Joel, Part II

I threw back the covers, put on my bunny slippers, grabbed my car keys and stepped out into the night with Joel. So weary of his endless cries that I didn't care if my neighbors - certainly by this time awake and writing hacked-off letters to the HOA about my over-the-limit pet ownership, saw me in my oversized sleep shirt.

Joel hopped into the back seat and I slammed the door, started the engine and roared out of the parking lot. I drove deep into our neighborhood, up long, curving streets to the very highest point. Houses there are mini-mansions whose back decks overlook vast swaths of the city. (The views are beautiful at night, not so nice by day when you can see the twinkling lights are part of the security systems for the industrial warehouses below.)

Here, I stopped, reached back and opened the back door for Joel. He jumped out without hesitation and I hit the gas hard. I saw him in the rear-view mirror, giving chase, tongue lolling happily at what he seemed to think was a jolly game. Then he disappeared into the dark night as I zipped around the corner and down the hill, not going back the way I'd come but completing a circle that plunged me deep into the valley, past the neighborhood park and up a steep hill back to my door.

I was not proud of myself. But I was too tired, at that moment, to care. He was a friendly dog. Someone would find him. And it was a cool, but not freezing, night. If he had to stay outside for the few hours that remained until dawn, he'd be just fine, I told myself.

I rolled into bed, tried to put aside the image of his white body hurtling down the street after my car and closed my eyes. I began to drift.

There was a scratch at the front door.

I stiffened. It was a dream, I thought.

Four more scratches, in quick succession.

A pause.

Three more, accompanied by a soft cry.

I felt like a character in a Stephen King book as I stumbled to the door and opened it. Joel came running in, dancing across the tile and smiling up at me with eyes that clearly said, "I'm home!"

I was completely defeated. And soundly freaked out. If I believed in a Higher Power that directs every moment of our lives, I would have simply accepted that this dog was meant to be mine. It was almost enough to make a believer out of me. But not quite.

I invited Joel into my bedroom and closed the door. He sat down facing it and began to whine. I squatted next to him, swatted him hard on his spotted behind and said, "We will not be doing this! We will lay down and sleep!"

Joel did not utter another peep the entire night.

The next morning, I was awakened by the sense that I was not alone. I cracked one eye. Joel sat on the floor next to my bed, staring at me, looking as though he'd been waiting there for hours. He wagged his tail. I closed my eyes. Gently, he placed his front paws on the bed rail and licked my nose.

My heart softened. But I thought of George, and realized the four of us could never be a happy family.

I dropped Joel off at the animal shelter on my way to work. He pranced happily away with the attendant, and never looked back.

Disloyal, I thought. Just as well.

I jotted down his identification number in my checkbook and went to work.

Two days later, I called the shelter and inquired about #729026.

"Oh yes!" the attendant said. "He just went home this morning."

I thanked her, and as an afterthought asked, "Just out of curiosity, can you tell me the name of the street his owners live on?"

"Sure," she said. "It's Bluffside Circle East."

It was the very street upon which I had turned him loose.

I felt a pang of guilt, thinking that if he fled from his own house he must have been entrapped in a very bad domestic situation. Perhaps he had sensed my rescuer complex and come to me for protection. Maybe he had looked out the window one night and seen me walking by his house with Ally and George in tow. Maybe he'd thought, "My family is bad. That little family looks nice. The dog is unleashed. The lady is singing. The cat is fat and would be fun to chase. I will find them, and make them love me."

So he had. And I had yelled at him, turned him out into the night, pushed him out of my car and sped away, thwacked his bottom, yelled some more, then left him at the shelter. Maybe I'd shattered his faith in humankind entirely.

But I later unleashed those shameful thoughts. Because in retrospect, Joel seemed a little spoiled, a little overly certain of his appeal. He seemed like a dog well loved.

I search for Joel during my night-time walks around the neighborhood. I look into windows upon which the shades have not yet been drawn, hoping to see his blocky white head framed there, small brown eyes peering out at me. Most likely, however, I'll never see him again, since I had never seen him before that night anyway.

But maybe some day, he'll escape again and come scratching at my door. This time, I'll have no choice but to keep him.