Eve Bruce

Blue (left) fit in fine with the Bruce's other dogs.

By Paul Bruce

The sign on our office’s door says, “The Humane Society of the United States.” Without hesitation, the handsome stranger strode through the open door looking for assistance. It was another ordinary day for The HSUS’s staff in the West Coast Regional Office, but this visitor was anything but ordinary.

“Well hey there, big fella!” I said, stepping out of my office to greet our guest. The large chow/shepherd cross wagged his tail and came forward, planting both front feet firmly on my chest, his big blue tongue lolling out of his mouth. His grin was infectious, and he was obviously happy to see me. “Are you lost, big boy? Where are your people?”

I slipped a lead over his neck, and we searched the parking lot, but no one seemed to know where he belonged. When we returned to the office, the WCRO program specialist, Carol, greeted us. She and our new guest shared pleasantries. He had a collar around his neck but no tags. Carol got him a bowl of water, which he lapped gratefully. Over the next hour, the WCRO staff took turns walking him through the neighborhood, hoping to find his owner. When these efforts failed, I knew we were going to have to take our search to the next level.

We filed “found” reports with our local shelters and continued to walk him throughout the neighborhood as we waited hopefully for a call from his owner. I took him to a local veterinary office to get scanned for a microchip. The nice folks at Family Friends Veterinary Hospital in Citrus Heights were happy to help and had barely begun the scanning process when we got a hit. Our exuberance was short-lived, as the trail came to a dead end at a veterinary office in South Carolina. The owner’s number had been disconnected, and no new number was available.

Disappointed but determined, I returned to the office and began searching the Internet for anyone with the owner’s last name in the greater Charleston area. I found several possibilities, and diligently left messages for “Sharon” on four or five machines. I was hopeful, but realized it was a long shot. Twenty minutes later, much to my surprise, Carol stuck her head in my door and said, “Sharon’s on the line for you.” She waited intently while I spoke to Sharon, and after the call shared my disbelief as I explained that Sharon had given him away long ago, and couldn’t remember where he ended up. After a few moments of stunned silence Carol said quietly, “I think we should call him Blue.” The name stuck.

For the next week, Blue went home with me at night and came to the office during the day. We still had hope, but each day when we checked with the shelters and no one had come forward to claim him, we began to doubt we’d ever find his owner. Blue took his new situation in stride. He got along great with my four dogs and three cats at home and was an absolute charmer with every new person he met. He was a gentle, loving sweetheart—so much so that West Coast Regional Director Eric began to feel that Blue might be a perfect addition to his family.

As a prelude to adoption, Eric’s wife, Kat, came down one day to meet Blue. He seduced her with his usual charisma, and it seemed Blue was destined to spend the rest of his days as a member of Eric’s family. Kat, Blue, and I were laughing and talking when the phone rang. It was Family Friends Vet Hospital. Blue’s owner was standing in their lobby!

It turns out Blue’s real name was Buddy, and his owner was laughing and crying at the same time as we confirmed details and established that, yes, this was his beloved Buddy. He had been out of town for a week and had left Buddy in the care of an apparently less-than-conscientious house sitter. He had spent the last 24 hours making flyers and frantically calling and running around town trying to find his beloved friend. He said he would be right over.

The reunion at the office was a joyful occasion, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the place. We were thrilled that Buddy and his friend, Rich, were together again, but we had to admit: We were going to miss him. Rich called the next day to let us know he had updated Buddy’s microchip information, gotten him a new set of tags, and fired his pet-sitter.

“I’m just glad he could read the sign on your door,” Rich laughed, “or I might never have found him.” I agreed.

Paul Bruce is program coordinator for The HSUS’s West Coast Regional Office in Sacramento, Calif.