Puppy payback

Just last week, I was at wits' end. My 9-year-old dog was growling. My husband was cleaning out the crate where a puppy had left a stink. The puppy was ricocheting around the backyard, alternately untying my shoes, irritating the older dog, snagging my sweater and yipping as he ran full bore toward the brick stoop.

This is payback, I thought, and I finally appreciated what a nice family must have gone through for me nearly nine years ago.

I had wanted a dog, preferably a black lab, for all the reasons people seek four-legged companions. They're great entertainment. They lie by your feet and keep you company. They're always happy to see you.

When my husband and I moved to Chicago, we put the search on hold - until a friend and co-worker emailed a photo of a puppy. The pooch, black with a white chest, one white paw and a bit of white around her nose, immediately captured my heart.

The dog, my friend said, had followed her nephews home from school. Fliers and newspaper ads brought no response, and no one at school knew who she belonged to. The family took her in, paid for a veterinarian's visit, fed, walked and played with her for a couple of weeks, but they couldn't adopt her because one child was allergic to dogs.

The puppy was about 12 weeks old, housebroken and very sweet, but she would have to go to the shelter if no one claimed her soon. Was I interested?

You bet. Only after about the third email exchange did I find out the dog was in Atlanta, where my friend's sister lived.

"Don't they have dogs in Chicago?" my mother asked when I told her John and I were driving 12 hours to get a mutt.

The family gave us the dog, a bag of food, a collar and leash and the puppy's chew toys but refused to take any money, even for the vet visit. They simply wanted her to have a good home. Send a photo at Christmas, they said.

This story could end right here, happily. Georgie, named for her home state, is the best dog ever. During early-morning walks in our Virginia Beach neighborhood, she's made me - a woman with a lifelong aversion to morning - pay attention to little things and appreciate kind neighbors. The beautiful red-haired lady around the block who loves animals. The smiling man who carries a golf club as he walks.

For the most part, we know our neighbors because Georgie has introduced us.

Five weeks ago in North Carolina, four hours from home, my husband and I saw little black animals scampering across the freeway. We stopped. So did two other cars, which blocked the road while we scooped up two lab-mix puppies and carried them to safety. They were soft and cuddly and sweet, perhaps six weeks old. One of them - we called him Riley - looked eerily like Georgie, with a white chest and a hint of white on his paws.

We drove around until we found an animal shelter, then handed the puppies to the employees, who said they believed they could find them good homes.

Later, I emailed, asking them to let me know if they couldn't. If the dogs were in danger of being euthanized, I wanted to know.

That call came three weeks later. John and I drove back and picked up the puppies, who by then had been neutered, given their shots and microchips.

A young woman from our church agreed to adopt one of the dogs. That left us caring for one wiggly puppy who needed a forever home.

Georgie was not amused. She wanted nothing to do with this intrusion in her space. But Riley, who notices everything, did not seem to notice that.

Think Dennis the Menace ringing Mr. Wilson's doorbell for the umpteenth time, and you get an idea of the mood at my house.

For a week, I pitched puppy adoption to friends and co-workers. I prayed for a home for Riley, telling my church that God must have a purpose for this pooch, who twice had been saved from death. I posted Riley's photo on Facebook. My parents and a brother called lab-rescue groups in North Carolina and circulated Riley's photo among friends. The pretty red-haired neighbor offered to take care of him during Thanksgiving.

On Sunday, I emailed the president of my neighborhood civic league, a tireless volunteer who knows everyone. He sent my message to 353 people.

A woman who lives a few blocks away called the next afternoon. Her young son wanted another dog for Christmas. Perhaps they could meet Riley?

They came to our house. Riley licked the boy's ear, squirmed in his arms and nipped him repeatedly.

"I want this puppy!" the child told his mom. "I want THIS puppy!"

John sent Riley - and his leash, medical file and bag of food - home with the boy.

Georgie is thrilled. We're relieved. And we're thankful, especially this week, to live in a community that takes care of its people and its puppies.

Candy Hatcher is an editorial writer for The Virginian-Pilot. Email: candy.hatcher@pilotonline.com