Farewell Holly

Farewell Holly

I’ve been reading about Marisol, a dog who’s been lost in the Middlesex Fells Reservation in Medford since the beginning of November. The poor thing had been happily playing with her buddy, Toby when…..

a pit bull charged out of the woods and lunged for Marisol. Toby, a normally timid golden retriever mix, stepped in for his little friend and took a beating, holding the pit bull off until its owner finally appeared. During the melee Marisol fled into the woods. That was November 2. Toby is slowly recovering. Marisol — a 3-year-old, 20-pound copper-colored mutt — is still out there and the search for her has become one of the most elaborate and high-tech ever mounted for a missing dog. (Boston Globe 12/5/10)

Marisol is a “Sato”, a Puerto Rican street dog. Andrew and Anindita Sempere adopted her when they were volunteering at a dog shelter there three years ago. As a Sato Marisol possesses natural dog instincts for survival plus street smarts that she learned when she was a stray for the first seven months of her life.

So though Marisol has lived the soft life as a beloved American pet for the past three years she is no stranger to living rough. And that is part of the reason that the Semperes are having such a difficult time finding her. After the attack Marisol had become a street dog again, avoiding people and living on the run. The Semperes had to call on pet detective, Karin Tarquin to try and bring her home.
Tarquin told them that, after a day, maybe less, Marisol had stopped thinking like a pet. And as hard as it was for the Semperes to believe Marisol was not looking for them to rescue her. They’ve come to understand that they cannot go to her. They need to get her to come to them. And to do that they will have to hunt her like a feral animal. Marisol’s primary instinct had become her own security and that meant avoiding people, even her owners.
It’s hard for anyone who doesn’t have a pet to understand how much you can love a furry creature. How they crawl into your heart and make a home there no matter how you try to fend them off. Once you’re theirs they don’t let go. They become your routine, your day, your evening, your bane and your solace. And when something happens to them, especially something you can’t control, you’re lost.

Even in a sea of dog lovers the Semperes are unusual. Not only have they expended the usual efforts, but once they discovered that they had to use different methods to find their dog they embraced those as well. They are using motion activated cameras in places where they think Marisol visited. They have tried to map her route so they can set up stations with food and water to lure her to a place where they can capture her. They have used all their social networking abilities to spread the word. But despite all the technology, all the GPS tracking devices, cameras, and internet blogs, Marisol remains stubbornly lost.

Andrew is a rational thinker, a scientist. But this is emotional and he’s having a hard time accepting that there is no technology that he can use, no program he can write to bring Marisol home.

We all fall into helpless emotion when our pets are hurting especially when we’ve run out of technology and its options. That is where our neighborhood found itself when Cheryl and Roberta’s dog, Holly died last week.

Snoopy met Holly before we did. He’s fickle when it comes to most dogs but he’s always adored his neighbor, Holly. She was a sweet, gentle, Australian collie who loved everyone, but especially her buddy Snoopy. When I went back to work full time and Cheryl started taking Snoopy for walks, she jokingly referred to them as husband and wife.

Last winter Cheryl bought them matching coats—Holly’s was pink and Snoopy’s, gray. The neighborhood got a kick out of them as they walked together, defended each other against other dogs, acting like an old married couple. Snoopy would spend hours at Cheryl’s, just “chillin” as Cheryl would say. They were a love match.

Last year, despite vaccinations, Holly caught Lyme disease. She recovered but then a few week’s ago she suddenly started limping and then refused to eat. She was sick again. Cheryl was at her wit’s end. For a while Holly would eat only when Snoopy was around but then even Snoopy’s presence couldn’t get her to eat.

One evening as I drove into the driveway I saw Cheryl walking Snoopy home alone. “Where’s Holly?” I asked her. She tearfully told me that Holly was in the hospital and wasn’t expected to last the night. The next few days we had a reprieve when Holly rallied and came home, but then a few days later she was gone. I couldn’t believe that I was sobbing hysterically. After all she was only a dog and not even my dog. But it didn’t matter. She was a little bit of life that was part of mine—a presence that made me smile—a puppy who brought love to her family and ours—a part of God’s creation. And for all that she was to all of us here in our neighborhood, she will be truly missed.