The Prodigal Pooch

I had a small picture of a Boston Terrier on my desk from the day I started with University of Phoenix. I had it in my brain that when I got my first raise, I would be a getting a dog (much to Mark's dismay). Six months, a raise and I started prowling the newspaper (back when people did that) to find a dog. There was an ad for a 3 year old Boston in Chandler. We went to look at him- he was cute, spunky and just what I wanted. We brought him home to our 2 bedroom apartment and we had a family. He survived Mckinley, a move and the harsh winter of Utah. Then baby #2 arrived. Amidst potty training, a hormonal toddler and a brand new baby, 11 year old Cory started having accidents, anxiety attacks and really was unhappy. I made a tough decision to place him in another home. A woman from Provo came to get him. She had two older children and had wanted a Boston. I hugged my first baby good bye- bawled uncontrollably and Cory jumped in their Jeep and never looked back.

I often would think about what he was up to and Mark, so lovingly would remind me that he was probably dead. That was one of the major reasons I had to send him to a new family- I couldn't bear finding him in his kennel one morning dead. Thursday afternoon I got a call from a weird 916 area code number and habitually, let it go to voicemail. The caller was a woman from the microchip company and was calling to say "Someone has found your dog, Cory". I was floored. 13 years old. Still prowling the streets. Not surprising actually- it was cloudy, stormy and windy- Cory hated that and usually, would "walk" himself on days like that. I called the company back and was sad that I didn't know the new owners and was worried they would take him to the pound. She told me a woman had called and couldn't keep him but I could call and chat with her myself.

In my mind, I was set on calling and finding out Cory's condition. If he looked sad, or poorly taken care of, down to Provo I would go to bring him home. Michelle was her name and when she picked up the phone, I started to cry. She told me he was running in the road and through tears of her own, she said he looked great and, "He is so friendly. I would never have guessed he was 13". The new owners were spotted not far from her house and they had been looking diligently for an hour which made me glad that he was missed. She sent me a few pictures of my sweet boy. He looks older, more "salt and pepper" with the same little sad face that I loved so much. It made my heart happy to see him again.