The Search Mission

Yesterday afternoon I was standing on my balcony and I saw one of my young neighbors out with his dog on a leash. The little boy was only about 7 years old and it was obvious to me the boy could not handle this dog. It was pretty predictable as to what was going to happen next and sure enough, a couple of minutes later the dog broke free and took off. The little boy took off chasing after it but I knew it was gone. I put Molly on a leash to see if I could help. I canvased the upper part of the neighborhood but I didn't spot the dog. I was walking back down the sidewalk to my apartment and the little boy and his father passed me on their way to search for the runaway dog. The little boy was just bawling and my heart went out to him. I felt so incredibly bad for him. He tried talking to me but I really couldn't understand a word he said through all of the tears. I have been that little boy. When I was growing up, the family pet was a Poodle named Midnight. He died one afternoon when I was about 10 or 11 years old, and my Mom distracted me and my older sister by taking us shopping on a Sunday afternoon so my father could bury him. When Midnight didn't turn up late that afternoon, I went looking for him and I feared the worst. I was bawling just like the little boy this afternoon. My parents finally had to sit me down and tell me he had passed away. Luckily this story had a happier ending and the little boys dog turned up about 20 minutes later. I helped corral him long enough for him to be lassoed and returned to the little boy.