Lost and Found!

Expect the Unexpected

A week ago, moments before boarding a plane from Los Angeles to Albuquerque, Ken and I received the call every animal guardian dreads. “Grace ran away, and she hasn’t come back.”

We adopted our beloved dog Grace four years ago from a horrendous hoarding situation in Rowe, New Mexico just before the pandemic. In all that time, we had never taken a vacation without her. Montana, California, Wyoming–Grace happily traveled with us in the back seat of my Honda CRV wherever we went. But now, it was my Aunt Lucy’s 100th birthday celebration. A party we could not miss. We didn’t have the time to drive all the way to California so we decided to fly to San Juan Capistrano, where the festivities were taking place, and fly back the next day.

I left Grace in the care of the best person imaginable; a dear friend who Grace not only knew well but whose home she’d visited countless times. My friend had been an animal advocate for over 40 years and had rescued and cared for hundreds of dogs. What better situation could I leave Grace in for her maiden voyage away from us? But just when you think you’ve dotted every I and crossed every T, the unexpected blindsides you.

Grace ran away, and she hasn't come back. My friend’s words repeated over and over like a pesky tune you can’t get out of your head.

Three hours later, Ken and I arrived in Glorieta, New Mexico, a tiny community in the Sangre de Cristo mountains, an area of pine-covered hills, rugged terrain, and stunning vistas. This wilderness, where Grace was lost, also had its share of cougars and bears.

It was late afternoon; the sun was sinking fast, and still no sign of Grace. Half a dozen people and a dog scoured the area by car and on foot. “Grace! Grace!!!” we shouted at the top of our lungs. I was certain that the moment Grace heard me calling her, she’d bolt back even faster than when she ran off. What I didn’t know was that despite our best intentions, we were going at this search all wrong.

Unexpected Heroes

I grew nervous but kept my nerves in check lest they give way to anxiety or worse– fear. Best to be calm, I told myself. Breathe. Just breathe. My friend Krista interrupted me with a suggestion, “Maybe you should call Conrad.” Conrad Mahaffey was a bit of a hero in this neck of the woods. He would track and find dogs, sometimes lost for weeks. I didn’t have to be asked twice and dialed his number.

??????????? “If your friends are shouting for Grace, tell them to stop,” said Conrad. He instructed me to set up a scent zone, an outdoor area where my clothes, any objects that smelled like me, and where Ken and I would sleep that night. “If you spot your dog, don’t run up to her, don’t yell for her, don’t even look at her.” What Conrad suggested was counter-intuitive. He didn’t know that Grace and I had a close relationship and that we had been inseparable since day one. Of course, she would come if I called her.

“Your dog will be in fight-or-flight mode,” he said as if reading my mind. “She may not even recognize you. She might run away.” Could I trust this stranger and his approach? Doubt crept in. “My gut tells me she’ll be back,” he added. “Be patient. Be strong. Stay positive. You’re on Grace’s time now.”

??????????? Stay Positive. Anyone who has read my blog, monthly newsletter, or received my emails knows my favorite sign-off is Stay Pawsitive. I took Conrad’s words as a sign from the universe to do as he said, to the letter.

??????????? That night, huddled under sleeping bags and several blankets to keep warm in 34-degree weather, we gazed at the magnificent star-filled sky. Who were we kidding? Neither of us could sleep. We missed the lump of white fur who had slept between us for the last four years, snoring and taking up most of the bed. Tonight, our dog daughter was sleeping in the woods without food and water and with predators and other untold dangers. When I’d catch my doomsday thoughts, I’d substitute them for more positive outcomes, like imagining Grace finding us and plopping down between Ken and me where we’d find her first thing in the morning. Wherever she was, I hoped she’d feel my heart calling out to her. Calling her home. Calling her back to love.

Going Against the Grain

When we woke, Grace was not back. The morning hours passed at a slug’s crawl. Anxiety kept banging on my door, asking to be let in. I remembered Conrad’s words. My gut tells me she’ll be back. I took his confidence to heart.

I’d been hiking around the area for the last hour when, as I’d imagined countless times, Grace came trotting over the rise in the road. Every cell in my being wanted to run towards her, but I remembered, If she’s in fight-or-flight, Grace might not even know who you are. This might be my only chance to get her back, and I was determined to get it right.

Instead of sprinting towards her, my butt hit the road. Instead of looking directly at her, I averted my gaze and turned to my side. Rather than shouting her name, I sang to the trees, “Hello, how are you? So nice to see you. What have you been up to?” Grace paused when she heard me, then turned as if she was going to run away. I sang a little louder, “It’s great to see you, Gracie. I’ve missed you.” Out of my peripheral vision, I suddenly spotted what I had hoped to see–recognition. At full speed, Grace barreled into me as I stood up, knocking me over, licking and nibbling me as though I were a delicious ear of corn on the cob. I laughed so hard I cried. She had the goofiest smile on her face as she raised her head and into the air and barked wildly. “I found her! I found my person!!” she seemed to say as if I were lost and she had found me, not the other way around.

It took several days for Grace to recoup from the stress of her ordeal. It took us about the same time. I learned valuable lessons from our misadventure, like how to approach a dog when they’re lost, the importance of investing in a tracking collar and how a village of good friends is invaluable. I also relearned that in the most trying situations it’s good to take a breath (or several) and stay pawsitive. Advice which I’m sure your own dog would say, “well yeah, of course, duh.”

Stay healthy & stay pawsitive,

Carlyn MDO

PS. If you know someone with a beloved dog who would benefit from my story and this information, please share this article. If it happened to me, it could happen to anyone.