A rescue failed yesterday — miserably. It was an attempt to make a difference.
Way past lunch time and on my way to an appointment, I drove to a nearby Starbucks for a quick latte. As I slowly searched for a parking spot, a little ball of silky fur trotting on the heels of a woman caught my eye.
Suddenly, the tiny black dog dashed in front of me, then ran back to follow the person who appeared to be ignoring the adorable pet.
“Is that your dog?” I called from my open window as I rolled alongside her, slowing to a standstill.
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Barely turning to acknowledge me, she shook her head and hurried on her way, the cute canine dashing into my path again.
As quickly as I could, I parked and hurried from my car, taking only my cell phone. Just ahead, I could see the pair approaching the busy intersection where the dark-haired Schipperke — I couldn’t be sure of the breed — jumped into the road. The deafening noise of an approaching semi-truck had the fluffy animal returning to the curb.
The woman stood at the stoplight, ignoring the desperate pup.
Once again, I called to her, my high-heeled boots sinking into the soft grass that skirted the coffee shop where I ran to the sidewalk. This time I asked in Spanish if this was her dog. She told me no, but offered no help.
I cajoled, called and tried to talk the little dog to my side, my voice drowning in desperation and the din of traffic. The nervous pet would take steps toward me, and then run back to the jeans and tennis shoes that somehow seemed familiar.
The signal changed and in its confusion, the precious little dog ran across the highway, ignored by the one it seemed to trust.
Already late for my appointment, I gave up the chase. Still, a phone call to a friend driving nearby — one who owns a Schipperke — brought me hope with her promise to search.
No luck. She scoured the area without a sighting of the playful dog.
The rescue attempt failed — and it has left me feeling a bit miserable. For some reason, my heart won’t let go.