Several months ago my neighbor had to help her little dog cross the Bridge. Since then the woman has been very down without her constant companion. After many prayers and a thorough search of online rescues, she found a pup who looked like a perfect match.

This lady was counting the days – the minutes – until the little dog arrived! She bought sweaters and dishes and cases of food and booties and pet-friendly salt and seatbelts and toys and beds and leashes and harnesses in preparation for the pup’s arrival. This little dog would have wanted for nothing.

On adoption day, though, the new pup slipped her harness and ran away. Within minutes the neighborhood mobilized to help find her. Fliers were put up. Facebook notices were posted. People brought drones with FLIR to help with the search. There were even bloodhounds.

Although there have been several sightings, no one has caught the runaway pup. By today it has been a week, and her chances of being found are not so good. I helped with the search as much as I could. I was out for days checking the creek, looking under sheds and cars, literally beating the bushes to see if I could roust her from a hiding spot, but I found nothing.

I’ve been feeling particularly down this week, and I think it is because of this missing little girl. I was looking forward to getting to know her – to helping discover that all humans aren’t bad. (She was saved from a puppy mill where she produced litter after litter for most of her seven years. At this point she didn’t like or trust humans very much.). I would have been her dog walker, and I was mentally planning the routes we would have covered…the friends we might have made. While she wasn’t my girl, I looked forward to her as if she were.

I told my friend about how I’ve been feeling, and she said that maybe I need to let go. This isn’t a problem I can solve (even though I feel as if it is my fault, that my not-aggressive-enough hunting skills left the dog out in the cold).

I find myself wondering if maybe the little girl dog prayed when she was in captivity. Perhaps her prayers weren’t for a soft bed or a warm house. Maybe she prayed for freedom. Making her own decisions, being her own woman – even if only for short while – may have been more important to her than creature comforts. I like to think that she is (or was) happy breathing fresh air, finding her own food, feeling the rain on her fur. Maybe these things brought her greater joy than our leashed walks ever could.

I just wish it didn’t have to hurt so much.

I thought of her as “Girl Murphy” since they looked similar and shared a Gotcha Day.

Mom’s been hugging me a lot lately. What’s going on?