Several months ago I received a distress call from a city building superintendent who had a problem. The previous day he had been cleaning a basement apartment window and looked out to see a dripping wet cocker looking at him. He went out, retrieved the dog, dried him thoroughly, and discovered an unusual collar but no tags. He fed him and put him in an empty apartment. He called K.P., who referred him to me. We talked about foster care ... him keeping the dog with referral ... He couldn't keep the dog and had previously worked for a large kill shelter and said he would never surrender any dog to one. I agreed to foster, picking up the dog over the weekend.
This gentleman had previously rescued and adopted a mixed breed found under similar circumstances. The owner of the building did not permit any pets so the dog was spirited away when the building owner came for a visit. So a second dog was completely out of the question.
Saturday morning came, and the gentleman was unsure whether to surrender the dog to me. As he did every day, he went to Mass and prayed for a sign to know what to do - surrender ... hide the dog ... what else? He left the church and headed straight to police headquarters to see if anyone had notified the police of their lost dog. No one had. A secretary in the department suggested that they search the dog license database on their computer. First dog ... then cockers ... then males ... then buff. The gentleman and the secretary called everyone who had licensed a buff male. No one admitted to losing a dog. Now he thought that the dog had been purposely dumped near his building so someone would likely find the dog.
After all their work making phone calls, the secretary mentioned that she had a friend who had just put down a cocker and might like another. The gentleman went home and called the woman. Strange! She only lived three blocks away. He told the woman about the cocker, even mentioning the unusual collar. Funny, she said, she had a lead which was a little different also. The woman and her young son came over to see the cocker and immediately it clicked. The dog rolled over for belly rubs and washed faces all around. She then pulled the leash from her purse, and found that it was the match to the lost dog's collar. She agreed that this was meant to be, but she and her son would advertise his "lost" status and maybe his owner would come forward. No one ever did.
The gentleman called me to tell the outcome. We both had goose bumps when he retold the story. I reminded him that the had asked for a sign, and the leash was it.
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In early April, I received a call from "that large metropolitan shelter." There were two cockers - a black male and a chubby buff male. I arranged for a fellow all-breed rescue person to pick up the two and drop them at a nearby boarding kennel. I loaded two crates - a 200 and a 300 - into my truck. Friday after school I went to pick them up. The black was a sweetie and popped right into the 200. Back I went for the buff, but ... oh my ... he was not going to fit in the 300. Back into the kennel he went. I returned the next day with a 700 and brought him home.
The following weekend I received a tearful phone call from a family living on the Delaware. Their two cockers had gotten out of the fenced in yard about a month ago. The black & tan female had come back ... but the buff male never did. The Delaware had been high and they were afraid he had drowned. I told them about Andy, the black, and Sam, the buff. Two hours later they were at my home. They liked Andy, but he wasn't interested. Sam, however, loved them! He and the daughter were lying on the family room floor, giving hugs, kisses and doggy belly scratches. Once again - a dog picked his new owner!
Early the next morning I received a heartbroken, tearful phone call. The family's B/T female didn't like Sam, and had even bitten Sam's nose, drawing blood. Could they bring him back? Of course, I'll see you in a hour, I said. Just before noon, the phone rang again. "We're going to try ... Sam is fighting back!" One week later everything was still improving. One month later - great!
One June afternoon I came home to find a message from the family ... Casey, their buff male - presumed dead - had returned! He just walked back into the yard. He looked terrible, was emaciated, filthy and smelly. But he was their dog and this was his home. It took him four months, but he still found his way! Now they have three cockers and one mixed breed. One happy family! One incredible journey!