Today I was suffering from not only the Holiday Blues (Christmas is OVER). . . but also from separation anxiety.  Thirteen and a half years ago, my daughter and I went to the SPCA and adopted a puppy.  He was a little, white, fluff ball that we fell in love with immediately.  She named him Brodie.

Brodie was probably our fifth dog, but he certainly has been the best.  Last year Brodie grew a tumor.  We had it removed, and then, a few months ago, he grew another one.  We knew that Brodie was finite because we’re all on the same train, but Brodie was very very special.   He was kind, sweet, disciplined, loving and CUTE.

Well, as mentioned in a previous web log, we had moved.  Clearly, after thirteen years of running freely through the fields of Carpenters Park, Brodie had a tough adjustment to the new neighborhood.  No one welcomed Brodie to the new neighborhood.  Anyway, after more than a decade of freedom, Brodie was a captive in his new house, a house that didn’t have either of his cat buddies as playmates or unlimited hills and fields where he could run and play.

Two weeks ago we had to go away for a few days, and my daughter offered to watch Brodie.  She had also offered to watch the two cats, cats that made me sneeze.  (She’s been watching them since we moved.)  Well, Brodie seemed THRILLED to be back with his cats, running free through the fields of Davidsville.  He seemed so happy at his old house with the kids and the cats that we decided to let him stay there. 

Then something happened.  It was four o’clock on Christmas Eve and Brodie disappeared.  Our kids searched for him.  I made two trips to search for him.  The kids made three more.  We began calling our old neighbors.  It grew dark, and, for the first time ever, Brodie didn’t come home. 

The night was LONG and tough on all of us.  The following morning the kids started again, and we made more phone calls.  One neighbor reported that she had seen Brodie yesterday, but not since then.  Our son-in-law tracked Brodie paw prints across two fields, through some yards, near a horse farm and into the woods.

Some of our old neighbors got into their cars and looked for Brodie, too. 

Then, a stop at the police station resulted in a call that ended with . . . BRODIE.  He had traveled nearly six miles, was soaking wet, and scared, but some wonderful woman and her daughter found him, wrapped him in a blanket and called police. 

So far, Brodie is doing fine. 

So, thanks for the best Christmas present. 

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