I'm metaphysical enough to think... no, insist
that your collective participation got Schrodinger's Corgi out of her box in one piece. That, and Sirius's heliacal rising but that's another story.
Speaking of which, Blade
and Raven Snape
were clamouring for details, so I tell the tale.
Mrs Cummings is my 'other mother'; as the maternal parent of one of my quasisisters, this is appropriate, no? She doesn't have broken phones, and is home during the day a lot, so she was an excellent choice for backup — especially since my voicemail access number for my... [breathes carefully through nose] phone
... decided it was out of service. Hard to get messages that way, and hard to call support when you're dashing about sticking up flyers.
Anyway, Monday on the way to work I saw on the call-log that Mrs C had called - amazingly, the battery stayed up - so I called her back. She had been frantically trying to get ahold of me, because somebody had called who was sure they had Gemma. I got their number and tried calling them back after I got to work and could write things down. I matched it to a number on my call-log as well; l also got the VM problem straightened out with T-Mobile.
No calls back that evening; the other calls had come in between 0800 and 0900, so I figured I'd wait on stuff like the police report and Miami Herald
advert until talking to them, first. Got home, sorted dogs, messed around on-line... waited. Called both numbers, because there were two - the one Mrs C got and a very similar one in my messages. That made me wonder, but messages left nonetheless. 9 o'clock came. No callback, left another set of messages.
1300 came, and I was doing that type-and-fugue thing which means I really
need to get something
resembling sleep, despite the lack of news. Woke up before my alarm clock, which was sad in the extreme, because it meant I'd 'slept' between 2 and 3 hours only. Augh. I tried calling again, because I still
had no callbacks, and got Juan Carlos on a horribly fuzzy connexion. His phone? My phone? The combination? One way or anther, I got an address - I was pretty sure I got it - said I'd get going ASAP. The location was west of FIU, west of the Turnpike (which is very roughly equivalent to W 117th Avenue on that stretch, running from past the county line all the way south to Homestead in the SW 300s). It was just before 1700.
I got to drive during rush hour, woohoo! WITH the flow of the traffic!
It took me 75 minutes to go 15 miles. Very tensely, because I refused to get all worked up on the way there, in case this wasn't really her.
Found the house easily - the fact that it's pumpkin orange helps. No, it's not as horrible as it sounds, but their paint wasn't opaque enough; they either needed better paint or another coat, at least. I didn't see anybody around, so I walked up to the front door. Right next to the door is a little patio area with a low wall, well in the shade at this time of day, making it rather pleasant. And there, in the patio, were an inert bulldog and a GEMMA! I called her name, she perked right up and ran over, and I scooped her up over the little wall. I got corgi kisses, and a whiff of really nice-smelling dog. She'd had a bath!!
I had to phone them to get them to answer the door, as the bell's broken. La abuela welcomed me in and chattered at me in non-stop Spanish, of which I followed maybe half. This didn't phase her at all, and we fed the bulldog, who didn't respond to me at all, really - I think it's his allergy medicines, they fry human brains, why not canine. J.C. and Melissa came down after a few minutes, refused the reward - I'll get back to that - and told me that J.C. had found her around the corner, since he was checking on property he has in the neighbourhood. Ironically, if he'd left her, I'd have likely either reached her with my voice or chased her down myself just a little while later. Anyway, she had a nice adventure/visit - she got to try to pee on their Yorkies' pee-pads (missed somehow), she jumped in their stagnant fountain, whee! (hence the bath) and got a pretty pink ribbon for her trouble. They were really nice, and it's such a relief to know she'd been in such good conditions while she was gone.
The outside dogs got to pounce on Gemma first, but not as welcomingly as the inside dogs. There was much with the playing and barking and running crackerdog! She also sat right between my feet while I was making their really good lunch, but that might have been as much to protect the chewie she'd claimed as affection. Although I said she was NEVER LEAVING THE HOUSE AGAIN, she's been out on Annie's tether and her sister's harness - somebody ate hers. She's better at macrame than Annie is!
Now I just have to learn how to build fencing.
I'm going to use some evangelical terminology here, so forgive me in advance — since J.C. and Melissa refused the reward, I told them I'd donate to the Humane Society; actually, I figured I'd split between them, Adopt-a-Pet and a couple of smaller groups. Who might be willing to join me for a thank-offering?
Even if you don't have any money to donate to your favourite pet rescue group (dog, cat, ferret, whatever), you can at least clicky the button here: