Scamp

Scamp was a Springer Spaniel. They love playing in water and are noted hunting dogs. I noticed her collar was loose on my second visit. Still, I walked her. I didn't think to safeguard myself (early in my career). I assumed (we all know never to assume) the owners knew better than I. The gleam in her eyes as we walked past a cat lying in a driveway should have been a clue. Mind you, I did store this in my memory, but I didn't do anything about it.

It was an extremely hot summer night, even for South Carolina. I showered and just threw a short summer dress on with sandals, not a good idea for walking dogs. On our walk, we passed the cat. Scamp stopped, looked up at me and then again at the cat. I said, as if reading her mind, "Don't you dare!"

With a twist of her head, I was left holding her collar and leash in my hand. To this day I laugh at the comical scene. Thank God it was dusk and darkening for I was running like I did when I was twelve years old, holding my breasts, clopping away with my sandals. Picture if you will, the cat running with its tail straight out. Scamp chasing the cat with her tongue hanging out and me holding my breasts clippity-clopping in my sandals, yelling "Scamp, Scamp get back here." This went on for what seemed like forever, but actually it was only five minutes until they both disappeared behind a house.

Did I mention this was an upscale, gated community? I hated to intrude on anyone's property. In addition I recently learned there are rattlesnakes in South Carolina, (my toes were exposed in the sandals). But I had to search for Scamp. I crunched my toes up on my sandals (as if that would help, but it gave me courage) and crept to the rear (like a thief in the night) of the house.

My heart sank when I saw marshes and lots of water. "Oh God, she's gone," I whispered. Springers love water. Still trying to catch my breath, I ran back to the house. I saw a man on roller blades and called to him. He totally ignored my plea for help. Once in the house I tried calling home for help, but the line was busy. I called Dean, but I still could not speak.

I just said "Kat – Scamp—gone--help," between gasps. He understood.

"I'll be right there." Dean is very good in this profession and just knows.

I got into the car and drove around looking for Scamp until I had to meet Dean at the gate. By this time, it was beyond dusk. On my last swing by the house the next-door neighbor stopped me, asking if I was looking for Scamp.

"Yes, yes, God, yes," was all I could respond.

"She was on my lawn gasping for air, so I put her in the gated yard," my knight in shining armor said.

I got out of the car somewhat embarrassed. My knees were shaking as his wife leered at me. I started to explain but stopped. I just wanted to check on Scamp for myself. Yes, she was out of breath, but okay. Better still, she was locked in.

I met Dean and took him to the house. He said, "I kept thinking what if we didn’t find her? The only remedy would be to replace her."

"How would we tell the seven-year-old owner? She would be devastated," I replied.

We sat and waited for Scamp to stop panting and calm down. I had to calm down as well. We sat for 45 minutes. Thank God she had returned and all was well. The little girl was on my mind. I put myself in her shoes. At her age, I knew it would be a long time before I would trust another adult. My morbid thoughts were interrupted as Scamp got up and came over to me. I was sitting in a large sofa chair. She put her front paws on my thighs and started licking my neck, face and arms as if to say, "I am so, so sorry."

We didn't say a word or move. We both just watched her. I am thankful Dean was there to see this behavior. We informed the owners of this incident. "Oh yes, she does take off on occasion" they said.

So now I check for loose collars the first time out on a walk. We also ask at the interview if there is behavior like this. It is important to know at the onset if we have "escape artists" so we’ll be prepared.