Leo's Last Laugh

This past week, I had the privilege of watching a friend’s critters – Leo (dog), Midnight (cat), and Oreo (cat). I’ve watched them before and always enjoy my time. Leo is a sweet golden Labrador and never wanders far from me when he’s in my care. The great quail hunters (much to the dismay of the quail-loving neighbors and the quails themselves), Midnight and Oreo, come and go as they please, and I rarely see them. Both cats are shy’ish. I learned, though, that the minute I open a can of tuna, both cats are suddenly my best friend. Midnight, who never lets me pet her, winds in between my legs, trying to convince me that she, and only she, deserves tuna. As soon as the tuna is gone, so are the cats, quickly and silently. Sometimes I wonder if they even have cats.

Midnight

Oreo

On the evening of the full moon, I took the trash to the bin. Leo always comes with me, so I thought nothing of it when he wandered a little bit, sniffing and peeing to his little heart’s content. It was such a lovely night with the full moon and light breeze, and it was such a relief from the relentless heat of the day that I decide to stay out a little bit more and sit. I checked for Leo – he was watering the same bush for the millionth time – and sat on the swing and just chilled. Eventually, Midnight came strolling by, winding herself in and out of Leo’s legs. She enticed Leo to follow her, and I assumed Leo wouldn’t go far. Ha! I think the cat and Leo were in cahoots. I am pretty sure Midnight told Leo, “Let’s mess with the substitute human! Follow me!” And Leo, ever the agreeable chap, said, “Okay!” Of course, I didn’t know anything about their plan at the time.

After about 20 minutes of enjoying the night, I called for Leo. It was time to go in and go to bed. “Leo! Let’s go, boy!” Crickets. No dog. A fox yelped in the background. “Leo!! Come on! Let’s get a treat!” Leo loves treats (what dog doesn’t?). No Leo. Oh, shit.

As my mind began running scenarios of Leo the Lost, I briefly wondered if I could replace Leo with Jo-Dee (my dog). Leo is a Lab, Jo-Dee is part Lab. Leo is a sweetheart. Jo-Dee is a sweetheart. They’re twins, right?

Jo-Dee

Leo

Once sanity returned, I began looking for Leo. At 2 am. In the dark. In an unfamiliar neighborhood. A surprising number of trees, shrubs, and buildings look like a wily yellow Lab at 2 am. I discovered all the little roads in the area and prayed a concerned (um, nosey) neighbor wouldn’t call the cops on me as I clomped through the area, whisper-yelling, “Leo!”

Having no luck on foot, I hopped in my car. Do you know what’s hard to do at night? Look for a dog that doesn’t want to be found by foot. Do you know what’s even harder to do at night? Look for a dog that doesn’t want to be found by car. You’d think those headlights would be a help, but noooooo. All they’re good for is ruining your night vision and fulfilling the stalker stereotype. I’m no slacker, though, and gave it a good ole’ Army effort – I spent an hour going up one road, down another, over and over again until I could navigate those little streets in my sleep.

For the next three hours, I rotated between walking and driving the neighborhood. With each unanswered call, my anxiety grew. I imagined Leo in worse and worse predicaments each time I returned to the house, and he wasn’t sitting at the door waiting for me. I watched the sun creep up over the Mesa, and as it rose, the pit in my stomach sank. The quails came out to forage for breakfast, dogs and their humans moseyed about, getting their day started, traffic sounds picked up, and the heat increased. At 7 am, I made the call I had been dreading for the past five hours – “I’ve lost your dog.”

I think Brandi could hear the panic in my voice because she tried to reassure me. Leo’s escaped once or twice before, and they found him at a house, basically right behind theirs. With hope restored, I clicked off with Brandi and went to get Leo. Only he wasn’t there. I walked in front, around, and behind the house—no Leo. I call Brandi again and tell her that I struck out. I decided to post his pic on the local pets lost and found Facebook board and hope the added eyes would bring Leo home. Whenever Jo-Dee escapes, the Facebook page always brings her back to me, so I was hoping it would be the same with Leo.

Two hours go by, and I still do not have a Leo in my care. I continue to walk around the neighborhood, question anyone if they’ve seen Leo, and wonder how quickly I can leave the country to avoid the disappointment that will be in Kent and Brandi’s eyes when they come back to a dog-less home. Like an addict, I refresh the Facebook page, hoping and praying that someone has seen Leo. As I’m scrolling the postings on Facebook, Brandi calls. I imagine she’s calling to tell me they found Leo in a ditch, and I needed to get him. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case. The neighbor who’s house Leo would frequent had Leo attached to a lead in the front yard. He was sitting there waiting for me, and Brandi was calling to let me know.

So Leo ended up being at the house Brandi thought. Never mind that I passed that house a million times, calling his name. Never mind that I probably trespassed as I searched the property (and others) for the dog. Nope. Leo was having a grand time and was not about to have it ruined by a lesser human. I imagine he was hiding under a bush as I walked by, giggling to himself as my palpable panic rose. I can hear him now, paws over his mouth, while he snickered at his cleverness. I was so relieved to see him patiently waiting for my arrival that the first words out of my mouth were, “Oh Leo! Good boy!”