Yesterday morning, around 8:30, as Hud and Zoe were making their way back from the church yard next door, Hud noticed a tiny dog marching determinedly towards North Parkway. He let Zoe in the house, crossed the street and scooped her up. She appeared to be the littlest Bassett hound I have ever seen. A slight six or seven pounds. Smaller than Simone!
On her collar was her name, Joy and a phone number. Hud called it and left a message. Joy never made a peep. Did not chew anything. Did not beg for food. Clearly she was in the wrong house.
As the day wore on, we began to suspect she had been dumped. No returned calls. No tearful people with empty leashes searching the street. (As Howard had done to me once.) No flyers pinned to the light posts.
Sundays are lazy at the Hudarosa. We popped in a Six Feet Under and snuggled in to the couch. Zali and Simone refused to allow her up, so I sat on the floor with tiny Joy.
I officially look like an animal hoarder in this shot. Okay, make that just hoarder with all the dog toys and magazines and Zoe's yogurt plastic. And dogs. Lots of dogs.
At 8:15, twelve hours after Hud saved her from the bright lights of Memphis on her way to the Commodor Hotel, Joy was beginning to fold in to the family. She was sleeping soundly on my leg, when a knock at the front door, startled us out of our comfort. It was Joy's family. They had finally checked the home answering machine.
Her people had come to take her home.
I kissed her sad hang dog face.
And then they took my Joy away.