Zinger’s Great Escape (and One Very Grateful Chocolate Maker)

 

Have you ever lost a dog or a cat? It’s no fun, is it?

Suddenly, every car coming down the street makes you nervous. Every person walking past becomes someone you need to ask. And the neighborhood you know so well feels enormous.

That was our Sunday.

Our dog Zinger spotted an open door and decided to take himself for a walk. He already had his leash on. Apparently, the only unnecessary accessory was a human.

If you haven’t met Zinger, picture roughly 75 to 80 pounds of Goldendoodle, with the hair of Bob Marley and a serious tennis-ball habit. He’s my loyal buddy, the kids’ companion, and another member of our family. A very hairy one who doesn’t need school supplies.

It’s funny how that happens. You feed them, walk them, bathe them, pick up after them, and occasionally wonder who’s actually working for whom. Then they settle beside you at the end of a long day, and you can’t imagine the house without them.

We also have Bob, our daughter’s rescue cat, who’s staying with us. Bob weighs maybe three or four pounds and apparently believes this qualifies him to take on Zinger’s tail.

To be fair, when that tail gets going, it’s practically an amusement park ride.

They mostly get along. Two roommates learning each other’s boundaries, occasionally inspecting each other’s dinner. Bob enjoys a sunny spot and doing his little happy-feet routine. Zinger enjoys his people and a nap schedule I would personally love to negotiate for myself. 

Which explains why we didn’t immediately realize he was gone.

For about an hour, we assumed he was hanging out somewhere, probably sleeping. Then Naomi realized he was missing, and everything changed.

Where do you start? Which direction did he go? Who do you call?

Then the worst thoughts creep in.

What if he never comes home? What if he gets hit by a car? What if he runs into a pack of coyotes?

I ran every one of those scenarios through my head while frantically trying to reach anyone who might help. Posting on social media. Asking people walking their dogs. Stopping anyone who might have seen a big Goldendoodle dragging his leash.

I kept hoping somebody would turn around and say, “Yes, I saw him.”

I drove around calling his name through the open window. Over and over. Two hundred times? Three hundred? I stopped counting.

If you heard “ZINGER!” repeatedly that evening, that was me. Sorry about the volume. I was looking for a family member.

Our nine-year-old daughter, Maya, was quietly sobbing in the backseat.

That was the hardest part.

As a dad, you want to tell your child everything is going to be okay. You want to mean it. But I didn’t know where he was, and I couldn’t fix that for her yet.

I just wanted to bring our boy home.

After the sun had gone down, I had a quiet moment, looked up into the dark sky, and asked for our dog back.

Meanwhile, Zinger was safe. We just didn’t know it.

A woman named Gigi and her family had spotted him and grabbed his leash. They even took him for a walk, hoping to run into whoever was looking for him.

Gigi recognized him from the school runs with Naomi and our kids. An enormous dog with that hairstyle is difficult to confuse with someone else.

Zinger is microchipped, but his identification collar had broken months earlier, and we hadn’t replaced it. That one’s on us. Gigi knew the family he belonged to, but she didn’t have a way to reach us.

While the kids were putting up posters and we were spreading the word on social media, his photo reached the right people.

Naomi’s phone rang. Gigi described Zinger. She described his leash.

Our boy was coming home.

When we met Gigi, who is originally from Peru, her kindness came through in everything she said. She had cared for our dog, and she understood how much he meant to us.

Naturally, I showed up with chocolate. I’m a chocolate maker. When words aren’t enough, I tend to arrive with inventory.

It turns out Gigi isn’t much of a chocolate person. Her adult daughter and other family members were happy to assist. A very cooperative family all around.

Looking back, I keep thinking about everyone who helped us search, shared our post, or offered reassurance. When your little girl is crying in the backseat, every person willing to help means something. Every share gives you another reason to hope.

There are some really good people in this world. We got to meet a few more of them because our dog decided to take an unauthorized walking tour.

Our neighbors also passed along some useful reminders: a microchip, which Zinger already has, and a collar or tag with his name and our phone number, which we clearly need to replace.

A few suggested an Apple AirTag. That’s something I’d like to look into, provided we can secure it properly in a holder on his collar. Because how the hell would anything stay attached to that wagging tail? At full speed, he’d launch it into the next ZIP code.

People also suggested local lost-and-found pet groups on Facebook and neighborhood posts on Nextdoor. If you haven’t been on Nextdoor, it’s focused on the people and happenings right around you. Get to know those local groups. You never know when you might need a neighbor, or be the neighbor somebody else needs.

To Gigi, her family, and everyone who searched, Susan from the Facebook amin, our dear friend Annette and her daughter, and countless others who shared, prayed, offered advice, or kept an eye out: thank you for helping bring our lovable Zinger home. You reminded this tired dad just how much kindness there is in the neighborhood.

I’ll remember that long after Zinger has forgotten he caused the whole damn commotion.

If you’re ever around Marsatta Chocolate, you might see him with us. He’s incredibly friendly and loves people. Come say hello.

The chocolate is strictly for the humans. Tennis balls are more his department.

And Zinger, if you’re reading this: we love you, buddy.

Next time, bring a human with you.