One day, Panchi, the Whitewing dove, flew out the door - trying to land on our heads as we came in - but the call of the Wild was strong apparently, as she soon darted off into the wild outdoors.

 

We spent the afternoon looking for her and calling out for her, but she was not to be found. I set her cage up high on the roof and set a recording of a lone Whitewing to repeat aa a "loop" from a boombox beside it. As the others have her kind had recently flown South for the winter, this would be the only Whitewing call in the area over the ensuing week.

 

Eventually, I brought the CD player back inside.

 

I hope to see her in the Spring when the Whitewings return. I will know her by the yellow band I had placed on her left leg. In the meantime, I remember her sweetly, and hope that she fares well, and that she finds others of her feather.

 

Come Spring, I will keep a careful eye out for her.

 

When I read electric and gas meters for a living, I had to read a meter at one yard where - running back and forth and snarling viciously at me along the inside of the chain-link fence - there was a young German Shepherd.

The dog, so frantic at my "intrusion" just outside the fence, in its defense of its yard accidentally fell into the swimming pool. I watched as it began to struggle, and it soon became obvious that the dog did not know how to get out. It groped hopelessly along the edge of the pool, treading water.

Were I to just read my meter then leave the scene, the dog might drown. But, if I were to climb the fence (the gate was locked) and try to rescue the dog, would it then kill me? I knew I had to do something.

I climbed over the chain-link fence and moved to the side of the pool. I tried to "show" the dog the pool steps by slapping down on the top step in the water, hoping to coax the dog over to where it could get out on its own, whereupon I could quickly escape back over the fence. Or, so I hoped....

Apparently the dog had never gotten out of the pool via the steps, either. It was no use. It continued to struggle along the edge.

I could see that the only chance was to move to where the dog swam, grasp it under its "armpits," and pull it out of the pool. I knew this would mean that I would come cheek to cheek with the Shepherd in so doing. But, as there was little choice, I overcame of couple of moments of substantial fear, and I did it anyway.

Very much to my surprise, as soon as the Shepherd shook off the water, it rushed toward me, stood on its hind legs and tightly embraced me around my waist, wagging its tail just as enthusiastically as it had been trying to bite me before. And it would not let go!

After a few moments where we exchanged thanks, his for me saving him, and mine for him not biting me in return, I was able to pry him loose, get back over the fence and back to my route.

I'll never forget that day or that dog!