Travel makes me think of the Indigo Girls' song, "Get Out the Map". If you don't know them, go itunes-store them immediately. Buy this song. It's really, really so extremely good. I still don't know what story I'm going to tell you. Let's see... I can see Debbie's house from here, so... story about Debbie.
Debbie is my neighbor. She lives in the back house of the yellow house to the left of mine. She's definitely the care-giver of the man in the front house who I've never met. He never leaves his house, but his television often blares at 3am, so we assume he's pretty old. Debbie is maybe his ...niece? I think too old to be a grand-daughter? We're at that point where I should probably know this, and she probably told me a while back, so now I feel too awkward asking her to clarify. It's very much like when you feel weird for not knowing a good friend's birthday for some reason, but you're too close now to ask, but you feel like a jerk, so you fake it and attend the birthday party like you always knew it? (Or you just check facebook.)
Debbie, by all appearances, has no other job besides the care-giving. She was mostly toothless until recently when I ran into her in a parking lot and she said to me - with swollen cheeks and a numb-mouthed lisp - that she had the rest of them pulled that day. She prefers not to wear bras, asks me to consult her on which psycho-somatic medications to try, has a son with perfect emo hair and an array of death metal and My-Chemical-Romance-genre tees, and she is madly in love with her dog, Samantha.
Debbie is the kind of neighbor you love to have because a) she's home a ton, so you know if anything weird goes down she's catching it, b) she's really good-hearted, c) she gives us some great quoteables for the chalkboard. Deb's major downside is that she likes to complain rather loudly about her life. Yes, we can hear it from inside her house when she really gets going. And if she gets you in person, whether by catching a glance through the window or spotting you on a run out back to change the laundry, you're there for a good 20 minutes minimum. Well, I am at least. I can't ever exit situations like this easily.
So, a couple Saturdays ago... while enjoying my first free Saturday in a looooooong summer of being away, Kelly and I heard her calling for Samantha about 300 times in a row. We could hear her moaning a bit and (shamefully) I just stayed in checking my heinous gmail build-up. At yell 301 or so, my heart twtiched and I knew I needed to go outside. Debbie was in a straight panic. Shaky, pacing, crying, mumbling. I really felt like a r-o-t-t-e-n neighbor. Clearly, Samantha ran away. Sam (let's abbrev) is a chestnut-brown retriever and if I like her, you know she's chill. No secret that I'm not much of an animal lady, but even I sensed in that minute how much Debbie needs Samantha. It's obvious Debbie's been around the block a time or two. And we hear the low lows she megaphones from her porch. Sam provides comfort in a rough world. She's her friend.
My achiever clicked in. I ran inside to get markers and posterboard for signs. Halfway to my art cabinet, I thought to get the number for the animal shelter. I yell it out to Debbie and she gets excited then starts freaking out because Sam is not registered. "They'll turn me in!!!!! I don't have the money!!!! I can't afford taaaaaaags!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Ok, ok. Hmmmm. I only ever think of craigslist when I'm about to move, but for some reason I think to post "lost dog". I describe Sam, where we live, and leave my cell number.
Debbie is really too neurotic to make any signs. I can't get her to focus or tell me her phone number. She's too busy reporting her lost dog and begging them not to be mad at her. For the time being, I start on the posters and keep deleting huge chunks of emails at a time from too many listserves I'm on. Debbie yells every 2 minutes or so to ask if anyone's called in from the ad. Nope. About an hour after I'd posted the missing Sam, I scroll back up to the start of my emails to discover that about 8 unknown people had emailed me. One gave a LONG description of what steps to take when you lose an animal. One told me she was praying for us. (awww, presh) Another sent me a template for lost-dog posters. The rest all directed me in some way back to craigslist. I clicked back to my posting and noticed, right above my own, a different post with "Found Dog - Redwood & 30th". That's my hood; that's our dog. We must have posted the exact same minute, because they obviously missed mine. They said they were taking her to the pound at 3pm. It was 2:20pm. I emailed them to call me asap. I ran outside, jumping a little in between steps, broke into a huge smile, and yelled to Debbie. She came to my fence and grabbed me, hugging me tight, right into that bra-less chest of hers. Over and over she repeated, "I love you! I love you, Melissa! Sweetheart, I love you!!!" Why wasn't the finder calling me back??? I started getting antsy. I don't know a thing about tagging your dogs, but what if Debbie was right, what if the pound wouldn't let her have Sam until she paid some crazy fine she had no money for? You know me, I started spinning on how I could pull off another yard sale...
Call, call, call... I willing them, staring at my phone. Meanwhile, Debbie was back to her systematic yelling/checking-in from her house to mine every 2 minutes. Finally, at 2:50pm, she'd had enough waiting. She announced on her way out the gate she was off... to go find Samantha. 5 minutes later, I heard her up the street yell-crying things like "You stupid dog!" mixed with "Don't ever leave me again!" I poked my head out the window and cheered them home. She started crying full-on and telling me I'm her best friend. She then asked me, "Do you like meatloaf?", which I thought was the best question ever. Vegetarian-me said enthusiastically yes and she ran inside. Who knew Deb was a stellar cook? I'm not lying. She brought me an appetizer of caprese salad, then a plate of meatloaf accompanied by carrots, stuffing, turkey, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Apparently, Debbie celebrates Thanksgiving in July.
I asked her how she found Sam. Easy. She went to the intersection listed and started yelling her name. Someone came outside with her. That's it. Bonus: she said the guy who found Samantha was super hot.
Later that night, roommate Kelly picture-texted me a hunk of homemade lasagna. It was my evening present. That night, around 11pm, when I was about to head into bed, I heard "Melissa!!... I love you, sweetie! Looooooooove youuuuuuuuuu!!!" nice and loud...from all the way across the yard.
ps: When I woke up, 8 more people had emailed me about the simultaneous lost and found posts. I think it's worth pointing out these people had nothing to gain by doing this, nor did our posts concern them at all. These were simply 16 kind souls, aware of how good it is to find something you've lost.
