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?
As we were driving towards the city on Monday morning, someone called to say they spotted a white greyhound running near 3rd Street and Quesada. The Greyhound group mobilized. Several cars headed over to the neighborhood, where we drove up and down the streets, asking everyone we met if they had seen a greyhound. Two people in the neighborhood reported seeing her run by, and so were very hopeful. For five hours, we circled the area, getting in and out of our cars, calling her name.
By 2:00 pm, we were starting to tire. Several people had to leave and go back to work. Jet-lagged and discouraged, the Moroccan and I decided to get some lunch. We drove over to Ti Couz for crepes, and then began driving back towards 3rd Street. When we were almost there, my phone rang. It was the head of Golden Gate Greyhounds, with the news that the SFPD had glimpsed a greyhound in a gated parking lot, and had closed the gate.
Hearts racing, we flew over to 3rd and Carroll, the same area where we had spent much of the day. Two officers were standing in front of a high metal gate.
“She’s cowering behind that car,” they said, pointing out a car in the corner of the lot. “She won’t come out.”
I walked towards the car and crouched down, calling her name. A nose peeked out from around the car; when she saw that it was me, she came running.
I can’t even describe how I felt as she approached. Her coat was matted and dirty; her ribs were almost poking out of her sides. But she was alive and standing in front of me, her tail wagging.
She is exhausted today, but of course. Her nails are broken and ragged, and her toe pads have worn down to the skin in some places. She has numerous abrasions on her back legs and her back, but she will heal, and she is safe.
We had a lot on our Paris agenda, including a drive to Burgundy to visit L’Ameloise, but let me tell you: getting Petra back was better than anything we could have done or seen. I am full of gratitude.
As we drove the streets over the past two days, we talked a lot about loss; lost pets, lost people, lost hope, lost dreams. This story could have ended very differently, and I know that many similar situations often end in great sadness. I feel a tremendous sense of empathy towards people who experienced loss. It is a harrowing thing.
Note: This picture of her was taken before the incident.
