Cocoon mode,* day 23: My futile search for Old Girl and her woman

You will recall that Carol Shay did not know the address of the house where Old Girl was reunited with her woman, but she did give me general directions on how to get there and assured me that, once I did, it would be obvious to me. So, I pedaled my bike right into the area that I believed her to speak of, but it was not obvious at all. 

There were a good number of homes around and the only way that I would have known Old Girl lived at one of them was if she was out in the yard. She wasn't.

I did, however, see this American flag, hanging limp in the shadows, where a triangular patch of it caught the sunlight.

...and I saw this horse, peeking out of a nearby barn. I am told this barn is where I was born, but I don't believe it, since I did not first step into Alaska until I was 22 years old.

It was the horse that told me this. The horse said, "brother, you were born in this barn, just like me." I think the horse lied.

True enough, though - I was born an Alaskan, its just that I was born into exile in a town called Ogden, Utah, and it took me awhile to come home.

And, as I neared my house, I saw this dog. But I never did see Old Girl and her woman.

In the afternoon, when I took my coffee break, I drove back into the neighborhood, where I spotted this little family, as seen in my rearview mirror. I drove to them, described the dog, and asked if they knew where it lived.

They were friendly and helpful people and they spoke with what I took to be a Russian accent - a strong Russian accent. It could have been from somewhere else in that part of the world, but it sounded Russian to me.

By my description of the old dog with one blue and one brown eye, they recognized it right away. "Very old dog," the man said. "Husky. So stiff with arthritis it can hardly walk." 

So they told me where the dog lived, with two other dogs. I drove there, and found an old husky, with two dogs and a woman, but it was the wrong husky and the wrong woman.

"No," she said, "my dog did not get lost."

I should have taken their picture, but I was in a hurry and already had more pictures than I could justifiable stuff into a "cocoon mode" post, so I just said "thank you," got back into my red Ford Escape and drove away.

But I will yet find Old Girl and her woman.

I will.

*Cocoon mode: Until I finish up a big project that I am working on, I am keeping this blog at bare-minimum simple. I anticipate about one month.

Cocoon mode,* day 22: Update: Old Girl is lost no more! The 17 year-old dog is home!

I just talked to Carol Shay on the phone. The dog has been reunited with its people. After Carol drove the 12 miles to the Borough animal shelter, the good folks over there dug a little further back through their "lost dog" report records and found that a report had been filed that they had earlier missed when Carol called on the phone.

Hallejuah! This meant that the poor old dog had never been abandoned to die, as I had feared, but had somehow wandered off and hobbled two miles into the marsh. She had survived for five days. And she is 17 years old. She is loved and cared for.

Carol returned Old Girl to her "mom," and even learned her name, but she could not think of it when I talked to her.

"Senior moment," husband Dodd apologized. That's okay. Happens to me all the time - as frequent readers of this blog know. Carol did not have an address or a name, but she described how to get to the woman's home, so I will try to find her and see if I can get a photograph of the two of them together. I haven't time for such an activity, but then I take a bike ride just about every day, so I might as well bike over there and see if I can find the dog and her mom.

As for the train, my reason for including it in this post should be obvious.

Let us all be thankful that the dog came here instead of going the same distance in the opposite direction, which would have brought her to the railroad tracks. Being an adventurer, she would have undoubtedly hopped into a freight car. She would have wound up in Fairbanks, where she would have had to eat nothing but Spam, and tough out a very cold winter as she huddled by her hobo fire.

Of course, I hope to get to Fairbanks before too long. Perhaps destiny would also have brought us together there. We could have sat by the fire and shared some Spam, on Pilot bread, with mustard and cheese, washed down by Pepsi that would have turned to slush the moment it left the can and poured into our mouths.

We would have laughed and barked happily. Then one of us would have said, "pass the cheese, please," and the other would have answered, "woof, woof," just before she passed it.

I photographed the train through the window of Family Restaurant this morning. I was thrilled that it happened to pass by just as I was finishing off my ham and eggs, over easy, hash browns on the side, with coffee to wash it all down.

*Cocoon mode: Until I finish up a big project that I am working on, I am keeping this blog at bare-minimum simple. I anticipate about one month.

Cocoon mode,* day 21: Update on the dog from the marsh: at last report, still looking for her people

I found Carol at home today. The dog was still with her (and of all things, I had forgotten my camera!). She had called the vet and had given them the ID number on the rabies tag that they had issued to the dog, but it was so old they could not ID it. She had called the animal shelter and had given them the ID number off the license.

Same thing, but they said it would be in their records somewhere, just not in a convenient place to access.

So she was going to drive the dog the 12 miles to the animal shelter and see if they could find it while she was there.

If not, she was not quite certain how to proceed. She was not going to leave the dog there, because, given its age and health, she knew they would put it down in three days or so. So she would just bring it back home. She remembered her black and white "Little Munckin" the old dog that had disappeared in the marsh (which she and Dodd call "the meadow." It is much drier now than it was before they bought the property but back then it was a genuine marsh.)

"That's not going to happen to this good dog," she said emphatically. Not long after Little Munchkin disappeared, she had found some bear scat on the trail. She feared that might explain why she could not find it.

