Years off my life.

by Ashley Weeks Cart

Yeah, so, that post about the heat? Still. Not. Done. Why, you ask?

BECAUSE URSA RAN AWAY AGAIN! I kid you not.

It has been 48 hours of hell. And by hell, I mean ugly crying, fear-induced nausea more powerful than any winter flu, obsessive cleaning and cooking and baking to distract (or attempt anyway) my worried, anxious mind. It has been a period of ZERO intellectual productivity, save the millions of horrendous deaths I’ve envisioned for my dear, sweet puppy. Like say, for example, drowning in the neighborhood “pond” (which, on a good day, holds barely 4 inches of water) or being captured by an evil doggie-snatcher who would force her to repeatedly chase tennis balls until she died of exhaustion or tennis-ball-fuzz-clogging-of-the-lower-intestine. Yes, that is a real medical condition. And yes, this is where my mind was yesterday. FOR TEN HOURS!

How on earth did this happen on the heals of such an already traumatic escape?! Because our team of gardeners (literally, an army of 20 men that descend on our yard every Saturday morning, as paid for by our landlord to ensure the upkeep of his land in his absence) “accidentally” left the side gate open. I place accidentally in quotations, as I know that they harbor a deep-seated hatred for our lawn coated in doggie poop and doggie stuffed animals (granted, she has over 20 of these fuzzy critters that she strews about our yard. But NBD, there are TWENTY of the gardening battalion to cast them aside so that they may garden to their hearts’ content). ANYWAY. I think they figured, loose the dog, loose the poop and toys.

In our sleep-deprived haze, we did not realize that the side gate was ajar until hours after the infantry had departed. And then we went into panic-mode, when we determined that this “mistake” had left our house void of our canine companion. Again. Fortunately, we had fliers a bounty from Thursday’s scare, and we knew that she was capable of finding her way home based on Thursday’s return. James scoured the neighborhood, talked to neighbors, posted fliers, visited the local animal control shelter, while I, between heave-sobbing and hysterical, unintelligible rants of despair, re-initiated the “Lost Dog” alert and promptly laundered and cleaned and tended to all of Ursa’s toys, towels, bedding, bowls, etc. Because, OBVIOUSLY, she would be more inclined to return home if all of her worldly possessions were freshly sanitized. Dog’s totally care about immaculate living conditions.

Note: Please remember that “rational” is not an adjective one would ever utter in describing my personality.

After hours of worry, I was ready to hit my doctor up for a prescription of Prozac, or at least self-medicate with a bottle of wine, when a call came through on my cell from a lovely, little old lady that lived mere minutes from our home. She had found Ursa earlier that day playing in the park, and because she seemed like such a sweet, well-behaved dog, she just KNEW she had to have a family missing her dearly. (Or twitching, and flipping out to such a degree that a straight jacket was in order). A neighbor of hers had brought our lost dog poster to her home, so she called us up as soon as she’d made the connection. Apparently, Ursa had been blissfully playing at her home with her dog all day long; watered, fed, and happy. I guess Ursa  just wanted to eat spaghetti with a golden retriever rather than a tramp. Meanwhile, her parents had had significant years shaved off their lives with worry. Totally fair.

James went to pick her up and I couldn’t help but laugh when he informed me that the woman had the following assessment of our dog:

We let her play in the back with Jack (name of the Goldie) and a few tennis balls, but eventually Jack just got totally worn out. We separated the two of them thinking that that would calm her down, but she continued to race around the back yard. I even hid the tennis balls in the trees, but she managed to find them anyway. She sure does have a lot of energy. Is she a puppy?

AH Ursa. So fucking predictable. And FOUR YEARS OLD! She came home just a lather of pants and drool, clearly pleased with her day of adventure.

Despite the triple-digit temperatures, I cradled that dog against my bosom for a solid hour, overwhelmed with love and gratitude. I cannot be more grateful for that stranger’s kindness toward my furry baby. That woman reinspired my faith in humanity. For now, anyway, it seems that our luck has not run out and that there are good and caring people in the world. I’m reminded of just how quickly it can all be taken away, and to treasure it dearly in the meantime.

And today, I may have installed a few new “enhancements” to our home; namely a GPS tracking system in Ursa’s collar and The Guardian Fence System around our yard. Appropriate measures given the circumstance, I think.

One person in particular was thrilled to have the furry beast that loves to lick her toes return.

thrilled