighbors are all tolerant of him. He doesn't bother livestock or make a nuisance of himself). They would have left him inside the house if they hadn't been going to be gone for so long (four plus hour drive one direction, plus visiting and return trip) and they thought nothing of it as its something they have done often over the years.
I cried.
So my father informed me that he hoped my dogs would kick him up and we could either get him home safely or bury him. The overgrowth and undergrowth in that little bit of Ohio right now is amazing since its rained nearly every day on and off for weeks.
Bean is quite arthritic and can't get around well so we were searching mainly close to the house but we also searched the back of beyond too, just in case. Nothing. At this point he had been gone three days. In rain, in storms he hated, no food and probably some water because of the rain, but possibly not much.
I cried.
Next morning we went out for another round, hoping to find something of him. The rain had hidden all tracks that could have been in the mud. There was just nothing. So I took my very happy dogs....they like to run about off leash with no threat of other humans/cars things to really hurt them. Miss Emma found the biggest, muddiest, grossest smelling cow crossing she could and ran back and forth through it enthusiastically until she was covered in smelly clay and had to be hosed off with the garden hose....and we again went out.
We were about to give up when my Dad's cell phone rang, and he looks at the caller id , gets a weird look on his face, then answers it. It's Jon calling from my phone (which is why the weird look since I was standing right next to him) and he is saying Bean is home, in the yard, tired, but otherwise seemingly okay. Not tore up. Not limping worse than usual, just being Bean.
We get back to the house, and yep, there he is. Thirsty, drinking lots of water, but tired. Happy eyes. Happy to have his ears rubbed and be back with his family.
Dad had to carry him up the porch steps...he was just too stiff...and tired...but they got him inside by the air conditioner, got some food in him (egg and other people food he loves) and he had a nap and lots of petting. He perked right up. Happy to see my dogs, me, everyone.
My cousin's girl, Lexi, brought her little dog when they came to visit, and he perked up enough to chase it around the house (slowly but that dog was rather afraid of all the other dogs so it was still a chase) so he could make friends.
So glad this all had a happy ending. It made for loads of stress. I have never seen my dad drink to drown sorrows before. I saw it this weekend. Not sloppy drunk, not really drunk at all, but actively drinking.
The moral of the story is: no matter how well you know your dog, no matter how many times you've done something, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE leave your dogs INSIDE during the fourth of July. (My parent's neighbors had been setting them off for hours apparently.) Or otherwise secure them by tying them out. All the endings aren't happy ones like this one. On the news while we were there, the newscast was all about the Humane Society taking in 150 dogs that were SIMPLY LOST on the 4th. They were pleading with owners to please come in and have a look if their dog was missing. Don't call. GO IN.
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