The village

It Takes a Village...

By Page Evans

MAY 2008

Surrounded by stacks of plastic, metal and canvas boxes, I’m standing in the middle of The Container Store. This place gives me hives, so my mood is bordering on edgy at best. All around are ideas for storing sweaters, shoes, oregano. There just aren’t enough boxes for what I need. My life is not torn from the pages of Real Simple, and no amount of containers can make it so.

As I turn and pivot toward the exit, my cell phone rings.

“Is this Page,” the anxious voice asks.

“Um…Yes?”

“Hi, it’s Clara from the dog park. You know, Topher’s owner.”

“Uh-huh?”

 “I’m here at Montrose Park and we have Angus.”

“What?! That can’t be. Angus is in the back yard. I just left him to come up here to The Container Store.”

  “There’s no tag on his collar, but we’re sure it’s Angus. Plus, all the dogs here recognize him.”

Suddenly, I’m in a state of disbelief and panic, like a parent who loses her child in a department store. And the irony that my dog escaped while I was at the Container Store did not escape me. I felt like he had given me the paw: just try to contain me!

Montrose Park is a few blocks from my house, but Angus, a black Lab, has never ventured on his own before. He such a Mama’s boy. At 16-months, he shows few signs of alpha-male behavior. He’s not a wanderer, and he allows any dog, male or female, to have their way with him. At the slightest sign of aggression from another dog, Angus will roll over – all 75-lbs of blubber and black fur—on his back.  Basically, his world revolves around food, tennis balls and affection.

 Did separation anxiety compel him to search for me? Or, because he’s in early adolescence—in dog years—was he pushing back? Later, I found out he literally did push back by pushing over a loose section of the fence leading to his freedom.

Barreling down Wisconsin Avenue back to Georgetown, the what-ifs raced through my mind. What if he’d been hit by a car? What if he hadn’t made it to Montrose where someone recognized him? What if I had to tell my two young daughters that their beloved pet was lost—or worse?

But the potential horror story turned into something more heart-warming. A combination of good Samaritans, concerned dog owners and friendly neighbors led to Angus’s safe return. It may sound corny, but it really did take a village. And when I saw Angus, smothered in mud and racing around with his pals in the park as dusk closed in, I couldn’t have been more grateful. I was like a mother being reunited with her missing child.

“Angie-boy,” I called as I entered the park. I began running toward him, Chariots of Fire-style. Da-da-da-da-daahhh-dummmm. He galloped in my direction, hurling himself on his hind legs and plastering two muddy paw prints on my down jacket.  I tried to hug him as he licked my face, but he quickly jack-knifed back toward his friends: Topher, a bouncy Golden Retriever; Bubba, a graying yellow Lab; Magoo, a lumbering Neapolitan Mastiff; and Honey, a furry, made-for-movies mixed breed.

The dog owners filled me in on Angus’s uncontained adventures. First, two women spotted him wandering alone on R Street. When they noticed he didn’t have tags—or an owner in tow—the women knocked on a neighbor’s door. The neighbor didn’t recognize Angus, but gave the women some rope and suggested they take him to the dog park. Luckily for Angus, his doggie pals were there. And their owners recognized him and remembered that he had been trained at The Dog Shop. (He’ll be returning soon for remedial work.) That’s how they found my cell phone number. It was a chain reaction of positive actions.

 Here I’d been, feeling overwhelmed and sorry for myself in the Container Store because my life—and house—are not so neat, while my neighbors in Georgetown were helping me more than any box or label ever could.

Thanks to them, Angus is right where he belongs.