There was a familiar story from Rogers last week about a Shih Tzu named Mimi (she must be a grandmother) who was separated seven years ago from her owner, Andrew Navarette, after escaping from her back yard. Navarette was unsuccessful in finding Mimi, even though she had a microchip implanted in her neck containing his contact information.
Some good soul soon found the dog and passed her along to a woman named Kim Rafter, who also lived in Rogers. Rafter changed Mimi’s name to Gizmo, and became her new master. As for Navarette, he later moved to California. But last Saturday Mimi/Gizmo turned up at a Rogers animal shelter. Someone there discovered the microchip and called Navarette’s cell phone number, which he never had changed.
Still in California, Navarette was elated to hear his dog had been found and paid the shelter to ship her to him. Rafter soon called the shelter and heard the story about her Gizmo being reunited with her original owner. She was gracious while saying, “I’m a sympathetic person and I wouldn’t want to take anybody’s dog away, but I’m sure that, as little as she was when we got her, I’m sure we’re the only ones she’s bonded with.”
I say this is a familiar tale because a similar thing once happened to me. My daughter Alexis, home from college for Christmas, had let Gus out into our back yard, which is fence-free. When Kathy and I returned home and asked Alexis about the dog she got that “who-me?” look on her face as she looked around the empty room for someone else to take the fall. There was no one. Gus is a Cairn terrier, like Toto, and back in those days he was always looking for that yellow-brick road.
So we put up flyers around our neighborhood and at many of the nearby vets. Meanwhile, I checked the Humane Society, the Animal Shelter, and even put his description up on a pet lost and found Website, but no luck. But then, on Martin Luther King’s birthday, I received a call from a nice lady who said she had found a dog that matched the description she had seen on one of our flyers. She told me she had rescued him on Pebble Beach, which is near our street, but had soon given him to a friend of hers who had three young children. Not good.
I got the friend’s phone number and while she wasn’t glad to hear from me, she gave me directions to her house. I drove right over. She answered the door with a boy of around 10. She invited me in while he glared up at me. “Jimmy, go and get Busbee,” she told the boy. Busbee, I thought. What is he, the butler? I must have uttered the name aloud because she told me that was what they called him. “His name is Gus,” I told her. “We bought him in Bismarck and his AKC name is Augustus of Bismarck, but we call him, just Gus.”
From her look, she either didn’t get my reference to Gus, the theater cat, from “Cats,” or she just hated my guts. Probably both. I heard Gus bark and soon he was tearing through the house, stopping briefly to say hello to me, before moving on in a whirlwind of terrier energy around the room, so he didn’t miss anything. “I guess that’s your dog?” the woman asked.
I hesitated. There was a brief moment as I took in the scene. This was obviously a wonderful home. There was a loving mom and three great kids who really wanted their little Busbee not to leave. The youngest, a girl, chased Gus around the room, giggling, while the older kids leaned on some furniture and looked at me. They knew what was going on but still held some hope that a lightening bolt would come through their chimney and disintegrate me.
The middle child moved to her mom, who put an arm around her. It was obvious how much they all loved and wanted my dog. This was the moment. I remembered Chuck Connors from “Old Yeller,” trading the little boy his egg-sucking hound for a horned toad.
All eyes were on me and this was my chance to do the noble thing.
“Yep, that’s Gus. Thanks for looking out for him. We’ll be going now.”
The sobbing sounds followed me out the door and I took one last look at the perfect little family, now dogless, as they all stood crying in the driveway. (Sorry if you don’t like the ending but I’d had him five years and they’d had him a week. Besides, there is something about the bond between a man and his dog that even crying kids can’t overcome.)