Blue
I’m not sure what surprised me more: the chihuahua, casually trotting up McLean Blvd. without a care in the world before noticing us and coming to say hi; or rather, the distinctive sweater he wore that looked like it had been air-dropped direct from Bass Pro.
We had just locked the door behind us while preparing to pick up takeout from Golden India when this ever-so-friendly dog paused his moonlit stroll and sprinted straight into our yard. He was more taken with my friend than me, no doubt sensing my ingrained aversion to chihuahuas. This one, though, had a tranquility about him: no barking, no yipping, and none of the expected snarling. But most worryingly, this old chihuahua didn’t have a collar.
With clean, well-groomed fur and a large sweater emblazoned with the slogan “I’m a Bucks and Ducks Dude,” we figured he wasn’t a stray. Wrapping him in a blanket, we ventured up and down the block, scoping out the neighboring houses and asking any passersby if they knew the owner (this was in the pre-coronavirus days, mind you).
No luck. A slight bit of anxiety began to creep in as I imagined a pair of chihuahua enthusiasts tearing their hair out during an agonizing search for a lost pet. We mulled our options on the patio, fearing that my roommate’s large puppy inside would trample the wizened chihuahua in a playful rampage.
It was getting late, and with most locations that could check for a chip closed, we decided to put out a cry for help on the internet. I’ll admit, I was hesitant; the way I interact with the web — gaming, perusing Twitter, and as a member of the news media — much of what you see is a stewing cauldron of, at best, bitter invective. Would anyone be willing to help?
We quickly set up entries on the Lost and Found Pets of the Mid-South Facebook page and pawboost.com. The seemingly endless catalog of missing dogs and cats was staggering. How do so many people lose pets? I grumbled to myself, conveniently forgetting that my late standard poodle, Nelly, easily and frequently hopped the courtyard fence and toured the mountainous neighborhood at her leisure near my old Santa Fe home.
The posts found traction quickly. Comments trickled in over the first few minutes, before a growing number of anonymous commentators entered the fray. “Spreading the news!” they read. “Sending prayers for this lost boy!”
Next up came a post on NextDoor, where the wider
neighborhood stepped up in a big way. The first relevant alert from Vollintine-Evergreen soon popped into my inbox and I quickly dialed a phone number. But again, no luck! Yet another lost, collarless chihuahua in Midtown. Back to square one.
But while I sat there, biting my nails, the burgeoning network of Ace Venturas continued to work, exchanging tips, scouring the web, and calling contacts in the know about shelters. All the while, our charge just lay in his blanket, lapping at the bowl of water we’d set out for him, without a care in the world.
With clean, well-groomed fur and a large sweater emblazoned with the slogan “I’m a Bucks and Ducks Dude,” we figured he wasn’t a stray.
Finally, the golden ticket: A neighbor sent me the link to a new post on pawboost.com. A potential match! The profile featured an old chihuahua named “Blue” who looked very similar to the dog we’d taken in. We called the number and had them verify ownership. Within ten minutes, we bore witness to a joyful, tearful reunion before Blue left for home.
I announced the mission’s success on all the requisite platforms; this news prompted a volley of virtual high-fives for all involved. What a big win for a group of people who had never met. Then again, what better way to bring people together than a cute pet? While I don’t currently have a dog, it’s reassuring to know that there are plenty of people in the Bluff City who are willing to take the time to reunite a total stranger with a missing animal.
For anyone who does discover a lost pet, there’s plenty of recourse. The digital platforms mentioned above are useful, while the Memphis and Shelby County Humane Society is one such organization that can help. Meanwhile, veterinary clinics and Memphis Fire Department locations can check for chips. And tagging your dog’s collar with your phone number never hurt, either.
Later that night, as we sat in the kitchen munching on tandoori chicken, we still marveled at how many people are willing to join together not just for Blue, but for the rest of the many cats and dogs around Memphis trying to find their way home. No negativity, no ridicule, just good intentions. If only cooperation online were this easy the rest of the time.
