I answered the call from the vet clinic. They asked for Renae. I asked if I could take a message. They were calling to let her know that they had Moby. I looked to Gabby and said, “Aren’t the dogs in the breezeway?” She said they were not. I thought they were. My hopes of a case of wrong identity were instantly dashed. My response was simply, “Oh.” I think I was a little bit in shock and a little bit in denial. Before I could ask how he got there (the vet clinic is a kilometer down the road, across four lanes of Perimeter highway, then another kilometer west), she continued on with, “He was running along La Salle and a man picked him up and brought him here.” I said I would come right away and pick him up. I quickly called Don and told him that I had to retrieve Moby and would call him later.
I was both relieved and a bit annoyed. Relieved that he was safe and sound. Annoyed that the man picked him up, probably right in front of the yard, albeit on the road, and took him to the vet. Why not just pull into the yard and ask if he belonged here? Annoyed also with being taken so off guard. You see, Moby has a little bit of Husky in him. I know he can be a bit of a wanderer. But he had been such a good boy all week thus far. I had let my guard down. Lord help me if something would have happened to Renae’s special boy on my watch!
I drove the short trek to the vet clinic. When I walked in I announced myself as Moby’s Grandma. The pleasant receptionist asked if I had a leash. I lifted one up that I had taken from the floor of my car. An accessory I do not travel without because my two dogs are usually with me. She asked me to follow her and away we went through one door; now I can smell chemicals, medicinal odors; through a second door. This room was filled with the sound of a barking dog. Not Moby. He doesn’t really bark. He howls, but he doesn’t bark. There was no howling. The receptionist walked over to a stall gate. The type you would imagine a horse behind. She opened the gate and out comes a happy, happy Moby. I said, “hi Moby, Grandma’s good boy.”
Moby has a history. He is a “Rez” dog. Rescued from a First Nation’s Reserve. He had been abused, starved and shot. So you see, you cannot get mad at Moby. He is simple and lovely. Doing only what a dog will do. If you raise your voice to him, he “shuts down”. So you praise the big baby, no matter how he may run afoul. He is damaged goods. And despite his past and the side effects of it, he is a happy, happy, loving boy.
We walked back through the two doors into the reception area. The young woman told me the man who brought him in, was a very nice man. He praised Moby for coming when he called and just hopped into his vehicle. The man didn’t have a leash and Moby just followed him into the vet clinic. Tail wagging all the way. That’s Moby. He told the receptionist that he almost hit Moby on the road. It must of been a close call because he stopped to make sure he was okay. Nice man. This is why he took him to the vet clinic. He said he tried to call the number on his tag, but got no answer. The clinic phoned the number they had on file and the rest is in the above told story. I checked Moby’s tag and saw that it was Renae’s cell phone number. I told the receptionist this and explained that Renae was in Mexico and left her cell phone at home, turned off.
We left the clinic, not owing anything. Moby hopped into the hatch and we drove the short drive home. Inside the garage, overhead door closed, Moby was let out. I put him in the breezeway along with Shaggy. One short release for that pre-bedtime pee and that was it. At 6:30 in the morning, a quick pee outside and back in for breakfast. Another snooze. At 10 o’clock, with leash attached and dog biscuit in my pocket, we took the short walk to the dog run. Moby is in lock down. The weather is warmer today and the sun is shining. Hopefully I will get Shaggy in the dog run to keep him company. He will be fine. Heat lamp in dog house if he needs a warm up. He is safe. He will stay that way. This evening he will be brought back up to the breezeway.
Tomorrow will look much the same as today.
Safe and sound. His Mommy will soon be home and then he is off my watch! This handsome, wandering, damaged yet happy, beautiful loving soul – Moby.