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Health & Fitness

Dog Gone; No Make That Three (Spoiler Alert, Happy Ending!)

An unlocked gate and a walk on the wild side for three dogs who never leave the house!

"I like to think that I've rescued dogs, the truth is they have rescued me."

That is a quote from my book on my first year as a widow. It's true. Dogs rescued me. I adopted five dogs in nine months from my favorite animal rescue groups in Decatur. Not a cure-all for being a widow, but certainly a great way to fill your heart with love. I also had my old gal Foxy, who went to dog heaven 10 days ago.

She was the pup I got at 7 weeks when I was married and she was the matron who left me at 15 years, the gatekeeper of all those memories with my husband gone.

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Needless to say, I was face down, even with five other dogs snuggling by my side. Then, by accident, or divine intervention, three of my dogs got out of the yard. I have my gardener to thank for that. I did not know he had not fastened the lock on the fence at the side of the yard that leads to a grassy right-of-way and creek. He had mowed my yard the week before. I always ask, "Did you lock the gate?" He always answers "yes." He answered "yes" last week, but he hadn't. He had just pulled the gate closed. Old age catching up with him.

Last Wednesday, I had someone new in my yard trimming branches. He finished and left. I bolted the front gate, opened the kitchen door, and let the thundering heard of dogs out in the yard. Twenty minutes later I went to let the dogs back in. Two dogs met me with wagging tails.  I called for the other three. Nothing.

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 I walked out on the deck and looked across the yard. The gate was wide open to that tempting right-of-way, and three dogs were gone. The guy who trimmed my branches had opened the gate to pull the thicker limbs to the street. He had not closed it. I never knew he had opened it. It was, after all, locked, according to my gardener.

My heart stopped. Then it started beating again.  I screamed their names, "Bray, Annabelle, April!" Nothing.

I grabbed my wallet and keys and jumped in the van. Driving the neighborhood, head out the window, crying their names. Nothing.

I turned down another street and there was Annabelle, my old, overweight hound dog, waddling down the road. She was huffing and puffing from the heat. I got out of the car and she got in. We drove home. My heart filled with joy to have her safe.

As we headed up the driveway I said a silent prayer. Please let my dogs be there.  I opened the tall wood privacy gate and held my breath. To my absolute joy, two dogs were wagging their tails waiting on the stone patio. My wandering pals had come home on their own. We got into the house and it was a dog gone great reunion.

My side gate is locked and I have the key. This is not happening twice!

I sit and look at the five dogs, all sizes and shapes, all with backgrounds I'll never know about, all my little family. The loss that I felt over my dear Foxy was replaced by the joy that my lost dogs had come home. Perhaps I needed that jolt to let go of my grief.

My rescue dogs, who rescued me, know where their home is. After all the shuffling around they had in a prior life, they know where they belong in this life. Who could ask for anything more?

I write about dogs and like to raise funds for my favorite animal shelters. I have a personal blog on dog stories. I'd love to hear about the dog that rescued you, please write me!

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