"Congratulations!" said "Moon" Van Steenberg, Jefferson County's treasurer, when I called last week to confirm that, yes, Henry the beagle had been found.
"You're the first person that our new system was used for," he said.
The system, which replaced a - get this - DOS-based, 17-year-old system, allowed the Fitzgeralds, who live a long mile away from us, to enter Henry's dog license number into the database at www.padoglicense.com, or PALostPets.com. Both are reachable through a Google search, or through Pennsylvania's state-level Internet site, or through the county sites for Jefferson, Forest, Potter, Butler, Cambria, Indiana and several other eastern-state counties.
Lea Fitzgerald did that after Henry was found with both front feet in a trap, two or three miles east of their home. We live a long mile west of their home, so he had roamed five miles - in the dead of winter, when neither man nor beast ought to have been roaming.
Henry, you need to understand, is nicknamed "psycho dog."
He worries. If you walk up to him, he backs away and paces back and forth. You can read the thoughts moving from eyeball to eyeball: "Will this person hurt me? What does he/she want? Should I run away? Maybe he/she will hit me. Does he have food? Oh, why do I have to decide these things?"
Henry also stinks. He barks. And he wanders.
After all, he is a beagle.
So, with the aid of Ralph, our other, better-trained dog, plus a "shock" collar (used almost all the time on "vibrate," not "zap"), and probably 50 pounds of dog biscuits, in three solid months of training time, with generous and patient help from neighbors, Henry learned - we thought - to stay home.
By the first of October, he showed little inclination to bolt across the road when a thought crossed his mind.
What thought, you ask?
"Rabbit!"
You can see that happening, too. Henry sniffs as he walks, to the point where he sometimes bumps into things, because his nose is busy and his eyes are, well, worried. Most of the time, he sniffs harmlessly.
But, without warning, his head comes up, his eyes lose their dullness and start to glint, his tail stiffens and rises, and his bark, usually a soft whine, erupts into the full-throated "Yowwrrk, Yowwrrk!" of the hound that he is. Zzzzip! He is gone.
Enter neighbors. Victor calls, or Robin points me, or Chris keeps an eye out. I tromp off to find him, bring him home, sometimes zap him, always re-teach him.
I thought it had worked. He stayed home. Week after week, he and Ralph kept coyotes away from the chickens, kept deer away from the blueberry bushes (500 bushes!) and out of the garden, while staying put near our house.
So why, oh, why, did Henry wait until Jan. 10, when the temperature was in the teens and the wind chill near zero, to take off?
That was stupid. But then again ... that is Henry.
On a Saturday, over the hill he went. "Yowwrrk, Yowwrrk!"
I saw him, once, but couldn't get him.
Then ... nothing.
The Fitzgeralds didn't get him to their home until Friday, give him a bath, feed him, check out his muscle-sore but not-broken paws, and give him some cuddling.
Saturday night, when we returned home from a trip to DuBois (dinner; wedding anniversary), there was a message from a nice fellow from the Bureau of Dog Law Enforcement, Pennsylvania Department of Agriculture.
The bureau had checked out the license number, obtained our telephone number, left a message for us and, when I called back, supplied the Fitzgeralds' telephone number.
Henry, it turns out, was already asleep with the family's daughter. This family, I should note, has at least four pugs as indoor dogs, probably an equal number of outdoor dogs, plus a donkey, horses, goats, chickens and I don't know what else.
But they fell for Henry.
Stupid he is on occasion, he is lovable, with those sad-hound eyes, his diffident manner, his usually quiet nature (when he isn't thinking "Rabbit!") and his willingness to be cuddled.
So we postponed the reunion until Sunday. A few days later, I called Moon, and found out that Henry had, in his own way, made history, by validating the county's decision to provide the new system - which will be free, not even needing an annual maintenance fee, in just a few years, according to Moon.
At this writing, Henry is oh, so dutifully sticking close to home, snuffling about inside the barn, flexing his better-by-the-day sore feet, and seemingly quite content to stay where he belongs.
But in spring ... rabbits breed like, well, like rabbits.
Shh!
Don't tell Henry!
q q q
Denny Bonavita is the editor and publisher of McLean Publishing Co. in west-central Pennsylvania, including the Courier-Express in DuBois. E-mail: denny2319@windstream.net.
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