Dog Nappers

We had a bad neighbor. He was always putting notes in the mailbox about our dogs (or dog), about how they were killing his chickens. He never actually called or talked to us face-to-face, but he threatened us via notes taped to our fence. He even sent a cop one time to give us a special message. We were confused. We had 4-5 large Golden Retrievers at any given time, but often when his cryptic messages arrived, the fence was closed and nobody was missing. Not to say our dogs never got out....they did, and often, unfortunately. Golden Retrievers are never content to stay home, even with five acres, multiple playmates and a splashy creek to play in. If they believe there are other humans within shouting distance, besides the half-dozen living in your house, they will seek them out as well as any body of water located within a few miles. More than once, we found them 4-5 miles away, where they'd trolled down the Dog River for a fun afternoon of socializing and playing in the creek. I'm not excusing our slum-dog ways of forgetting to shut the gate, not keeping the fences tight, or failing to pay attention to all sorts of things...it's just a fact that we were busy and often distracted (particularly me). So when one day we came home after a long day of work and school, opened the (then-shut) gate and rolled up the long driveway to no dogs, we began to parse together the fact that even though the gate was indeed shut and locked, we were missing two of the four dogs. The other two happened to be inside the house. To this day, we think that he let the dogs out, but we can't be sure.

After much calling of neighbors and driving about the streets around us, we got concerned. After checking with the pound and putting many miles on the van, we began to be despondent. We started distributing flyers everywhere. We made a map and with multiple kids in the car, covered half the county with our brochures. Time and weeks went by. One of our sons, Daniel, was particularly vigilant. When school was out each day, he'd implore me to get out with him and hit the streets we hadn't flyered yet. One day, I (of course) was out shopping when a man called our house and talked to the boys. He said that he knew where our dogs were and that they were being taken care of, that he might call back sometime, but that he wanted to be sure we would be responsible dog owners before he decided to bring them back. Good luck with that. When I checked on the number, I discovered that it was from a payphone at a trailer park 10 miles away. On another day, a woman called and told me she had almost hit them when she was driving by the river. I noticed her name on the caller ID: Debra S________. We must have talked for 20 minutes or so. She asked all sorts of questions about them and said that we might should look near that part of the river. We did, with no luck.

More weeks went by. We despaired of ever seeing Chloe and Bethany again. Then another call came. This time from a woman who had been talking to people at the Corn Crib trailer park when she saw two magnificent Golden Retrievers at a woman's trailer. She thought that they didn't seem to belong there. She couldn't remember which trailer or street, but suggested I start canvassing the area to find them.  Daniel, Jesse, Liz and I headed that way. We went door-to-door, until a homeowner asked us to wait a minute. I heard her printer running inside the house and she emerged with a picture of Chloe. She said that the dogs had been at her house for a few days, and she had put up flyers at the local gas station....but then they ran off and they were now down the street at a different house. We pulled down the street to the house, which was locked up tight. We could hear dogs inside and in the back yard, but no one was answering. A lady walked up and asked what we needed. We asked her if these people had any Golden Retrievers and she said yes, they did. I was about to faint. She said, "But they ain't your dogs. Her boyfriend gave her those dogs. They're show dogs." She asked me what their names were. I told her and she said (no kidding), "That's not your dogs. These dogs' names are Buster and Katie." Oh. My. Word. 

We went to the animal control office, where a policeman told us that they didn't have time, but that if we wanted, we could stake out the place and call 911 when someone came home. Daniel and I set up reconnaissance on the hill above the trailer and waited. Soon, a boy came outside into the yard. We called 911 and waited on the police to arrive. The policeman asked the boy to release the hounds, and out they flew, nearly knocking us over. I showed him their papers and pictures of them. About this time, Mama Bear arrives, madder than a wet hen. She asked what was going on. We explained our story. The cop filled out a report and asked her for her name. She refused to tell him. Some tough talk ensued and she tried to keep me from hearing her say it. Eventually she whispered it to him, but I heard anyway. Deborah S________. 

Now that's just pure meanness right there. We got our dogs back and that's all that mattered. But I definitely wanted to punch her in the nose.