Our hearts were in the right place

Written on August 15, 2004

…or, the time Rini and I stole a dog. 

Today, I drove up to Ulster County, NY, with my good friend Rini.  I had some Civil Air Patrol errands to run, including a stop at a campground (KOA) where we’d be doing some training in September.  We also thought we’d walk around in Woodstock, Saugerties and Kingston.  Maybe do some antiquing.  I was finished with what I had to do fairly early in the day, so we had some lunch in Woodstock, then headed back east toward Saugerties. 

Now, we’d been back and forth a few times, me taking pictures of various open fields and other good places to torture a ground-team-in-training.   So, we drove along the now-familiar road and chatted about the various charming and cheesy things we’d seen today.  A little more than halfway between Woodstock and Saugerties, I was coming round a bend and I looked up at a field and saw a dog. 

Now, I have a dog.  He’s not my first dog.  I know dogs.  They’re wonderful animals; they add so much to everyday life. 

This dog – this dog was gorgeous.  He was positively regal.  I was totally struck with the way he sat, the way he looked down at the cars on the road.  I drove by and asked Rini if she’d seen the dog.  She hadn’t seen him, but asked if he was black and tan – there were several “lost dog” signs along the road, and that dog was black and tan.  I said, yes, as a matter of fact, he’s black and tan, and I turned the car right around.  We drove past the place where I’d seen him – no dog.  I drove a bit ahead and turned around again.  Back, and this time we both saw him.  We both fell in love.  I pulled the car over to the side of the road. 

This dog was magnificent.  I stopped the car, and Rini got out, and stayed near the passenger-side door, for fear that he’d step into the road, into the path of a car.  I looked out of my window and called to him, and we looked at each other from opposite sides of the road.  He looked at me as if he wanted to say something important.  I called to Rini to go get him, and she stepped away from the car.  He looked at her and gave her the same look.  This dog was TALKING to us. 

Rini crossed the road, and called him, and he came right over.  She grabbed his collar and I jumped out and opened the rear door of my car, and motioned.  He jumped right in.  We checked his tag, and there was a phone number, which we called.  No answer.  Now what?  OK, let’s go back and look at the lost dog sign.  Turned the car around.  Back to the sign.  Dog, whose name was Kasey, sitting happily in the back seat.  He started to get a little excited at one point, and we thought maybe he lived nearby, but we wanted to see the sign. 

Passed the sign.  Turned the car around, pull over.  Kasey jumps out and bounds along the side of the road happily while Rini and I dial the number on the rain-soaked sign (which is a different number than the number on Kasey’s neck.)  No answer. 

Now what?  Kasey, Rini notices, has a wound, a bite or injury on his right side.  We can’t leave the dog by the side of the road; now we have to find a vet or something.  Rini remembers a vet’s office in Woodstock.  Turned the car around.  Back to Woodstock.  Passed the animal hospital.  Turned the car around, turned into the parking lot.  No one’s home.  Rini asks the people next door if they know where there is a vet.  Back toward Saugerties, she says.  Rini gets into the car.  Now what?  The vet might be closed in Saugerties.  Rini allows that she “feels like the dog lives in Woodstock.”  Who the hell am I to argue?  Back to Woodstock. 

Another couple of miles, and I think, DUH!  We’ll google the number!  I call my friend Dan, to ask him to google the number.  He’s not home.  I call someone else.  They aren’t home.  Rini knows someone in Woodstock but doesn’t have the number.  I know someone in Woodstock (who has two dogs; therefore knows a vet!) and I have the number.  I call.  No cell service.  Whatever.  We’ll keep going. 

We’re on our way back to Woodstock and I see, on the other side of the road, one of the lost dog signs.  I glance at it quickly and get an unpleasant feeling in my stomach.  This sign isn’t as rain-soaked as the other ones; you can actually see a picture of the dog on it.  I pull over and Rini jumps out to see.  I wait, sweating.  The car sort of smells like dog now.  Rini spends a minute or two in front of the sign – I swear I can see her shoulders droop from across the road.  She starts to walk back to the car, and I can hear her laughing across the road.  I laugh too.  She hollers, “you know why I’m laughing, don’t you?” 

Oh, I know why she’s laughing.  She gets back into the car, and we both turn around to look at…

…the dog we’ve stolen. 

Now what?  We look at each other.  Gulp.  We’re pointed to Woodstock.  We’ll go back there, maybe find a pay phone so I can call my friend there, we’ll find a vet, we’ll patch the dog up and the vet will keep the dog, and call his owner’s number continuously.  We’ll go antiquing in Saugerties and live happily ever after.  Back to Woodstock. 

Now, I am driving with two cell phones in my hand, trying to get service.  I’m getting honked at.  I snarl back.  Rini and I are growling at each other.  The dog is happily enjoying the ride.  We can’t find a pay phone by the time we look up from counting the number of bars on our cell phones, and we’re past the center of town.  We pull into a large post office, HA!, there will be a pay phone at the post office.  I know it.  I drive around.  Rini informs me, pointedly, that there is no pay phone.  I holler “WHAT THE HELL KIND OF POST OFFICE DOESN’T HAVE A PUBLIC PHONE?” 

