Stray Dog

I was driving to get my coffee this morning -- yes, I am one of those people who LOVE the $2 coffee from the coffee shops -- and on my way, I saw a stray dog. It was a medium-sized yellow Labrador who looked like Maizy (another dog, another story).

She wandered down a sidewalk on 59th Street and we were not far from a busier street--Nicollet Avenue in south Minneapolis. A woman in an SUV had stopped and appeared to be watching the dog, but that woman stayed in her car. Admittedly, I have seen possible stray dogs before and done nothing. Today, I stopped.

Jodi had done this many times, saying, What if that were your dog? You'd want someone to find it!

Once I stopped, the woman in the SUV drove away. Now it was up to me. I called to the dog and she scurried in the other direction. If she could talk, I think she was saying: "Oh, dear. Oh, my, oh, my. Who is that lady following me?...."

I whistled for her to come. But she did not.

A teenage girl waited for the bus. "Is that your dog?" she said.

"No, but she has tags," I said.

The dog turned down an alley between the houses. Shoot! I jogged after her, turning down the alley. Then, I didn't see her. I hurried down the alley. The dog was drinking out of a blue plastic dish tub.

"Come here, girl."

She stopped drinking and looked up at me. Then, she darted into a fenced back yard of a house that faced Nicollet Avenue--the busy street. Was the yard fenced in front?! I hoped so.

I was reluctant to enter the yard. What if they had a dog? But their fence had been left open. So I guessed they did not. I whistled for the stray dog again. She looked around the corner.

"Here, girl!"

She stared at me, judging me. Could she trust me? I knelt down to be less intimidating.

She came over by the fence but as soon as I leaned toward her to get her collar, she darted back into the yard. What if she bit me? I was cautious. I went into the yard. I closed the gate behind me, in case she ran around the house and got out again. I didn't want her to feel cornered and get aggressive toward me, but I also had to get a look at her tags.

When I got to the front yard, I saw that there was a smaller gated area and now we were in front of Nicollet Avenue. I closed the gate behind me and whistled again.

I approached the dog slowly and finally got close enough. I carefully handled her collar and looked at the tags. She seemed calm enough.

The gold dog biscuit name tag said: Belle. The address didn't look far away according to the street numbers. There was a phone number. I called. Thankfully, the owner answered. He sounded calm--more calm than I would be if my dog had gotten loose. I would have been freaking out.

"I'm right across from Cub," I said. "I'll wait for you in the yard. It's a busy street."

"I'll be right there. Thank you for calling," he said.

Belle and I waited. I looked at the house, feeling I was trespassing on someone's property. Two kids climbed on a sofa in a picture window. They were watching us and smiling.

The front door opened. A man came outside.

"The dog came in your yard," I said, pointing at Belle. "She's friendly. I already called the owner."

"Phone?" he said and I could tell he mostly spoke Spanish.

"No," I said. "I already called. They will be here soon." I spoke louder, like people do when they are trying to get their point across. But this was a language barrier. It wasn't that he couldn't hear me.

The man came outside. "Habla Espanol?"

"No habla espanol," I said, knowing what that meant. "Que pasa?" I said, reaching for my limited Spanish vocabulary from a Taco Bell commercial. I knew that meant what's up, but it was almost all of the Spanish I knew. "Not el Gato," I added, making conversation. "Que dog?" How do you say dog? I was trying.

He didn't answer.

"Me llamo Kristin," I said.

No response. Maybe my accent was off. It had been several years since I had taken any language courses. Maybe I had it mixed up with the conversational Italian I learned for my trip in 2008. No that was mi chiamo Kristin. Maybe I should have said: Mi nombre es Kristin?

He motioned for one of his boys who was probably three to come outside and pet the dog. The dogs ears flattened. I was also leery of this idea. I knew that probably meant Belle was nervous, but she stayed still. It probably wasn't a good idea to let the kid try and pet Belle, but nothing happened.

The owner pulled up in a silver sedan and I handed the dog off to him.

"She's never run off before," he said.

I walked back to my car. Yay, I did it!
Now a group of kids waited with the teenage girl I had seen before.

"Did you catch it?" she said.

"Yeah, the owner just got her. She was from the other side of the freeway!"

"I thought the dog was aggressive," the girl said. Then she added, "But it probably would have run at us if it was."

"Yes," I agreed. "Have a good day," I said and left.

That was Monday. In Good Citizen class just the Saturday morning before, we were told the dogs must be able to be handled all over in order to pass level one. This situation with a dog straying is exactly why. If Belle could not have been handled around the neck and collar, I would not have been able to call the owner to come pick her up AND I may have been bitten.

Our trainer also said the group of people who gets the most dog bites every year is groomers. This is because they have to handle the dogs all over and some dogs can't accept that.