CARPET DOG

 This story is many years old.  The dog in this tale was affectionately labeled "carpet dog" and is still thought of quite fondly by Aubrey and her mother.

My daughter has wanted a dog for as long as I can remember.  Years ago I signed an agreement, written in child’s scrawl, basically agreeing that if I am ever retired and don’t have anything else to do, I’ll help Aubrey take care of a dog. 

The want of a dog has evolved into a question which is posed at nearly regular intervals, testing the receptivity of dog ownership.  It has become something of a joke in our house.  “Mom, what if we were driving along and we saw a little tiny dog by the side of the road?  What if he was shivering and hungry and was the kind of dog who doesn’t chew on furniture or pee in the house? Would we take him home?”  The scenario changes to fit the mood of the questioner, but usually contains some component of shivering, pitiful, and well-behaved dog. 

Driving down a local highway this afternoon, dear Aubrey suddenly shrieked.  “Mom!” I jumped and began scanning the highway for the threat.  And then with more distress, she cried, “A dog!”  After that she couldn’t immediately speak at all because the huge tears began rolling down her cheeks and dripping off her chin as she tried to catch her breath.

Over the next half mile or so, I gleaned enough information to know that she had seen a dog and that the dog was in distress.  My daughter loves animals.  Sometimes I think she prefers them to people.  “He was stretched out and I think his eyes were closed and some car must have hit him.” 

Trying to understand where the poor creature had been stricken, I asked her for the third or fourth time to give me details.  “Where exactly was the dog?”  Still on the road?  Dragged to the shoulder?  To the best of her recollection, the dog was laying in what looked like an empty lot.  Despondent.  Alone.  No doubt suffering intolerably.

There was no way to do a U-turn since the double lane of oncoming traffic was sitting still for over a mile.  I continued toward home and then when I could make the first right-hand turn, I did so and started back toward the scene of the crime.

Aubrey’s worried tears became a little more rational when she realized her mother had launched into rescue mode.  “I think it was a dog.”  And then, “I guess it could have been a rolled up piece of rug or something.”  Great.  I was driving for miles out of my way to rescue a discarded carpet remnant. 

But let’s assume it is a dog and suppose he is still alive, but injured.  The questions were continual and her worry was lovable.  “What are we going to do Mom?”  Well I was clearly not driving out of my way just to gape at the dog….or carpet…or whatever….   I tried to reassure her.  “Honey, we’ll stop and try to help him if he needs help.” 

Satisfied, she began to imagine aloud how we’d intervene.  Soon remembering the soft twin-size comforter in the trunk of the car, she pictured herself wrapping the wounded dog in the blanket and positioning him on her lap for the drive to the veterinarian.  “I will stroke his head.”  And the unspoken part, and if he survives and isn’t wearing a collar, I will convince my mother to let me keep him. 

I drove a little faster than necessary because my nurse Brenda adrenalin was at full capacity by this time.  We once again entered the traffic on the side of the highway we’d just traveled.  “Keep your eyes open Aubrey.”  I positioned the car in the left lane this time so she could get a better view of the casualty.  

It didn’t take long before she spotted the sight.  “I see him!  It’s a dog Mom and he is just laying there not moving.”  Oh my.  I didn’t want to have to find a dead dog.  We turned left at the next intersection and weaved our way through a gas station to put us on the same side of the road as the afflicted animal. 

It became clear that the dog was not strewn upon the road; rather it was lying still as stone on a driveway connected to the highway. 

Timing our exit perfectly so that we could drive slowly toward the creature, we held our collective breath and prepared to shout, whistle, and scream to get a reaction from the poor brown dog that was not a carpet after all.

Slowing carefully, we shouted and whistled out the window with great gusto.  It was about that time I noted that the driveway was next to a house, and from the cozy house extended a perfectly visible chain attached to the injured party’s collar. 

The boxer dog was enjoying a lovely afternoon nap on the sun warmed driveway of his home residence. 

Isn’t that just like a human being?  Panic first and imagine the worst.  And just as you’ve tied your entire body into a lovely knot of distress, the reality of the situation becomes suddenly crystal clear.  You find out that your suppositions were erroneous, your tears of worry were wasted fluid, and you’ve just spent twenty minutes driving around town to be back where you started.

I’m glad we went back to rescue the carpet dog.  I’m thrilled we didn’t find him deceased.  And I’m even happier we haven’t adopted a stray to chew on the furniture.  Because even on my most resolved days I wouldn’t have been able to say no to a wounded dog and a heroic daughter all at the same time.