The initial elation of finishing a manuscript was quickly overshadowed by a wave of anxiety. My dog, Toby, a poodle with a sensitive disposition, watched my manic, happy Snoopy dance from beneath the dining room table. “We did it, Toby!” I squealed, hoping a publisher would soon share my excitement. Candlewick Press, an editor I’d spoken with the previous year, was our first choice. Ginger, my agent, sent the manuscript, and we waited.
Summer had settled over Maine, but our joy was tempered by the loss of our beloved dog, Lita, in the spring. Toby deeply missed her, and his behavior had regressed slightly, though we placed no pressure on him. A dilemma loomed: our planned autumn holiday. Our previous dog sitter was unavailable, forcing us to search for a kennel. If only I could revisit that decision, I would do so in a heartbeat. I found what seemed like a promising kennel, about 25 minutes away. I visited to meet the owner, but she wasn’t present. The kennels appeared clean and well-maintained, not overly large. Mike spoke with the owner by phone, and we booked Toby for a daycare visit to gauge his reaction. The owner assured us she would be there to meet us.
On the day of the visit, Toby sensed something was amiss. He tolerated his harness but was clearly unhappy. In the car, he trembled, wrapped in his blanket. Cars were not his favorite, and he refused to walk on a leash, though he allowed us to carry him. Upon arrival at the kennel, the owner was, once again, absent. That should have been our cue to leave. A young girl took Toby, intending to place him in his cage. “I don’t want him to go outside,” I insisted, trying to explain Toby’s anxieties to the girl, hoping the owner would understand. Too late, she led Toby into the outdoor enclosure and shut the gate. “I’ll let him in shortly; we’re just cleaning,” she said. I reluctantly nodded, a deep regret already forming. I should have retrieved Toby and driven home. Toby hadn’t even ventured into the garden at that point. We went outside; Toby was in the kennel, seemingly okay, observing the other dogs on either side. “He’ll be fine for a few hours,” I told myself. How wrong I was.
As we drove away, all I could see was Toby’s forlorn face watching us depart. The mobile rang just ten minutes later. Mike’s face paled instantly. All he managed to say was, “He’s out!” Chaos erupted. I’d never been one for hysterics, but I understood the meaning of the phrase then. Mike broke the speed limit returning to the kennels. The young girl was frantic. Apparently, she had entered the outdoor enclosure to place Toby’s blanket and toys in his kennel, and he had bolted through the open gate. There was an outer fence, and Toby would likely have been safe had there not been an eight-inch gap between the fence and the building on one side. It was an easy space for a small poodle to slip through. I ran into the tree line, calling his name frantically, knowing it was already hopeless. I always knew Toby would run if he got out; he had no recall and had never been exposed to the wider world. Now he was in the middle of miles of farmland and woods, likely avoiding people, cars, and anything that could help him. Suddenly, I understood the profound grief of those who lose a child.
The following days were a blur. Toby had been there, and then suddenly, he was gone. My heart felt as if it had been ripped out and nailed to a post. We searched tirelessly, all day and into the evening, calling, shouting, and squeaking his toys.
I posted the devastating news on Facebook. Within hours, it seemed to go viral. People across Maine shared the news, and within days, it felt like the world was rooting for Toby, from the San Diego Zoo to the UK and Australia. Kindness and hope poured in from all directions. In the locality of the kennels, a massive search effort sprang up. Every day, we encountered people searching on foot, with their own dogs, on bikes, in cars, and even in kayaks. A dedicated group of helpers emerged, organizing posters, house calls, newspaper articles, radio appeals, and social media campaigns – anything they could do to assist. My faith in humanity was profoundly strengthened by their unwavering support.