Perseverance for a Little Dog & a Spaceship

After the little dog Scout had been missing for five days, a friend suggested I contact a psychic.

I did and she said, “He’s alive, and he’ll come home. But his name is not Scout.”

That’s probably true, about the name. My friend adopted him from the shelter only two months ago. The little white dog with brown patches was found without a collar, so they had no idea what his name was before.

“Try calling for Benji or Benny,” said the psychic, and added to bring bacon and wear CBD oil. Bacon is his favorite treat. And at night, before Scout had gone missing, my friend would rub CBD oil on her neck and temples to help her sleep. Scout would go mad for that smell. Guess he’s part hippie. He certainly has wanderlust. The psychic knew these things so I told myself it’s logical to think that she would also know that he was still alive. I clung to that hope especially when I’d heard of a loud ruckus from a roving pack of coyotes or that a bobcat lurked nearby.

People told me stories of dogs surviving months in the wilderness, finding their way back against all odds. The odds against Scout were stacking up. The forecast for the weekend was snow, massive amounts of snow, and a severe drop in temperature. Reminders on the news to bring pets inside were constant. Oh how I wanted to bring Scout inside.

The outpouring of love and support from the community would have restored faith in humanity to even the grumpiest of cynics. It buoyed me, and my friend I know, and we rode surfboard-style on the waves of hope. It was what sustained us through the week when we couldn’t eat or sleep. On the website Nextdoor there were over 200 comments about Scout. All hours of the day, people traversed the rail trail, the area where he was lost, carrying dog treats and scanning the horizon with binoculars. “Lost Dog” posters were plastered on street signs and in storefronts and a volunteer group set up an outdoor camera.

Early on, there were sightings. But anytime someone would try to get near him, Scout would bolt in terror. But at least there was comfort in knowing he was still alive. After the blizzard-like conditions, there came a soul-crushing radio silence. Had he frozen to death? Please, I prayed to St. Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals, please watch over this little guy and keep him safe.

The whole week had been a tortuous test of patience. On Thursday, the entire world collectively held it’s breath as Perseverance, the Mars rover which had traveled nearly 300 million miles, faced “seven minutes of terror” in a high speed final decent to land on the surface of the Red Planet. Touchdown was confirmed at 3:55 pm. The world around me exhaled but I continued to hold my breath. Thursday also marked day nine of Scout’s disappearance.

That evening I was out again walking the rail trail with my friend when the call came in. A white dog was spotted miles away across Hwy 285. We raced back to our cars. I drove one way; my friend drove another. Two more calls came. A small white dog had crossed the highway. A white dog was seen on Chusco Road. We sped to Chusco Road. The road where my friend lives. The road to home. She pulled into the driveway and opened the garage door.

Scout ran inside.

It was the happiest of reunions, for my friend, for the community and for that brave little dog who proved to all that perseverance will get you home.

In my opinion, his name should be Persy.