His Last Fling

He must have understood my phone conversation, or maybe he reads lips: tomorrow was the day he would lose his meaningful manhood.

In midafternoon he escaped, darting out the door as workers streamed in and out of my house, fixing this, finishing that, and leaving the door open for a desperate dog to have one last fling.

We gave chase, and the harder we ran, the faster he out distanced us weaving around corners and dashing in and out of traffic. A determined canine on the prowl.

Within minutes a summer storm was drenching us, thunder and lightning deafening and blinding us, and I knew I would wash away or be shining like a light bulb if I was too near something tall. In San Miguel drainage isn’t a priority so the streets flood to ankle depth with the first drop of moisture…and this was more than a mere drop.

I raced back to my condo, called a friend and asked her to post to the SMA pet lost and found internet site, grabbed a raincoat, umbrella and phone and headed back into the now mid-calf high river washing down the streets.

Sergio had only been in this house a few days and the chances that he could find his way back were unlikely, so on we searched, asking anyone and everyone for a sighting.

The afternoon turned into a very wet evening, the evening into night, and the hunting group  changed. The workmen had gone to their dry homes, but friends replaced them, and we enlarged our hunting circle via car.

Social media alerted people who then alerted us via email and phone of seeing Sergio running full speed in this direction or down that street, avoiding efforts to catch him.

By 10 o’clock we had decided to give up, but a spotting from someone on a motorcycle inspired us to gather our depleted resources and hike out once more shouting and walking. Another two hours with the help of the motorcycle guy and his girlfriend proved unsuccessful, so we deemed it near impossible to spot a scared, wet, black runaway on a moonless night.

I collapsed in a chair with lonely Radar on my lap, and quietly vowed to begin again at daylight.

Obviously, the trip to the vet was a non-happening, and I needed food, drink plus dry clothes.

As I sat reviewing options, Radar’s ears went up, and he looked toward the street. Someone must be walking in the neighborhood, or trying to get into the building. The thought of a break-in was a bit unnerving, since I was the only person in the 3- story structure.

With pepper spray in one hand and an alert whistle in the other, I ventured to the front door…just in case Radar had sniffed his playmate. Hope springs eternal.

In the middle of the rain-soaked street, staring at the door, patiently waiting for me to come out was Sergio, hungry, exhausted, and apparently satisfied with his final ‘manly fling’.

He is now wearing his ‘Cone of Shame’ as it is known here, and has made no attempts at exiting the premises without me. Of course, it has only been 5 days and dashing is hard with stitches and a plastic hood over your head.

 

Welcome home Sergio. Radar and I are glad to see you.