It was a beautiful July day, and my three sisters and I were anticipating a long hike along the Appalachian Trail. Just the four of us. No kids, no responsibilities–just the mountains, the sky, and each other’s company. And the dogs, of course.
I called the dogs and we hopped into my husband’s car–an old Mercedes he had converted to run on used peanut oil we picked up in five gallon buckets from downtown restaurants. The car smelled like french fries driving down the road, and there were lots of reasons the dogs like to ride in it.
I drove to the south side of town, where I was picking up my sister. I stopped by Sharp Shopper for some peach/mango juice to take along. I browsed for a few other bargain items, paid, and went back to the car.
Yorick was gone.
Classic dog-keeper mistake. I started berating myself as soon as I realized what I had done. Hurried and excited about meeting my sisters, I had left the dogs in the back seat with the front windows down. I put Hamlet on a leash and we scouted the parking lot and neighboring stores, calling. Yorick was nowhere. Suburbs and fields stretched in one direction, buildings and pavement in another. Rt. 11 flowed past the end of the parking lot, heavy with traffic. Yorick, not even a year old, had probably wormed out of the car trying to follow me. When he couldn’t find me, he got confused and ran–which direction was anyone’s guess. Hamlet, not trained in tracking, was merely enjoying the walk, and could do nothing to help me find his young impulsive friend.
I called my little sister and tried to think through what to do. She called the others, on their way to Skyline Drive from the other side of the mountain, and told them about the delay. Then she joined me. I contacted the police, Animal Control, my vet, the animal emergency hospital, the SPCA. Yorick was micro-chipped and wore a rabies tag, but didn’t have my phone number on his collar. An hour passed as we drove and walked the neighborhood. Finally, a report of a Yorick sighting! An hour earlier, presumably when I was in the store, receptionists at Landes Heating and Air Conditioning had seen him and tried to get him to come to them. He looked frightened and confused they said, and trotted warily away, heading North-West.
Maybe he was going home.
By this time, my older sisters had come in from the mountains. We split up and spent the next hour driving all the back roads between Sharp Shopper and home on the other side of town.
Well into the second hour of Yorick’s ordeal, I got a call form the police dispatcher. I was at the SPCA where I was putting up a Lost Dog poster, hastily assembled and printed from my home computer. Someone had seen Yorick close to Hillendale Park, some three miles and several major streets away from the Sharp Shopper. I called my sisters, and we all converged on the park.
He still took some time to locate, but finally my sister saw him–footsore and thirsty, but too wary to come even when she called him by name. Still a puppy, he was trying to get back to his small, predictable world as quickly as he could. He was about halfway home.
Many a careless dog-keeper moment has come to a worse end than this. Yorick, although clearly frightened by being out on his own, was none the worse for his adventure. His self-confidence easily returned, and he spent the rest of the afternoon in the air-conditioning at home.
We spent the rest of the afternoon on an abbreviated hike. I was glad for my sisters’ company, and glad for Yorick’s safety. I marveled at the carelessness of the well-intentioned–I consider myself a conscientious dog-keeper, and like to think I do well by the animals in my care. But I’ve found my animals’ capacity to forgive will outdistance my capacity to lapse every time!
Map of Yorick’s Incredible Journey. Yorick started out at Duke’s Shopping Plaza, and we found him a bit past Hillendale Park, at the “E” marker, a distance of about three miles. I’m guessing at his route. He may have crossed open fields or taken the road. He certainly crossed over South High Street, a busy artery through downtown Harrisonburg. He was indeed heading home (marker “F”) and would have crossed Rt. 33 if we hadn’t found him in time.