The Case of Runaway Canine

So here we are, kind of all together. One of us is missing and it's probably not on your end of this situation. We are short one of our family. If you see a small, white dog running around Netarts... it'll most likely be ours. We think he's begun to be senile or perhaps we have and don't know it. He was about four years-old (we think) when we adopted him. That makes him 84 in dog years.

Grover has begun to sneak off. When we first adopted him eight years ago, he pulled the great escape a few times but we always knew where to find him. He would be down at the corner RV park, seemingly waiting for someone or something. Adopted dogs are not always easy to understand. They have distinct memories of their past that we can't share. No matter how hard you try to understand those memories... you just can't always read the history imprinted inside that little head.

We know the following things: he most likely came from the flood zone in Louisiana to Bakersfield, California. He freaks when he hears thunder, sirens, hard rain, high winds or any kind of large vehicle. The timing would be right and he had certainly been loved at one time and was on his own for too long. He had on two collars which did not identify him and his hair had overgrown both of them. It took a very patient local groomer to take off all the matted poodle-terrier hair from his little body. He was found on the street but has never had an accident in the house. He loves to ride in the car or truck, sit on any soft lap, play with his toys and sleep between us under the covers.

He is a seasoned traveler and stays in motels right along with us. He doesn't bark much at motels but at home he's a doorbell barker. He lets us know when someone arrives and then is quiet... unless something else happens. It's best your ear is away from the sound he makes when someone he loves comes up the driveway. Otherwise you could be prematurely deaf. He's made our real doorbell obsolete. We don't need it as long as Grover is here.

He's named after Grover the Muppet because that blue, lovable critter has an alternate personality, SUPER GROVER. This character has a cape and flies around saving people... or at least he thinks he does. We think our Grover is going about seventy miles an hour when he hits the beach. Age hasn't slowed him down but he pants a lot more these days to keep that little heart going. One little boy described him as a racing dog. Yes, I suppose that fits. He is a racing dog who wants to go to the beach far more often than his humans take him. On the beach he makes people smile... the racing dog is pretty funny as he does goofy loops and takes flight over sand bars.

We believe Super Grover kicks in and our dog decides to take himself to the beach. The problem is that it is more than a mile away and definitely requires a journey on perilous roadways. Netarts Bay Road is not exactly pedestrian or dog friendly. On his last escape a good friend found him down there and herded him back up the hill in her car. This is her second save. She called first so that we knew he was on his way. After his scolding he went under the bed and waited an appropriate time before asking politely for a treat. REALLY?

They say that old people are happier when they have pets. I am a believer with exception of those heart wrenching minutes when Grover walks himself. Our daughters say he is the most spoiled dog in the world. Sorry... I just don't see this. I think they're just jealous... heh, heh. It should be noted that the most recent problem of the Runaway Dog started when the neighbor lady took up residence and started spoiling him, too. Gosh, two homes, twice as many treats and permission to go back and forth, which offers up many opportunities to sneak away.

What a clever dog. I think he was meant for us. Yes, pets help us to be happier as we age. They also keep us from thinking about ourselves all the time. They make us laugh and they offer a special kind of companionship which brings joy to our lives. They don't watch the news and they don't care about politics. But as we have learned, a few treats and a trip to the beach helps THEM be happier. After all, they're Geezers, too. Yes, the furry, senile bugger came home, smiling. He wouldn't say where he went but he wanted a treat. Have a good week, my friends!

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