Emma's Dilemma (or Whose Dog is This Anyway?)

This story begins with wagging tails. My Wolf Husky, Chaos is escorting a tiny black and white Chihuahua up to my front door. Chaos' upward lifted tail shows how intent she is and the little dog in front of her is nervously dodging right and left while being herded toward my house. I happened to look out the window just in time. Chaos has been known to kill rabbits not much smaller than this tiny little munchkin who, when I opened my door, ran directly into the house with Chaos following close behind her, tails still wagging.

Immediately there was a canine/feline convention. Everyone gathered around this miniscule bundle of shaking fur. I sat down in a chair and she jumped into my lap, collapsing while I petted her and warded off the cats and dogs who were sniffing and checking her out.

My first observations: definitely a Chihuahua, young, female, not spayed, used to sitting on laps and not too upset about other animals. Or is she just a very brave Chihuahua? Chaos was beside herself with pride as she patiently waited her turn to sniff the little girl herself.

I made a phone call to our Pet Connection, a group of concerned individuals who help reconnect lost animals and their families. A very kind lady, Lori, came over to the house to check her for a microchip. Surely someone was missing their little friend. But there was no chip. No collar or other identifying marks. This little dog was wandering around in the Farms where she could have been lunch for a hawk, an owl, an eagle or even a mean, large dog. Her bravery amazed me.

The pup succumbed to exhaustion, wrapped in a fuzzy throw blanket on my chair. While she slept, I went to work making flyers and took them to post on the bulletin boards at our grocery store and on my street. I ran an ad in the local newspaper and on websites for the county animal care and control and for lost pets in jupiter.

I was certain my phone would be ringing soon and in the meantime, I made sure she was comfortable and adjusting to the other furry residents. She got along famously with everyone! The cats loved her. Stella was delighted with another black, furry, small animal to play with. Even Sophie was happy to chase the new addition around the small yard.

All my animals turned themselves inside out to accommodate this new member of the pack. Don't get attached I warned them, as well as myself.

I waited for the phone to ring. I checked my emails regularly. Nothing. Lori called to ask if anyone had turned up and I said no. She said she could house the pup if I didn't want to hold on to her until her owner called. I told her it was not a problem and that Emma Jane could stay as long as it took to find her family. I had to name her so she could come when her name was called, I rationalized.

Days turned into weeks and Emma became a member of the family. She went to the vet's, got wormer and a toenail trim (she screamed very loudly and was not a well-behaved young lady). She is about 6 months old and not spayed. So, if I kept her, it would be necessary for that to be taken care of soon!

It has now been three full weeks. No one has called or emailed me to claim this precious little dog. I cannot believe that this little Mexican spitfire with loads of personality and quirky behaviors did not have a loving owner somewhere! Had someone just let her go out in the back of Jupiter Farms, hoping she would find another home?

 If someone calls me now, after four weeks, I will have to restrain myself from being judgmental.

I would say, "Where were you? What were you thinking, not chipping her, not putting a collar on her, letting her run around so she could get lost? Why weren't you looking everywhere for her? Was she stolen from you? Where do you live? What happened to her that she was wandering around in a forest of trees and very few houses? Why weren't you desperately searching for this precious little dog?"

For now, only Emma knows the answers to these questions. It's Emma's dilemma and she's not talking.

What Happened to October?

Well, it's gone. Too fast, with way too much going on. And now we're in November and that's almost over. What is going on? I don't get the "when you get older time goes faster" thing at all. But it seems to be true!

December is coming rapidly. The Keys are looming ahead, one day after Thanksgiving. A week away down south in Margaritaville. Can't say I don't mind that hurrying up a bit. But then, it's just next week and will be here long before I'm packed and ready to go, with the house clean for Krisse to come and stay with the majority of the menagerie! Stella, lucky dog, gets to go to the Keys! She always gets to go. She's the boating dog, the swimming dog and the traveling dog. Just open the car door and she's in and buckling her seatbelt. No, not really, she sits in the back seat and sleeps most of the way down and back. But she's ready to go and insists on overseeing the packing of her belongings, toys and treats!

Early December in the Keys is a well kept secret. It's QUIET down there. The tourists haven't trickled down the blue flanked ribbon of highway (thank you, Woody Guthrie) to paradise yet and we wander around the tiny islands like ghosts in a surreal landscape of peace, silence and wintery sunsets. Sometimes it's even cold! Have to take jackets and long pants, just in case. But then it's fun to walk down Duvall Street with a sweater, mini skirt, tights and high boots. Nothing like feeling cool, both figuratively and literally! Ha!

And favorite restaurants like Rickey's Blue Heaven (Jimmy Buffet's fave and starring in his song, Blue Heaven Rondezvous) and Camille's welcome us like long lost friends because we always come back for their superb menus and atmosphere. Hopefully, the Dessert Restaurant (can't remember it's name) will still be open. Imagine, a restaurant that only serves dessert. Is there a heaven in paradise? You betcha (sorry, Sarah! Couldn't help myself!)

Starting tomorrow, I get serious about packing, about cleaning and getting my life together to go have some fun in a favorite, private paradise, a place I grew up in spending each summer on different keys. I will always find a reason to return there.

While I'm there, I write. The novel I've been working on for so long that it seems it will never end is the job I take on seriously for one week every year. No, it's not War and Peace; not anywhere near as long (or boring, hopefully, to my eventual, potential readers). It's enjoyable and I love my story. I just wish that there weren't so many other fun, distracting things to do because I never write enough or get anywhere near finishing it. But then, that's one of the excuses I use to keep going back. One day the story will be finished. I hope. In the meantime, Margaritaville is calling and I have to take that call.