Four days ago, we flew from Morocco to Paris, anticipating our last week of vacation. We checked in to our hotel, and were getting ready to hit the town when I logged on to my e-mail, and found this terrible message: our adopted greyhound, Petra, had escaped from her pet sitter in the Mission District.
She had been spotted by CHP running on Highway 101 near Caesar Chavez; the officer saw her duck off the highway, but was unable to follow her further.
We were dumbstruck. From thousands of miles away, we felt helpless and utterly miserable.
My sweetheart immediately dialed to the airlines, and managed to finagle a flight from Paris to London, and London to San Francisco the next day. By the time we hit the ground at SFO on Saturday afternoon, Petra had been missing for more than 48 hours, and had not been seen by anyone since the CHP sighting.
We raced home, dropped off our baggage, changed into sneakers, and headed out to the Mission. From Caesar Chavez, she could have gone in any direction – up to Bernal Heights, or over to Potrero. We drove slowly, our eyes straining at every white flash, every corner, every green space where she might hunker down and hide.
The Golden State Greyhound Adoption group was on alert; messages flew back and forth among the other adopters. They and others rallied to help, placing ads on Craigslist and posting flyers, even driving out to help search.
By Sunday night, we were dizzy with exhaustion. We were so tired that we considered pulling over to the side of the road and resting in the car instead of driving home. I hit a low point that night, imagining her out there in the cold. How long could she survive on the streets?