I Save Puppies
May 29, 2008
So it starts out as a perfect lazy spring night at home; I’m laying on the couch drinking a glass of merlot, flipping back and forth between the Mets game, Last Comic Standing and the Spurs/Lakers. The Mets are winning, a few of my friends appear on L.C.S. and the Lakers are whittling down what had been a huge Spurs lead.
As half-time approaches I get a hankering for Dunkin’ Donuts. I decide I will run out at the half to satisfy my craving. The Lakers cut it to six at the half, I throw on pants and a shirt and bolt out for my donuts.
I call my friend, Gil, out in L.A. to pass the time and talk about the Lakers as I walk to Dunkin’ Donuts. Gil and I have known each other since high school yet we usually keep our conversations to Knicks and Lakers updates.
I’m talking to Gil, he’s asking my how I like the Knicks hiring Mike D’Antoni as their coach. I say I like it because he coaches LeBron on the USA team and maybe that will help lure LeBron to NY in 2010, when he becomes a free agent.
As I’m crossing a crowded intersection (the very same intersection from a few blogs ago), I notice a tiny animal trailing behind me, scurrying about.
At first I think it’s a cat but I realize it’s a little puppy; a scared, little puppy following me out into traffic. Now you should know I am not a dog person. My family never had a dog, I’m not particularly comfortable around them but I have gotten slightly better in recent years. I totally forget I’m talking to Gil and start yelling at the dog “Hey! Hey! Hey! Go back over there, little guy!” The cars stop and I tell Gil I’ll have to call him back later, I have to save a puppy.
The puppy is doing that thing where it is cowering yet following you at the same time.
I realize I’m going to have to pick it up, which concerns me. I don’t think I’ve ever picked up a dog. In fact, it seems weird and unnatural to me to pick one up, like when those animal handlers pick up a goat or something on The Tonight Show. It just doesn’t seem right, or at least it doesn’t seem like anything I would ever do.
But there I am and there he is, in the middle of the intersection, so I have no choice but to scoop his tiny body up and carry him to safety. I think it’s a terrier. The only reason I know that is because that was my high school mascot. There is a restaurant with outdoor seating on the corner and I now realize that they are witnessing my heroism.
I now have a dog in my arms and no idea who it belongs to or what to do. I ring a couple of doorbells of the houses along the street and nobody is answering, which makes sense because it’s almost 11pm. Finally, these two girls come out. They are in their early twenties and immediately start making high pitches noises when they see the adorable puppy.
“Awww! Look at him! Is that your puppy?”
Yeah, I rang your doorbell at 11pm to show you my puppy.
“No, I found it in the street. I was wondering if it was yours or if you know who he belongs to.”
At this point a young gay guy comes out of the house. I guess he lives with them, too. It’s like a Three’s Company or Real World type deal.
One of the girls says,”It’s not ours. I don’t recognize it. Awww! Look at him!!! Yeah, baby! He’s so scared.”
The gay guy chimes in “I know the people next door have a dog. But it’s not this one.”
Thanks, gay guy.
The other girl says “You just found it in the street?”
“Yeah. I was just crossing the street and I saw him following behind me, out into traffic.”
“So you saved a puppy?!”
“I guess so. Yeah. I saved a puppy.”
While they fawn over the puppy I decide to call 3-1-1 and see if NYC provides any animal rescue service. It turns out they do, but only during regular business hours. The operator asks “Do you have a box you could put it in until the morning?”
I thank her for her help and tell her I’ll figure something out.
Now Jack, Chrissy and Janice’s landlord comes out and they ask him if they can keep the puppy. Mr. Furley says “I think I’ve seen that puppy before. I think it belongs to the lady around the corner. We can ask her in the morning. You can keep it overnight.”
Satisfied that the puppy is safe and in good hands, I thank them and take off for Dunkin’ Donuts. I feel a mixture of pride and bemusement at the fact that a simple donut run can turn into an animal rescue mission. You truly never know what awaits when you walk out your door.
A block from Dunkin’ Donuts I notice a Mister Softee truck. I make an executive decision and opt for a vanilla cone with chocolate sprinkles, scrapping my original donut plan. Ice cream feels more appropriate than donuts to celebrate a heroic act, though cops may disagree.
I walk back home, savoring my ice cream cone and replaying the rescue in my mind. It all happened so fast, I want to make sure to recount every detail. If the news were there I could picture myself saying “I’m no hero. Just a guy who was in the right place at the right time.”
As I approach the block where the girls lived I wonder if they’ll still be out there. Sure enough, they’re all still out there sitting on the stoop. I give a wave as I walk by and one of the girls yells out “Someone came for it! It was someone around the corner where you rang the doorbells!”
“Really? Oh, good, good!” I immediately felt strange saying “good” twice but I think it was appropriate. I was excited that the story had an even happier ending than what I had assumed.
A perfect spring night; a puppy saved and returned to his rightful owner, an ice cream cone and a community brought a bit closer together by the simple heroic act of one man in the right place at the right time.
All in a day’s work, my friends. All in a day’s work.