That became true for me on Saturday March 8 when I watched my worst nightmare unfold before me. People often say, "It was like watching a horror movie," to express the feeling of having absolutely no control or ability to manage the awfulness of your reality. That was the feeling I had as the day progressed unveiling the worst possible scenario moment after moment, until suddenly 36 hours later I was blessed with the best, most miraculous, possible outcome. Penny wandered away from me and then made herself found. The adventure that she had, we will never know. Every cell in my body aches to know what she did, where she went, was she scared or excited, did she have close calls, what did she eat or drink, how did she find her way to a friend's house, how did she break out in the first place, WHY did she break out in the first place.... but this endless list of questions all fall under the category of "you will never know". As frustrating as that is, I can accept that I will never know.
However, what I intimately know and understand is my own suffering experienced as a result of her loss and the absolute inability I had to relieve it in any way. I had to just dive into it, experience it in my body, allow it to overtake me. Because when something in your life gives you such joy and bliss and engenders feelings of such deep love, the pain and suffering of its loss is equally as powerful and the suffering all-consuming.
Saturday started with an energetic walk up to "Penelopeak" - the mountain we fondly named after Penny because we do almost daily walks up to its small summit. I had planned to do a bike ride with a friend in the park and, as usual, I was faced with the question of, "Do I leave Penny locked in the house by herself or do I try to find someone to watch her?" For some reason on that morning, I thought to explore another option - I could leave her with doggie friends so that she could have some play time while I got my bike ride in. This seemed like a good option because Penny absolutely loves being with other dogs and especially likes my friend's Vizla, Jack.
I brought her over to Heidi's house and tried to teach her to use the doggie door, but she was too distracted playing with Jack to pay attention to me or the door. So I said, what the hell, not thinking that she might try to escape if she was left outside alone without the other dogs. In fact, this realization didn't hit me until much later... We drove off, looking back to see three dogs watching us drive away with alert ears. Heidi and I momentarily acknowledged that it was the first time we'd left Penny alone with her dogs and drove off.
During the bike ride, I had visions of Penny being hurt or attacked by Neila, Heidi's other female Vizla that is less socialable. But I try to brush these off because I often worry about unrealistic things happening to Penny. However, when we got back to the car, Heidi had a voice message from Dave saying that he saw signs of another dog at the house but that he didn't see one. My heart stopped but my actions didn't. Get in the car, get back to the house, find Penny. Heidi and I told ourselves the whole way back to the house that she must just be hiding in the yard or in the house or that Dave just didn't see her. We convinced ourselves it was impossible for her to escape and why would she in the first place? She adores Jack - she wouldn't want to leave him. I still hadn't thought about what Penny might do if Jack and Neila went inside through the dog door, leaving her outside alone.
We arrived at the house and searched the yard and the house and no Penny anywhere. The larger search began. I didn't have a plan or a strategy. I didn't know where to begin. I knew I had to search quickly though. Dave started driving around the neighborhood. Heidi and I drove the road back to my house (3 miles away) thinking that maybe, miraculously, she would find her way back to her home. No Penny. I made flyers at the house, Heidi called the shelters, the vets, the radio station, the microchip place. We headed back to Heidi's and I set off on foot and didn't stop until my parents and their friend visiting from England arrived. Bad timing for a visit. I was distraught. I couldn't hardly say hello or tell them where the bathroom was. I took off again to drop off flyers and continue to search with my mom at my side. Not the way either of us had envisioned spending time together...
Night fell. I drove my mom home and packed up a sleeping bag, warm clothes, headlamp, some food, flyers, dog treats, a pile of dirty clothes, and filled my camelback. I had a map and a plan of action. I would strategically park my car, leave a pile of dirty clothes by it with some dog treats, then take off walking and calling Penny. If she came back to the car, hopefully she would stay with the clothes and food and wait for me to come back. I started off, but about 30 minutes into my walk, I heard something that sounded like her little puppy howl from the first couple of nights we had her.
The sound went straight to my core. I could have imagined it but i didn't imagine the feeling that washed over me. Then, about 30 seconds later, I heard coyotes yipping. All of these sounds were coming from a place called Coyote Hole - an open area and canyon just across the main road from Heidi's house. I hadn't searched over there during the day. I ran back to the car, threw everything in and drove over to Coyote Hole and started off calling and whistling, calling and whistling, as I had been doing for nearly 12 hours. All that was echoed back to me was silence. The deafening silence of the desert. I walked down into the canyon and my calls and whistles echoed off the cold rocks.
