Home at Last

The cockerpoo puppy is home.

Proof that sometimes a tiny fluffy fugitive can survive nearly three weeks in the wild, outsmart half a village, and still come back wagging his tail.

Yesterday, after sixteen days of wondering where on earth he could possibly have got to, the little cockerpoo was finally found.

Safe.

Alive.

Home.

And I have to admit, I’ve been thinking about him ever since.

There was something about that little dog disappearing into the countryside and somehow managing to survive that got under my skin. For days there had been sightings, searches, Facebook updates and people keeping their eyes open whenever they were out and about.  Every small dog in the distance became a potential cockerpoo.  Every rustle in a hedge was worth investigating.  And then yesterday came the message everyone had been hoping for.

He’s home.

I can only imagine the relief, sixteen days is a long time when you’re waiting for your dog to come back. Especially through winter.  Especially for a three month old puppy.  Cold nights. Wet fields. Dark mornings.

Who knows where he slept or what adventures he got himself into?

Although I still have a sneaking suspicion that the potatoes played a bigger part in his survival than anyone is admitting.

Perhaps he spent sixteen days living like a tiny woodland outlaw, appearing only when he fancied a snack and disappearing again before anyone could catch him.

Honestly, I wouldn't put it past a cockerpoo.

But the thing that has stayed with me most is that he made it home.

Yesterday he was a missing dog.

Today he is somebody's dog again.

Back where he belongs.

Probably being thoroughly spoiled, possibly sleeping for approximately fourteen hours, and almost certainly wondering why everyone is making such a fuss.

Meanwhile, I’m out walking the TLC gang and thinking about how quickly things can change.  One day you're searching the hedgerows wondering if you'll ever see a little face again.  The next, you're looking at a photograph of that same face safely back in someone's arms.  It's funny how much a dog you've never even met can occupy a little corner of your thoughts, but that's dogs, they have a habit of doing that.

So today, while I'm trudging through muddy fields with a collection of my own four-legged lunatics, I'm quietly grateful that somewhere nearby a little cockerpoo is back on the sofa, probably wondering what all the fuss was about.

And I'm also quietly wondering...

How many potatoes did he actually eat?

Because sixteen days is a very long time to survive on nothing but charm.