Snickers

          We currently have three dogs.  They are great companions, and part of the family. We have never regretted their additions to our family.  But there was once another dog.  And I think I may always have regrets over that one.

            The kids came bursting through the front door on their way home from school that afternoon, with exciting news.

            “Mom!”

            “Hey Mom!”

            “Guess what followed us home?”

            Out on the front porch, pressed up against the door, stood a middle-aged, golden retriever-mix dog.  My enthusiasm didn’t quite match theirs.

            “He followed us, Mom!”

            “Yeah, can we keep him?”

            I tried to slow down the process a little.  Where did the dog come from?  It has a collar and a tag so it probably has an owner.  We should figure out how to contact the owner.

            They were visibly disappointed.  Mom, always the kill-joy.

            I said they could play with the dog outside.  But it wasn’t to be brought into the house.  And it wasn’t to be fed.

            They dropped their school bags and ran back outside.  Over the next couple of hours the dog played in the backyard with the kids.  Whenever I looked out, they were clearly having fun with it. And it was clearly enjoying being with them.

            When they came inside the dog laid down on the doormat on the back porch. By bedtime it was still there. And the kids had named him ‘Snickers’.

            Geoff and I talked about whether we ought to feed it something, and decided not to.

            “If it gets hungry enough, maybe it’ll head home to eat,” Geoff reasoned.

            It was with some surprise the next morning that I discovered Snickers still lying curled up on the doormat by the back door.  He stood up, happily wagging his tail and looking inquisitively at me as I opened the door.  I said good morning, and went to get him a dish of food.

            That afternoon, we called the vet and gave them the number on the dog tags. The vet gave us the name of the person who bought those tags.   It was a woman we knew, who happened to live just down the street from us.  We called her, and were told that it wasn’t her dog.  She’d lent that collar, with the old tags still on it, to a friend of her daughter’s who needed a collar for his dog.  She would get in touch with him.

            The kids were heartbroken.  Why’d we have to go and do that?  We explained that the dog had an owner who was probably worried about it.  But if Snickers was happy there, why didn’t he ever leave to try to find his way home?  Good question.

            I went out back and talked to Snickers.  He jumped up the second I opened the door, and stood waiting to find out what I wanted of him.  I patted his head, and told him that he was clearly a very good dog.  I said that our kids really wanted him to stay, but that we had figured we’d better try to contact his owners.  All the while, he stood beside me looking up at me with wizened eyes.

            The kids spent every possible moment out back playing with Snickers.  And when they came inside they lobbied us pretty hard to keep the dog.  He had chosen them.  Had chosen us.  There must be a reason.  He’s a good dog.  Please?

            The owners were contacted, and called our house.  They lived a few blocks away, and had had the dog tied up. But he’d gotten loose.  Could they come by later that evening and get him?

            It was with a bit of a heavy heart that I said they could.

            I went back to check on Snickers, and found him still curled up in his spot on the doormat at the back door.  I went out and told him the news.  His owners were on their way.  He just stared up at me with big brown eyes.  I’m pretty sure he understood what I was telling him.  And that he was telling me he’d chosen our family instead.  I patted his head some more.  Playing with his soft ears.  Then I leaned down and told him that he knew where we were.  If he needed to come back, just come.  I even promised that if he showed up again, we wouldn’t call the owners.  He’d be family then.  He stood next to me.  Staring up at me the whole time.

            That evening, the owners pulled up out front in a little beater car, blasting music.  A young man climbed out and ran up the back steps.

            “Dude!” he called to the dog.  “Come on, boy.”

            Snickers stood up.  And turned to look at me.  I tried to explain to the young man how he had shown up at our house.  But the man wasn’t listening.  He’d come for his dog.  He had his dog.  He was leaving.

            But the dog stayed.  On the back porch.  Right next to me.  The owner stopped halfway down the steps and turned to yell at the dog, telling him to come.

            But Snickers just looked up at me.

            I said something about being willing to buy him from the guy if he wanted to sell him.  He just laughed.  And yelled at the dog to come.  He started back up the steps to grab the dog by the collar.

            Snickers, by this time, had laid back down on the mat.  Curled up.  In his spot.

            The young owner took him by the collar, and hustled off down the steps toward the waiting car.

            At the car, the dog stopped again and looked back at me.  I looked him in the eye, hoping he’d understood that he was welcome here.  Anytime. Just show up.  And we wouldn’t call the owner next time.

            The owner put him in the car.  And as the car sped away from the curb, the last thing I saw of Snickers was his solemn eyes staring out the back window at me.  At his house.

            We all felt bad at his leaving.  None of us liked the look of the young owner.  We’d all hoped that Snickers would jump up happily when his owners arrived, so we wouldn’t feel so bad at his leaving us.  But that’s not how it went.  We talked about calling the woman down the street again, and letting her know that we’d buy the dog if the owner ever wanted to sell him.  And we told the kids that if they ever saw him on their way to and from school, or if he ever followed them again, we wouldn’t call to return him.  We even kind of suggested that if he wasn’t tied up, and they could coax him into following them, we’d keep him.

            The kids thought they saw him a couple times after that.  But he was always tied up.  He never followed them home again.  Never again showed up at our doorstep.

             But his brief stay with us will always be remembered.  For me, it was a lesson in understanding.  I don’t know how much that dog understood what I was telling him. But I do know that he understood my intent.  And I’m pretty sure I understood his.

            His time with us will also always be remembered as one of those times when doing what was right felt wrong.  And we all decided from then on that when someone chooses you as their home, as their family, or their sanctuary, you honor that.  No matter what.  We learned that one from Snickers.