So, just a little description of the neighborhood to help with the story. We live near a retirement/assisted living/ nursing home/rehab facility compound-ish thing. We also live amidst a paved trail system. The two things come together when the trail goes along the back of the patio homes portion of the old people village. Shawn and I refer to it as "the retirement home path". So, the north side of the path buts up against patio homes and the south side is next to grass, trees, benches, and a waterway. At a certain point, the patio homes end, there's a space (probably two car widths) and then the start of a series of garages.
There you have it; our stage.
Last week, Jarvis and I were on a routine walk on the retirement home path, heading east toward home. We could see an old lady staring at something by the split rail fence near the garages. As Jarvis and I get closer she says, "This must be yours." I look and there's a little, white dog just hanging out. So, obviously, I have a big dog on a leash and I'm heading toward a roaming little dog, it must be mine. Dog parenting for the WIN! I told her that it was not and kept on our way with Jarvis' poop in a bag on the way to the poop station.
Then, an older man comes from the other direction and I hear, "Certainly, this must be yours." Again, her theory gets rejected.
DAMMIT! I can't do it. I can't keep going. The dog must be rescued; the owner must be found. We head back. I try to find something to hook Jarvis' leash to so that he secure while I go play some kind of canine savior. Once Jarvis is hooked, he loses his shit and barks like the goddamn Mailman is trying to do his job and deliver shit.
Meanwhile, I head over to the little dog. I'm not good with breeds, this one looks like it took a frying pan to the face a la "Tom & Jerry" and is forever pissed about it. It also has a tail the stands up and strands of hair hang off of it, kind of like the ribbons on a May Pole before they are May Poled.
I pick this light weight, white, ball of fur up. I'm not sure he's even ten pounds. He gives me the evil eye. What the fuck? I'm trying to find his fucking home and he's so ungrateful.
While all of this is happening, I'm hoping for a large number of seniors who are hard of hearing to living around there because Jarvis cannot get his shit together. I look over and he did some kind of twisted flip without actually strangling himself. Resting bitch (I know, Oscar is a boy dog) face is shaking and growling at Jarvis. I sit down on a curb near Jarvis hoping he might shut up because the dog is not a threat to him. I'm looking at Oscar's collars and I try calling the licensing office. It is a recorded, pick-a-number menu. I decided holding the dog and Jarvis barking are not making this phone call easy. Then, I decide to go to the apartment building hoping for a front desk with a receptionist who can take over for me. Me walking away brings Jarvis' desire to be recognized and hear to the next level. I get to the apartment and there is no front desk and you have to be buzzed in. I don't think a random buzzing to some apartment tenant is going to get me anywhere.
I go back to Jarvis; back to curb sitting; back to collar tag looking. Oscar's "Oscar" tag has two phone numbers. One didn't work. The other went to voicemail so I left a message with my phone number. There I am with Jarvis chained up and barking and a small dog giving me the stink eye. I unhook Jarvis and he wants a piece of Oscar. He's jumping and Oscar is growling while giving Jarvis the death stare. I'm trying to get Oscar to higher land (aka my upper body) because Jarvis wants an ass sniff and a piece of the angry little devil. Fuck me! Jarvis pulls out a tuft of hair. Then another tuft. I get Oscar almost on top of my head while using my other hand to try to choke up on Jarvis' leash so he can't jump high. And, while all this is happening, while Jarvis is jumping around me, there is a bag of shit in my pocket!
I'm almost in tears while also wanting to laugh thinking about what this must look like. For a moment, I think, well, I'm going to have to bring Oscar home and wait for the call. Then I realize, how the fuck am I going to walk home with these two and then what am I going to do with them once I get their. UGH!!!
Finally, I decided it would be best to walk around the senior village and hope for someone to know or own this dog. I didn't pay attention to the name on the voicemail so I call back and get the lady's name. We're walking along, the three stooges, and Jarvis' gets one more tuft of hair!!! Then, there is a woman out in front of her home. I asked if she knew the woman from the voicemail. She did and told me she was in the home next door to where I was. She said something about how it must be Oscar or....I stopped her and said that it was, indeed, Oscar.
Jarvis and I take Oscar to the door. The woman was asking him if he got out again. She mentioned that he did spend a night in jail once. That was about it. I kind of expected a bigger thank you, but I guess if this is a pretty routine experience, she has become hardened to the ways of appreciation.
Maybe Oscar is trying to get away from something and maybe that something has frozen his face into a permanent expression of hatefulness and inner rage.