Dogs Truly Are Our Guardian Angels

My dog is driving me crazy. He thinks he’s the boss, no questions asked.

All I want to do is eat in peace, but nooooo!

God forbid he doesn’t get a bite just like I do. I swear he can count.

Two bites for me? He demands the same for him or he throws a tantrum.

Now he’s built a fortress with all his toys and that’s off-limits territory. He placed them in such a way that resembled military strategy. Every single one of them has a function and a reward. Taking turns with each seems to be his perfect pastime and he’ll pick one to chew to death until the toy surrenders, then he goes for the next one.

Then he places them back in the exact same order.

Who does that? Matty, my mutt-y dog.

I love him to pieces. He’s my beloved best friend.

Every day was festive in our lives.

Must’ve been that good diet.

It was a present from my girl for my birthday and I’d definitely say it was the best present I’ve ever had. As a puppy, he was funny, energetic, and destructive, especially with anything leathery. I knew about teething but boy, gimme a break! So, I asked him, “Could you not chew the house down? Geez!”

He looked at me like I was crazy and went back to chew his precious possessions for the day. It’s my favorite leather belt (and his, apparently).

His puppy days did go remarkably fast, as all good things do; before we knew it, he grew into a gorgeous specimen of a German Shepherd mutt.

It was unbelievable how smart this guy actually was. Never on a leash, he was a sensation in the streets of my neighborhood.

Everyone loved “Mutt-y” and the feeling was always mutual.

Whether I was on my bicycle or walking, he would follow me on the sidewalk and would not cross the street until I whistled. Even if I crossed first, he’d wait on the corner and only come across after he heard the sound.

When I rode the motorcycle, he was my copilot and sat between my legs on top of the gas tank. He loved a ride so much, that as soon as I grabbed my helmet, he would jump up and down happily like a toddler. With ten times the energy.

But one day things didn’t go as planned. It was the worst day of my life up to that point.

It happened in NYC. We were walking in Central Park and back in those days the leash ordinance wasn’t passed, so he was free to explore everything on his own. I think he might’ve been the “original explorer” the way his curiosity drove him to places he should have left alone. Not Mutty. He was the General Inspector of that park (and any other park we went to).

This time something happened that to this day, is beyond me. He just disappeared.

At first, I didn’t worry too much. I figured he most likely got busy looking inside some critters' homes and got distracted.

But slowly, as more time passed, I began to freak. Monkey-brain time x2. Overthinking, imagining the worst, asking everybody, sweating bullets.

Then, just straight out panic as he’s nowhere to be found.

I’m flipping out but must keep my wits about me or will have a panic attack for sure.

I can’t even have a decent panic attack in peace because the situation won’t allow me. Not even that!

It’s really bad when a human being feels so lost in his own impotence that nothing is good enough. Is like drowning in despair. Not enough air, or whatever air there was, I definitely needed more.

Some good people started helping me in so many ways I can’t even tell you.

They comforted me, reassured me, asked me if I had a photo of the mutt, and took it upon themselves to look for him all over the place.

They all gathered around me by the south side of the pond and took turns looking. I had kids, seasoned New Yorkers, mobster-looking types, women, moms pushing strollers, girls on skates, performing clowns…

All looking for my Mutty.

I’ve never seen anything like it. It felt as if the whole city was searching for a stranger’s lost pup.

Even the cops, unofficially, passed the word on the radio that “a service dog” was lost and to be on the lookout. That was the only way they could help. The NYC Police Department is lying on their radio frequency to help me find him.

Hours passed…

Still nothing.

It was getting dark by now in that beautiful mid-season springtime greenery that is Central Park.

People started to leave, some offering me their phone numbers and taking down mine just in case. They wanted to know if and when I found him. Their optimism was refreshing. I must have answered a question that was asked a hundred times that day: “Does he have a tag or a chip?”

“Yes, he has both. Thank you!”

“Thank God! You’ll find him, I’m sure. Someone will see the tag and they’ll call you.”

This was almost universally the assurance I was given by these amazing people.

Only the next morning did that omen become a reality.

The best phone call ever.

It was — without a doubt — the happiest moment of my life.

Dirty as all get out but unhurt, wagging his tail as he jumped on me with a look that meant to say:

“You got lost, Daddy. Where were ya?

“Anyway, supper ready? I’m starving!”

Riiiiight!