We both noticed the dog at the same moment as we pulled into our driveway. I think the same thing was going through our minds, too. "Who's dog is that?" with a simultaneous "I hope it doesn't poop on our lawn!"
(We don't have a dog for a reason. For THAT reason. I paid my poop dues with diapers, thankyouverymuch.)
It was clear that this dog had no other place it wanted to go. She looked at us, wagging her tail in anticipation of our exit from our vehicle. She even sat, patiently, while we sat in the car, giggling at the playfulness on her face and being able to easily see where this was going.
Sure enough, when hubby opened the door of the car, she was by his side in a matter of a second or two.
(All I could think about was how we inherited a cat when I was a kid, all by being too nice to it.)
I noticed the dog had a tag. Hubby called both numbers. No dice. The address put her as being well over two dozen blocks away from her home, if that was, indeed, her home.
There was only one way to find out. I wasn't about to leave the dog to wander off and get lost (or to poop on my lawn, thankyouverymuch). She was awfully cute, after all. (Were I to ever get a dog, I'd like one like this one.)
I called her to me and led her to the car. (Hubby's car, of course. Less cubic footage in which potential dog damage could be done. He wasn't so sure he liked that idea.)
Let me just tell you that that two dozen+ blocks was quite the adventure. She was all over the place -- on my lap, on the seat, licking my face, bumping her head on the windshield, sticking her head out the window.
As she whimpered, I worried. Is she trained? Am I going to regret not bringing a towel? Am I going to get a ticket for driving a bit like a drunk person as this animal was jumping all over me?
I was relieved to get to the address on the tag, although by this time I was beginning to wonder if I'd really made a mistake by bringing her.
I knocked. Again, no dice, although there was clearly another animal inside. Right after I decided I needed to let her down to, er, take a break in the grassy area between apartment buildings, a man came out with his three chihuahuas. Grrrrrrrrrr. Little dogs were growling and snipping and pouncing, and I was panicking. "I'm sorry," I explained. "This isn't my dog...I'm trying to find the owner." Fortunately, his dogs were on a leash and he did all he could to reign them in so he could take them in.
By this time, the dog had turned the corner on the neighboring building. I had visions of trying to explain to the owners that I had found and then promptly lost their dog....
"Can you help me get that dog?" I cried out to a tenant of that building, explaining again the fact that she wasn't mine.
"Do you need a leash?" I felt like I could have cried with gratitude.
Long story short...I finally found a neighbor home, who agreed to keep the dog and put a note on the owner's door.
By the time I got home, the owner had called my hubby's cell phone back. And I had the humorous experience of telling the tale to my neighbors. As it turned out, the suspicion that crept into my head as I drove to the apartments was true...
...It was my neighbor's son's dog who had gotten out while they were at dinner.
(Well, at least they know I care, right?)