She had made posters, including the one above, below the old picture of the Chihuahua and had put them up around the neighborhood.

Nobody had called.

I must say, the dog, though still stiff and slow, looked much better than when last I saw it.

*Cocoon mode: Until I finish up a big project that I am working on, I am keeping this blog at bare-minimum simple. I anticipate about one month.

Cocoon mode,* day 20: Russian lady walks two dogs, boys on bikes, black cat at work; trying to get update on the old dog found on death journey

On my coffee break, I saw this lady of the old Russian faith walking two dogs. In time, I must get to know her people much better than I do right now, for they are a big if quiet presence in Wasilla. Those whom I have met and chatted with on my walks have always been friendly, despite the language barriers.

A few are very shy, but then so am I.

I could do so much more if I were not so shy. And if I had more time. And more money to work with - oh, the things I could do with this blog!

Back when Willow was alive, she would draw the Russian children out and they would follow us on our walks and we would talk and have a good time. Sometimes, though, the adults would reprimand them and make them stay home.

This was years before I began to blog, but I did take some pictures and they are around here, somewhere.

Two boys on bikes turn off Ward Street.

This is actually where I spend most of my time. For some reason, it is turning into a bigger struggle for me than it ought to be. Jimmy helps me through it.

As to the old dog from yesterday's post, I have been trying to update her story. I stopped by the Shay house three times today, the last time at 9:06 PM, but I have found nobody but dogs home - but not the old girl. I did not see her. I sent an email to Dodd, but, so far, no response.

Still, I will succeed in contacting them sooner or later and I will update you.

As you can see, I have returned solidly into cocoon mode. I must stay here for awhile, perhaps longer than I first thought.

*Cocoon mode: Until I finish up a big project that I am working on, I am keeping this blog at bare-minimum simple. I anticipate about one month.

Did someone drop her out here and intentionally abandon her to die? Or did she purposely head out to die alone? Or was she, perhaps, bumped out of the back of a pickup truck?

I spotted the dog ahead on the trail that leads through the marsh, looking at me. I was much further back than this. I expected it to either turn and run, or come to check me out. It did neither, but just stood there and this struck me as strange. I could see that it was a very old dog.

Jacob, Kalib and Muzzy were on the trail, a short distance behind me.

As I drew closer, I saw that the reason that it had neither fled nor approached was because it was too feeble and stiff. It growled, bared its teeth menacingly, and voided all of its urine. It was then that we knew that it was female - a very old female.

Jacob took Kalib and Muzzy on toward home. I stayed behind, to see if I could figure out how to help her. I wanted to check the tags on her collar, but, as you can see, when I would draw near, she would growl menacingly.

I did not want to get bitten.

So I put my hand on her back, just in front of her tail. She continued to growl. I spoke soothingly to her and gradually moved my hand up her back and then her neck. She quit growling, but the look of fear stayed put.

Her tags were very worn. There was a phone number on the rabies tag, but it could not be read. Her license held the number for the animal shelter. I called, but it was closed.

I did not know what to do. I tried to coax her to follow me toward the house. But she would not. I took hold of her collar and tried to lead her along, but each step that I forced out of her pained and terrified her.

I could only think of two reasons why she might be out here. Perhaps her humans did not want to deal either with taking her to the vet to be euthanized or to put her down themselves, so they had just brought her out and dumped her.

But then, sometimes, when a dog or cat is very old and knows it is going to die, it will purposefully wander off to do so in private. This is what we believe happened to Harry, the great dog of my childhood, adolescence and early adulthood.

So perhaps this is what she had done.

I walked away, wondering if I should just leave her to meet what may well have been her chosen fate.

I had not gone more than 100 yards or so when I heard the calls of ravens. I looked up and saw these two, cavorting in the sky, alert to any potential meal upon the ground. The dog could make many a fine meal for these ravens, who certainly do deserve to eat.

But I felt kind of bad about it so, as soon as I got to the house, I retrieved my reading glasses and went back to the dog. It did not help. I still could not read the phone number.

So I called Jake and told him to bring a leash. 

Then it occurred to me that the dog might belong to the people who own the marsh, the ones whose property is always being trespassed upon by four-wheeler drivers who are mental midgets and should be dispossessed of all rights to drive machines, period.

It was not their dog. Carol Shay, the lady of the house, had seen it a couple of days before, standing in the middle of Seldon, oblivious to the cars racing by it on both sides. She had tried to rescue it but its growl and bared teeth had scared her away. 

She had called the animal shelter and had told them to come and pick it up, but they had failed to do so.

Now she came with her poodle and a golden retriever and husband Dodd not far behind. They had lost an aged dog in this very marsh. It had just disappeared while they walked with it. She and her husband looked and looked, but they could never find it.

So Carol was very moved to see this old girl.

She decided to take the dog in overnight. Tomorrow, she would call the animal shelter, give them the number on the license and they could hopefully track down the dog's people. She also suggested a third possibility as to why this old dog was wandering the marsh. Perhaps she had been in the back of a pickup truck and got bumped out.

Perhaps.

I don't think so, but perhaps.

She picked it up and carried it home, her poodle close behind her.

Now, I must return to Cocoon Mode.