It was a beautiful night. The moon was out and close to full. The desert was awash in its gentle light. But I couldn't find peace or solace in the quiet desert night as I had so many times before. Only pain, a knife in the heart. And on top of the pain that comes with the loss of a love, I was layering blame and criticism on myself. Why did you think it was OK to leave your puppy alone in a strange yard? Why didn't you look in Coyote Hole earlier today? Added to the mix, was also the pain of not knowing if she was alive or dead, eaten by coyotes or cowering scared and cold somewhere, snatched by a puppy thief and asleep in someone's bed or stuck in a cholla cactus. I cycled through the pure pain of loss, the pain of self-judgement and criticism and the pain of not knowing. One constant turning wheel of samsara with no apparent escape. Only a strong will to keep looking and keep calling as it seemed the only way I may be able to find her and find relief.
So I kept walking, and calling, and whistling and shaking the treats. And then I got really cold and really tired. I'd only eaten an egg for breakfast and shoved a sandwich down the hatch at some point during the day. I was exhausted emotionally and the despair that comes with endlessly calling and searching with no results was starting to wear on me. The tears kept flowing uncontrollably. I decided to head home. But I wasn't finished yet - when I got home, I put Penny's crate with all her toys in the car and drove it to Heidi's. I set it by the gate and dribbled my dirty clothes all around it with a fresh bowl of water out front. Maybe she'd find her way back during the night.
I went home and finally crawled into bed around midnight but it took me forever to warm up. It was as if I was feeling how cold Penny was sympathetically. I closed my eyes and went into a stormy sleep for about an hour and a half and then was awake again. Feelings of guilt for not spending the night searching for her filled me. Did it mean I'd given up? Did I lose my chance at finding her? Could she make it through the night? I had no idea. I opened my computer and began to circulate flyers via facebook. I send emails to friends who might help me look on Sunday, I researched resources on what you should do when you lose your dog, I found a pet detective that used search dogs in San Diego and jotted down her phone number. I learned that the best time to call/search for a lost dog is at night or in the early morning, motivating me to get going again.
I was up and ready to go again at 5am. I was walking/biking the neighborhood by 5:30am, trying to strategically cover all the areas I might have previously missed. I walked Coyote Hole again at sunrise. It was spectacular. The sky and clouds were lit up with gentle hues of colors while the stars slowly faded into pale blue. I felt an inkling of peace creep in and then it was gone and the despair came back. I said many many prayers. I imagined her being attacked and killed by coyotes and tried to come to peace with that potential outcome.
Back at Heidi's house, I called Ethan and we cried together. We thought of the reality of losing little Penny pup forever. We tried to tell each other not to give up hope, but fell into imagining our worst fear - that she was gone from us forever. I drank a cup of coffee at Heidi's and called the pet detective with search dogs in San Diego. I headed into town to put up more flyers but felt aimless and hopeless. I went back to the house and made small flyers and printed them off. I headed out to put flyers in people's mailboxes. And then I got a call.
"Hey, I think I saw your dog running west along Alta Loma by the elementary school. I was trying to run damage control and make sure she didn't get hit by a car. I stopped and called her name, she looked at me and then when I tried to approach her, she ran off into the desert."
"What did she look like? Was she wearing a collar? What color was her collar?" I asked, needing to know if it was actually her.
"It was the dog in the picture all right."
"Where was this exactly?"
"Oh, along Alta Loma. She ran north, off into the desert. I'll show you - meet me at Alta Loma and Sunny Vista."
I headed over there, followed him around as he showed me where she was. My heart lept with hope. She made it through the night. She was alive. She was out in the desert and still alive. Oh, the relief. But it was a delicate relief. I knew I had to be careful with my hopes.
I set off to look for her and sent friends and parents to look throughout a large parcel of land just north of Alta Loma between Heidi's and my house. It seemed almost as if she were making her way home. We looked for hours around that piece of desert. We talked with residents, we looked around houses, we called and called. It was hot and windy and my lips were chapped, my throat constantly dry and I was sunbaked. But we kept looking. I sent others to continue looking around Heidi's house. More people were volunteering to help look and put up flyers. The outpouring of support, love, willingness to help was overwhelming and made for an interesting mix of emotions with the pain.
