No good deed goes unpunished

Morning dog walks are mundane affairs—there’s a little pee, there’s a little poo, there’s some sniffing—about all a dog (and her walker) needs at 7am. Oh, but not today.

Overnight we had a wintry, rainy, icy slush fall in Chicago, and the sidewalks this morning were all slicked over. Somehow, the cold slush energized my lazy dog, and she wanted to run and hop as fast as she could drag me. She’s often considerate of my bipedal instability when she pulls me onto icy patches and tugs me as fast as she can go. I’m amazed I’ve never broken an ankle while walking her in the winter.

But really, Blanche was super-charged this morning. She was pumped about something, and she eagerly sniffed a few unusual spots then ran to the next surprise destination. I soon found out why.

Standing in the middle of our quiet intersection, a deaf or speech disordered person waved an orange snow shovel at me. I guess she was out shoveling walks for money, but since I rent and expect someone else to shovel our sidewalk, I tried to keep on walking and refuse her services. Instead, she murmured in that way that deaf people have, “Dog lost.” Her eyes were very concerned and she strained to talk to me.

“What?” I asked, really trying to understand.

“Dog running,” she mumbled.

She didn’t have a leash, and it was unlikely that someone with a shovel would be also walking her dog, so I deduced it wasn’t hers. She pointed down the street, “Dog lost,” she said again.

I said, “OK,” and headed down the direction she was pointing.

Honestly, I didn’t really care about a missing a dog. There are several off-leash dogs in our neighborhood, and I think it’s truly despicable. I’ve seen an off-leash dog get hit by a car on the same street the speech-impaired woman was pointing toward. A dog owner’s negligence isn’t a problem I can solve since I can’t bring a lost dog into my apartment and won’t be knocking door-to-door looking for the owner.

What I had in my favor, though, was Blanche. A dog is great bait for another dog.

We turned down the street, and I saw in the distance a small yellow dog running around erratically. At first I thought it might have been hit by a car already. Injured dogs can be dangerous, so this made me wary to get very close. We persevered anyway down the street in case we actually could help.

Just as the dog saw us and came running toward us, a woman stepped out of her house on our left. Blanche and the mystery puppy played chase and scampered around, so I had the chance to ask the woman if this were her dog.

“No,” she said, “I’ve never seen it.”

Great. Now I’ve got a tuned-up yellow puppy working my dog up into a frenzy and nothing to do to solve the problem. The yellow dog is sure to follow us home now that Blanche is its playmate.

Then the woman says, “Oh wait, that’s their dog,” and points to her next door neighbor. Good news. Yellow dog has a destination.

“Can you get them for me, and I’ll hold the dog?” I grabbed the puppy by the scruff and held it in a submission pose. It may not have enough discipline or care at home, but for the two seconds I was in control of this dog, it was receiving proper training.

The woman tried the fence of the house where the dog lived, and said, “It won’t open.”

At that moment, the dilettante owner opened her front door and said, “Oh you found my dog.”

No, “Oh thanks, we were so worried!” No, “Oh, this is my child’s dog, and he was so upset!” Not even, “Oh my goodness, I don’t know how he escaped!” Just, “You found my dog.”

I handed the puppy over, and Blanche lost her little temporary friend. But the puppy left a reminder of its escapade with me. The glove I used to scruff the dog smells like the worst dirty dog sour filth I’ve smelled. And it was only a puppy. I feel sorry for the little dog, giving it back to a home where it lacks the care it deserves. But, honestly, I’m sorrier I have to wear dirty gloves all day.