The garage door rolled open. I unlocked my bicycle and rolled it outside. Philip looked across the street and said, "There's a dog out there. I hope he hasn't been dumped."
The dog saw us too. He came, bouncing at full speed. An energetic youngster, joyous in greeting. Blond, with the black mask markings typical of a German shepherd. Maybe 40 pounds. Slender but not skinny, bright white teeth, tidy short-haired coat, no bruises or abrasions.
What he didn't have was any apparent training. Requests to "sit," "get down," and "stay" went unheeded. He was not wearing a collar. Blondie either escaped from a yard or had been set loose.
This isn't the first time we've encountered stray dogs in the neighborhood. Not long ago a pretty pitbull mix with gorgeous green eyes ambled into our driveway. She was alarmingly thin, and had scruffed-up scratches on the tops of her ears, but didn't seem distrustful of the likes of humans.
So we did the same for both of them: scooped up a big bowl of kibble and a bowl of water, then escorted each renegade into the fenced dog park near our house. Each dog ate with gusto (the pitty was especially grateful), gulped water, then gamboled merrily around us, seemingly unperturbed by what seemed to be precarious circumstances.
Now what? We couldn't bring either dog into our house, which is already occupied by two small, feisty, aging terriers who in the past have been mistaken for prey by larger dogs. We have a 200-square-foot dog run on the side of the house, but it can't be seen from the street, which wouldn't be helpful in the unlikely event of an agitated owner driving around looking for their lost pet.
Leaving Blondie alone in the dog park was not an option because as we closed the gate and tried to cross the street, he started yelping. He might have been dumped, but he didn't seem to have been abused. He wanted to be around people.
Luckily, we are fortunate to have the services of North Little Rock Animal Control and Shelter. In each case, Philip asked Siri to call the shelter. A staff member answered immediately, got some information on where we were and what sort of animal we'd encountered, and within minutes sent a wonderfully empathetic driver and truck to fetch each miscreant.
The young man who came by this time knew his business; he immediately observed, "That's a happy pup," and Blondie obliged by exuberantly bolting toward him. He gathered the youngster in his arms as we told him about feeding, watering, and entertaining the lively critter, and describing how he came to our attention.
"I think he'll be able to find a home," I ventured tentatively.
"Oh yeah," the shelter worker said. "He'll be fine."
And off they went.
I guess I understand why people find themselves in situations where they can no longer care for a pet. They may lose their job, get divorced, move into a rental property that does not allow pets, have a baby, develop allergies or health problems. Maybe they simply can't deal with an animal that came to them as a cute little fuzzball and has matured into an undisciplined 60-pound powerhouse causing disruption and chaos.
Maybe they neglected to spay/neuter an adopted dog and find themselves dealing with an unwanted litter of puppies along with their mother. The list goes on.
But there's no excuse for setting them free to fend for themselves. Shelters are often at or near capacity when it comes to providing care for homeless animals, but hey, at least you can try to make sure the dog has a fighting chance of a new life.
North Little Rock Animal Control ensures the health and welfare of both residents and animals within city limits by taking care of abandoned animals and preventing potentially dangerous wildlife-human interactions.
The facility responds to an average of 500 service calls each month, and adopts out an average of 600 pets each year, finding new homes all across the country through adoptions and animal rescues.
Obviously there are a lot of animals they don't adopt out.
We don't like to think about the math too much; we know we can't help every stray. But we try to help the ones we can. Several years ago when we lived in west Little Rock, we took in a wandering Irish setter mix, an affable and hardy dog that, for reasons difficult to articulate now, reminded us of a former governor of Arkansas.
Little Rock facilities were filled to capacity, so we connived, with the help of a colleague who lived near a shelter that only served that colleague's particular city, to place Jim Guy there, where he would be safe.
Obviously that's not something we'd recommend; if everyone used subterfuge to get stray dogs into shelters, it would disrupt an already overburdened animal control system. But Jim Guy was a special dog, and he deserved a chance to find his people.
But then so do Blondie and the Pitty. So do what you can to help a dog that appears to be on its own. As Homeland Security recommends, if you see something, say something. Then do something.
Karen Martin is senior editor of Perspective.