I got a phone call at some point on Sunday from the pet detective, Analisa Berns. She told me dogs survive for weeks away from home all the time and that it is totally likely that Penny made it through the night and could very well make it through more nights. She said I needed to think strategically and that she could help with consultation or could come out to the desert with her search dog and help find her. Success rate 10% on the search dog. Price tag $875. Yikes. But what the hell. The whole situation seemed irrational, so why not an irrational reaction? She calmed me down and told me that my pup was a survivor and that because she was offspring of feral dogs, she most likely was scared of everything and likely safer from coyotes. She told me to call her by 3pm if I wanted her to come out with the search dog.
Then an old friend from high school reached out and offered to do pet psychic work. She connected with Penny and told me that she was scared and hiding in a ditch somewhere close to where she escaped. That only brought more tears but also a bit of relief considering she was able to connect, suggesting Penny was alive.
All of this help and support and advice from all angles gave me energy and compelled me forward. Finding Penny became my job and I began to be more matter-of-fact about it. I took it on with more determination and less emotion. Mission: Find Penny!
I kept looking but with less tears and despair and more as "just what my life is like right now". I thought about the days and weeks ahead where my reality included a couple of hours of searching for Penny everyday and putting up flyers and doing whatever it takes to find her. I talked with Ethan and we both came to peace with the "not knowing" and decided that we could, in fact, move forward with the "not knowing". We would keep looking and doing everything we could until we knew more information. That is all you can do. I decided to do some self care and meditated with my mom and then took a shower. I went out searching a bit more around sunset and walked through familiar territory that I had walked with Penny during our brief 4 months together. I thought about her a lot and sent her a lot of love.
Back at home, I did more social media work to spread the word about her. My goal at that point was to get a positive sighting of her. So the more people I could notify about her loss, the better. I had signed up for email consultation with the pet detective and spent a lot of time reading the "lost pet guide" she had sent and filling our her survey. I ate some dinner with my parents and their friend and made a fire with my dad. I was settling into my new reality.
And then, the phone rings. It was Dino. I figured he was calling to check in to see if there was any news. But instead he said, "Penny is at my house."
"WHAT??? You're kidding me. No why would you be kidding me. That would be evil. You are not evil. WHAT???!!"
"She's here. She was outside playing with my dogs. I heard her bumping on the door."
"Oh my god, oh my god. Holy shit. This is miraculous."
"I assume you want to come get her. She's here eating food right now."
"Oh my god, I'll be right over. Thank you thank you thank you."
I called ethan on the way over. he cried with relief. I caught him right before he went out of reception for 5 days. I called heidi and she cried too and couldn't believe what I said.
I rushed to get Penny. At Dino's, she heard me call to her and did her usual back and forth back and forth nervous dance that she does when I haven't seen her in awhile. She was excited to be with her buddies, Dino's dogs. I picked her up and put her in the car. She whined on the way home and barked a bit and acted nervous. At home, she jumped up on the couch and I checked her out - a couple of cholla spines was all I could find.
The relief was wonderful. She slept in bed with me that night and slept all the next day on the couch. She seemed no worse for the wear except for a bit of urgent diarrhea 24 hours later.
The most salient message about whole experience was the reality of my lack of control over pleasant or unpleasant events. I kept trying to do things that would end the unpleasant and bring the pleasant back into my life. But I had no way of doing this. I didn't know where to look or how to find her. I tried to pay money to have control by hiring a pet detective. I got my friends and family involved. But in the end, none of the things that I did to try to control the outcome of the situation brought her back to me. Maybe the prayers and intentions and effort of everyone holds some weight. But in the end, Penny wandered back in her own way, and apparently not as a result of mine or my friends' search efforts. And the interesting part about this whole story is that she only wandered back to me once I let go and settled into the new reality of not knowing.
So, that was my adventure. Penny's adventure will never be told except fictionally or in an imaginative children's book someday.
My story ends happily - I gained a deep understanding of suffering, had my heart broken open and learned how to be ok with the Not Knowing that is always with us while still ending with a happy reunion. My heart aches for those who do not know the happy endings and go on living without loved ones and not knowing what happened to them. Deep compassion for you all out there.
