On the way to the laundromat, I see a brown dog running in front of me. It’s just a flash, but it looks something like a Corgi, maybe smaller, and it’s crossing the street perpendicular to traffic as the traffic has a green light. It crosses the street safely, and then it’s running free.

It struck me as a little odd at the time, but people are strange with their dogs in this neighborhood. Maybe it had found a friend? I head the laundromat, put my laundry in, and then hang out at the coffee shop until it’s time to switch it to the dryer.

A few minutes after I sit down, a commotion erupts outside the cafe. Everyone’s looking south, towards the park, and a few others run across the street. A younger guy is holding the arm of an older woman, who is apparently very upset, and needs some support as she slowly crosses the street.

The barista at the cafe walks in from the outside. “Well that’s great,” he says, “that woman lost a dog she was supposed to be watching. She got caught up in the conversation and it ran off. Now there’s a community effort to find the dog.” “A little brown dog?” I ask, and he says, “Yeah, did you see it?” “Yeah, I saw it a few minutes ago, running south across the street.”

It’s a bad time to lose a dog. It’s just starting to get dark. I can just imagine the conversations this woman will be having with the owner of the dog some time later. Maybe she’d be apologizing to her friend that night, saying that it was just an accident, and the friend would be enraged, saying she should have known better, or maybe calm, saying these things happen, or maybe optimistic, saying I didn’t really like that dog anyway, lemons to lemonade. It does not sound like she’s in for a fun evening.

A little later, I’ve finished putting my laundry in the dryer and I’m heading back home. I come to the same spot where I was when the dog first crossed my path, and I see a few of the people who had taken part in the search party crossing the street where the dog had jaywalked. I look over, and I’m expecting the worst, so I don’t really want to ask about the dog. One of them catches my eye.

“Found it!” he exclaims.

“Where had it gone?”

“It went a few blocks south. It was running around the park.”

Makes sense. A good place for a dog to run away to. That’s probably where it was headed the entire time.

Slightly relieved, I head home. The dogsitter must be pleased with the way it turned out. What would she tell the dog’s owner? That she had lost the dog and then found it, with the help of cafe search party? Or just that the dog had been well behaved all day, nothing much to report?

I wonder…