I either need to do a better job of blogging or a better job of writing in a physical journal. Too much is happening to have no documentation of life.
Like the one time I opened the back door to let Razor out, and in walked a random dog. He trotted his self right into my living room. It was 9 or so on a Saturday evening, and fortunately this dog had tags that told me his name is Fitz and giving me his mom and dad's phone numbers. After a quick phone call, Fitz, Razor, and I were waiting outside for Fitz's parents to come pick him up. They had been looking for him and so relieved to have him back.
Fast forward a few weeks. George and I were headed out the door to go to the babysitter's and to work. I headed out of the garage and saw a dog trotting toward me up the driveway. Fitz. George thought it was so exciting. I called Fitz's mom, but she was in Canada. She was going to call Fitz's dad and he would pick him up. I let go of Fitz's collar for a second to look for a leash. And Fitz ran off. Not a fast run, but a wandering, I'm-kinda-bored-with-this-now sort of run. I followed him around the neighbor's house, through our backyard, up the other neighbor's backyard... And of course I was wearing cute little heals. And I had George following behind me calling for me and Fitz. Eventually I gave up. I called Fitz's mom back and said he'd gotten away from me, but hopefully he was headed back toward his house. For days afterwards George asked about Fitz and let me know that he would like Fitz to be his dog.
Fast forward to this weekend. I'd suggested pancakes before I realized we were out of eggs, so we took a morning trip to the store for eggs. In our rush to get out of the house, I left the back door open. When we came home, Razor was gone. GONE. My heart started racing. George and I went out the back door and we both called for her. We walked around to the front of the house and called some more. After less than a minute of calling for her, she came sprinting down the sidewalk back home. I don't know what I would have done if she hadn't come right back home. She doesn't wear her tags often, so anyone who found her wouldn't know who she belonged to. Such a relief. Until she was gone, I don't think I really appreciated what Fitz's parents had gone through.
