Pixie's Grand Adventure

Our little Pixie waiting in a chair with her sophisticated sister, Ellie, who seems poised to ask, "Excuse me.  Do you have any apple poupon?"

Alison loves animals.  She has great rapport with them, and as a foster mother with our local Humane Society, she has taken many shy, insecure dogs, and helped them become confident and loving companions.

Our first foster was what is described as a foster failure.  Pixie, a little chihuahua mix, came to us bone thin and shaking constantly.  But Alison won her heart, got her healthy and happy, and she fit into our family perfectly, bridging the play style between our other two dogs.  When it came time for her to be transported to a rescue center in Canada, I knew I couldn't send her into that cold land.

Since then we have fostered around a dozen dogs, and Pixie has been friendly and open to them all.  She has become a central part of our lives.

So you can imagine our concern and trauma when we came home from a short trip to Atlanta, only to find Pixie gone.  We had a neighbor help feed and watch the dogs, and we had the screen door propped open so they could go into the fenced-in backyard if they wanted to.

Alison went out to the porch and was greeted warmly by our two pre-foster era dogs and our newest foster.  But Pixie did not rush up to greet her.  Worried, Alison went out into the backyard calling her name.  She found a place by the gate where a very tiny hole was dug, just enough for the very smallest of dogs to get through.

Pixie had escaped before, but had just come to the front yard and waited for us by the garage door.  It was not like her to wander.  We were all very upset, and feared the worst.  In my pessimistic mind, when a dog disappears like that, you never see them again.

We broke up, searching the neighborhood, desperately calling out her name.  We were joined in our search by the neighbor who had been feeding the pets while we were gone.  I had no luck in the area that I searched.  Neither did Alison.

Benjamin, on the other hand, riding his bike, did his best not only to search, but to talk to other people that he saw out and about.  He found a man and his two young children who had seen Pixie an hour ago, wanting to play with his children.  He found two teenage girls who had also seen Pixie come by.  Soon, we had a regular neighborhood posse on the lookout for little Pixie, our loving dog with the white coloring and one ear that stood straight up and the other ear that flopped at half mast.

The man and his two kids borrowed a golf cart from his parents who lived next door, and they went out to help us out.  After  several excruciating minutes, I was overjoyed to see the golf cart come back, with little Pixie in the man's arms.  Our precious friend was found!  Where did he find her?  Two blocks and three streets away, playing in another yard filled with children.

So Pixie had her grand adventure, and what did she do with it?  She was spreading love and affection around the neighborhood, to everyone she met, spreading her magical pixie dust of joy.  No, we didn't want her to get out, but how could you be mad at her?

In this day and age of isolation and closed doors, of people relating less and less to each other, it was wonderful to see a neighborhood come together and help us find our Pixie.

And it made me wonder.

Wouldn't life be grander if we were all a little bit more generous in spreading a little bit more pixie dust?