Where you been, Old Blue?

It was 2am on a rural highway near Greenville, NC. Farmland stretched for miles. I was in my twenties, driving a friend home from the clubs, when I saw a dog walking by the side of the road.

He was just trotting along like he owned the place, a pointer mix with a spotty coat full of dirt, snarls, and matted fur. No collar. No one around. A quiet winter night with houses vague on the horizon.

I pulled over, and he jumped right into the car.

At my friends house, I fed the dog leftovers and gave him a bowl of water, taking stock of the situation.

He was disgusting. He smelled like a trash dump, located beside a slaughterhouse, near the sewer treatment plant. He looked like another, smaller dog may be hiding within his nest of fur. He was friendly, though.

I figured I’d spruce him up and take him to the pound when they opened in a few days. But first, I took him to the bathroom.

My friend’s white bathtub turned brown with dog dirt. Every few minutes, I had to swipe debris and fur from the drain so it would keep flowing as I washed my new friend. It took an hour for the water to run clear. The dog seemed to be enjoying himself.

Afterward, I toweled him off and trimmed his matted fur, removing hunks of who knows what and tossing them in the trash. My friend even had a pair of dog nail clippers, and I gave that good boy a good pedicure.

Turns out, he was white with black speckles in his coat. I made him up a bed at my side, and we went to sleep.

But in the morning, a thought occurred to me.

My mom used to let our dogs out to roam in the wee AM hours. Lots of people in the country leave their dogs unleashed and free. My husband’s brown lab Cody was an outside dog, wandered everywhere. The pointer was rougher than most, but still. An outside dog can be dirty and also loved. My friend wasn’t scrawny; he appeared well fed. He could be a lost hunting dog, but he was polite and sat on command. Had I stolen someone’s pet?

So I drove to the exact spot where I’d found him, stopping along the way to buy a new collar. I let him out into the same field where we’d first met. He sniffed the ground and trotted off toward a farmhouse in the distance.

I wonder what they thought when he returned that morning looking like he’d been at a doggy spa all night. “Where you been, Old Blue?” they must’ve asked. And even if he didn’t have a home and someone else found him, they’d know he was worthy of love.

Did I do the right thing? Probably not, but that’s true of that entire decade – big problems, little wisdom, full speed ahead.

This weekend, I’m staying at a house in Harlowe for a writing retreat, way out in the middle of nowhere. I’ve never been to a writing retreat or spent time in Harlowe, and I’m excited. I’m bringing my laptop, book notes, PJs,

…and dog nail clippers, just in case.

by Jessi Waugh