If there's ever a time to remain calm and clear headed, it's when you realize your precious beasts are missing. Your best strategy is to think like your dog, but more often than not, pure panic sets in, boggling the best of intentions. I learned this the hard way.
One particular snowy, January day, I was visiting a friend and putting my horse away after a trail ride we'd taken. I called to my cohorts, Ruby and Jet, we needed to get home. I called again. No dogs. Snow had been sliding off the indoor arena roof and I knew Ruby wasn't fond of the sound. No one had seen them and it was getting dark with two feet of snow on the ground in the rural Maine woods.
I panicked, borrowed some snowshoes, and took off about a half hour before dark. I was sure I could keep my bearings and I knew they always went down to a stream behind the property, so that's where I headed.
It wasn't long before I realized I was in trouble. Bushwacking through clusters of brush and trees with no trail, and stumbling up and down little gullies and ravines, it became impossible to see or hear anything. It was cold, there was snow falling, and I was soaked to the bone. My snowshoes were falling off left and right and I kept sinking into very deep snow, having to pull myself out crawling around to locate the shoes. There were no lights and the sounds from cars were very far away and coming from several directions. Every time I headed one way, I'd hear a sound from the opposite direction.
I knew I was royally in trouble. I knew I had to keep moving to stay warm. I hoped there were people assembling to look for me and soon. My dogs were lost and now so was I. I kept moving. Somehow, I managed to find a high piece of ground where I climbed to look for a lit area. I followed a glow, I guess, and came upon a vacant house with a long driveway that eventually led to a road which turned out to be several miles from my friend's house. I knocked on the first door I came to and some nice folks drove me back to my friend's house, where everyone, including my husband was organizing a search party, complete with snowmobiles and a posse of nieghbors.
He informed me that the dogs had been home resting comfortably on the couch when he came home from work! There was a message on the phone. They had been picked up on the road by people coming home from work, jumping happily into their car. Their ID tags had phone numbers on but no one had been at home to answer the call. They were out searching for me! Somehow these good samaritans had contacted the town hall who was able to give them an address for Ruby and Jet's delivery.
Ruby and Jet's id tags had done their job, and I thank god they weren't hurt or run over. I, on the other hand, felt like I'd been through World War lll. I was definitely a little shell shocked and utterly exhausted. My life had flashed before me a tad over the last three hours.
Several days later, when my sense of humor returned, I pondered the idea of adding the slogan "You may get lost... but your pet never will!" to my Silver Paw tag line.
What's your story? I'd love know that I'm not the only crazy person out there willing to risk her life for her dogs...
www.silverpawtags.com
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