A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Park

Athena lives in topsy-turvy world. Currently, she is on-leash in her own yard, but off-leash at the park. The allure of a neighbor's compost pile is making it difficult for her to remember the boundaries of her own yard, so we're working on that. Wandering on her part makes me very nervous. So I could imagine how another dog owner felt yesterday morning when an older yellow lab appeared in my yard around 5:30 am. I went outside to investigate, and found him to be cold and wet, but very friendly. He had a tag on his collar with a name and phone number in a neighboring town, so I introduced myself and invited "Packy" inside and dried him off and gave him some breakfast before calling the number on his tag. Athena was a little nervous about the sudden arrival, but seemed enthusiastic about welcoming a potential playmate.

The phone number on the tag had been disconnected, so it turned out it wasn't going to be as easy to find Packy's home as I'd thought. I called our local police department, to inquire if someone had reported a dog missing, but no leads there. I called the next town over, as the tag indicated the owner lived in South Portland, but nothing there either.

Then I turned to the internet. I did a reverse look-up for the phone number on the tag, and got the name on the tag with an address in South Portland. Google Maps gave me the directions, and even though I was pretty certain Packy could not have wandered so far and over so many busy streets to end up in my yard, we headed for the address.

The "Beware of Dog" signs in the windows of the house at the address from the internet did not give me confidence. There was absolutely nothing to beware about Packy. He is a true-to-his-breed "be my best friend" labrador. As I knocked on the door, a fiesty dachsund was the reason for the sign, and luckily, the homeowner was up early. It was not, however, Packy's owner. He thought for a minute, and said he thought Packy must belong to the people who had lived there before him, and maybe he had a phone number for them. He gave me the number and I thanked him for his early morning help.

I called the phone number on the slip of paper, and a man answered. I explained that I'd found a yellow lab. He gave me directions to his house, which in the end, was so close to our house that we'd passed it twice already in our search for Packy's home. Packy's owner was waiting outside when we pulled into the driveway, and Packy jumped out of the car and did the happy labrador dance-- you know the one: all wiggling and tail wagging. The owner explained that he'd let Packy out last night, and that every once in a while he wanders off. "Oh I know exactly what you mean", I replied. I'm sure Packy was lured by that same rotten compost pile. It is like the Sirens to the sailors in the Odyessy (or is it the Iliad...), or chocolate in the cupboard to me. So our adventure had a happy ending, and in time for us to be at the park with Athena by 7am! .

above, Packy, looking for his house

For My Angel

This is the time of year that I can't help but think about angels. It was four years ago this week that I lost my Chocolate Lab, Angel. The day before she died was the first day she had not enthusiastically greeted me at the door, and while I thought it was unusual, even then she showed no signs of what was going on inside. By the next afternoon she was gone, too soon, too suddenly, and leaving my poor children with a mother who would burst into tears every time she came through the kitchen door without that lovely dog to greet her.

She was my best friend. She was born on my birthday. My sister, with whom I also share a birthday, made the origami angel dog after Angel died, and it sits in a place of honor on my desk, just above my computer. Very few days go by that I don't think of Angel still. She was the puppy for my little girls, she was the listener who never tired of me, even through my divorce. She helped cushion the transition to our new house, and she had an unlimited capacity for snuggling. She was ready to jump in and enjoy swimming in the cellar the first time it flooded, the same way she was ready to jump into the ocean on the 4th of July (and on New Year's Day). She was the the best friend our bunny could have ever hoped for (even if she did ocassionaly swipe his carrot). She made us feel safe.

Angel was partial to the Poor Farm Fields, another great off-leash area in Cape Elizabeth. She would fetch a ball, or preferably a soft frisbee, until my arm just couldn't fling it any more. She allowed us to dress her up in ridiculous costumes (the jester's collar pictured here was nothing compared to most Halloweens in her lifetime).

So today, here's to all the great dogs who have shared our lives and left us a little heart-broken. The best thing they've taught us is to enjoy their company, because it makes our lives better every day that we do.

The Social Event of the Season

The April Scoop was the perfect work party, more workers than work, leaving lots of time for enjoying a gentle foggy morning at Fort Williams. Theresa Fox, "The Furry Godmother" of Cape Elizabeth was the genius organizer, and had a table laden with muffins, bagels, dog biscuits and prizes for the Easter Egg Hunt that was prepared before our arrival.
I am happy to report that in general, the park was in great shape, making it a pretty good challenge to find anything to pick up. The gentler than average winter may have been a part of it; a wonderful community of dogs and their owners who have a respectful admiration for this wonderful place we can come and play freely is the other part of it.


At left, Lola waits patiently for a dog biscuit. At right, Athena says "yes, please" to Theresa's offer of a dog biscuit.

That's "Mister" Ripley

It is high time we showed our respect for the boss of the off-leash area, Ripley. He may not be big, like all the retrievers, or fast like the poodles and the hounds, but he rules the off-leash area of Fort Williams Park with an attitude that commands respect from every dog and human he encounters. He knows he's the boss, and everybody else knows it too. And I don't mean to say that Ripley is bossy, it's not that at all, it's more like the kind of attitude a Hollywood movie star has when they enter a room and silently but effectively command the attention of everyone in it.

That's the same way Ripley does it.

In my life outside the park, I work in a store, and I mentioned, on one of the very nice weather days this Spring, how nice it had been that morning at Fort Williams. The customer I was chatting with said that her son walked there every morning, and I asked if he walked with a dog. She very proudly told me that Ripley was her son's dog, and that she was to have the honor of dining with Ripley that evening. It is not your every day dog who can elicit this type of response.I told her that Ripley was the boss of the off-leash area, and this did not surprise her at all.

Maybe we'll need to organize some sort of celebration for Boss' Day. But for Ripley, he lives as if every day is Boss' Day, and it works.