We go back to Woodstock.  Rini sees a guy with a dog, and assails him for the name of a vet.  He doesn’t know (SURPRISE!) but points us to the police station, where, Rini believes, we will find an officer who will take the dog off our hands, get him to a vet, and call the number on his tag continuously till his owner answers.  We will go antiquing in Saugerties and live happily ever after.  I giggle at this idea, but decide to humor her and drive her to the police station. 

She goes in to deal with the local minions of the law.  I wait outside with a now-impatient Kasey.  People walk by, the residents of Woodstock, and many freakish looking tourists, (or vice versa) and they admire the dog.  Oh!  They say, you have such a gorgeous dog!  I smile through my teeth and say very quietly, want him?  I look at Kasey.  He stares right into my eyes and plants a smooch right on my kisser.  I sigh, and know that my whole day is shot. 

Rini finally emerges from the police station, with the number of the police station in Saugerties.  We’ll go there, she says, they googled the phone number on his collar and he lives right near the KOA, near a bridge.  They wouldn’t give her his exact address; clearly Rini and I appear to be terrorists.  OK.  Back to Saugerties. 

We go to the KOA, thinking, he lives right near here.  We will drop him off, and the people at the KOA will keep him, and he will frolic among the campers while the KOA people continuously dial his owner’s number.  We’ll go antiquing in Saugerties and live happily ever after.  (at this point, we both believe this story.)  The lady in the KOA listens to our tale of woe, and we drag her to the window to look at the dog.  Do you know this dog?  Oh, my, she says, he’s gorgeous.  We sigh in unison.  Nope, she doesn’t know him, nope, he can’t stay and nope, they don’t have a computer so we can google his number.  The bridge is a mile back toward Woodstock, she says.  Go look there. 

OK, back to Woodstock. 

We get to the bridge, and pass a farm.  Rini becomes convinced this is Kasey’s home.  We turn the car around and go to the farm.  Rini gets out, and the dog gets out of the car and waits politely near Rini’s feet.  He’s not bounding off toward home.  Rini encourages the dog to bound off toward home.  He walks a few feet away and disappears around a small shack on the property.  Rini’s entire body perks up and she follows him to the corner.  We wait…and he rounds the other corner and comes obediently back to the car.  Gets into the car.  Rini pauses a moment to accept the fact that WE CAN’T FIND THE F’ING DOG’S HOME and gets back into the car.  We begin to think about leaving him by the side of the road, even clubbing him with something if we needed to.  Rini thinks that we should go back to the KOA.  I want to go to the place where we found him originally.  Either way, we’re getting ready to club him.  Or each other.  The car reeks of dog.  I state that we’re going back to the place where we found him, and Rini wails.  OK.  Back to Saugerties. 

We still can’t get cell service; I am dialing constantly.  Finally – rejoice! – I get service, and call my friend in Woodstock.  It’s ringing!  It’s ringing, it’s ringing, it’s ringing.  Rini and I begin to pray.  I pull over, in preparation to talk. 

She’s not home. 

We push on valiantly.  We’re snarling at each other now; did we rescue him?  Or steal him?  Did we do a good thing?  Or do permanent psychological damage to the dog?  WHAT HAVE WE DONE?   Rini is clearly on the edge of madness; she keeps asking the dog, “do you live here, boy?  Is this your home?”  She asks him this question every time we pass a house.  She asks him this even though he is now stretched out in the back seat, napping.  Now I have to start thinking about clubbing Rini, as well as the dog. 

We keep driving.  We pull over disconsolately, near the place where we found him.  Loveland’s Art Gallery, a sign says.  Rini says, pull in there and we’ll ask them.  We pull in and she gets out.  I stay in the car and begin to realize that we’re trapped in Ulster County.  We’ll never get out.  We will never find this dog’s owner, and we won’t find anyone to take him till his owner answers his god-damned phone.  I think sadly of the people who must be antiquing in Saugerties, right then, at that time. 

Rini rounds the bend, and lo! The guy that she’s just interrupted while skinny-dipping knows the dog!  Hooray!!!

He puts the dog in his car, and we follow.  We want to see where Kasey lives!  We follow along hopefully, watching the car.  It pulls over in front of Kasey’s home, which, we look around and realize…

…is about 200 feet from where we found him originally…

It was very quiet in the car after that.  We did not go antiquing in Saugerties; we settled for a Wal-Mart in Kingston, where Rini accidentally stole kitty litter and beer, just to continue the theme of our new life of crime. 

We got over it after a while.  The drive home was just fine.  At one point, we saw a family with a couple of dogs, pulled over the by the side of the highway.  Aw, Rini says, they have a cute little puppy.  I glance balefully over at her and think, don’t say it, don’t say it…

Rini says, yes, cute little puppy.  We should rescue it…

Comments

[scribbler]

That's the greatest story ever! You should publish it in the New Yorker.
Too bad H & I didn't already live in Hudson at this time. We could have been a stop along the way!