Ivy Scarlett had a fun (for her; for me, not so much) field trip last week.
Ivy Scarlett, in case you just tuned in, is the German Shepherd/Husky mix Bing and I adopted l0 years ago when she was a year old. She’d been abandoned near Nevada, IA, and was picked up and brought to the shelter there. The shelter staff fell in love with her and named her Ivy. I gave her Scarlett for a middle name after we adopted her. I did it to get even with Sister Rosaria, who wouldn’t let me take Scarlett for my Confirmation name. “It isn’t a saint’s name, dear.” Hummmph.
It isn’t exactly Ivy’s Confirmation name since she hasn’t been Confirmed. Yet. I’m working on that. Thing is, I’m not sure she’s a Catholic – I haven’t asked her, because that seems rude.
My only clue that she might be a Catholic is when she wandered away a few years ago (I left the gate open – don’t judge, I was thinking lofty thoughts and forgot to close it). She wandered up to St. Cecelia’s where a kind soul put her in the garage there and called us to come to pick her up. I suppose she might have been going up there to study for her Confirmation test. I asked her, but she was noncommittal.
Last week, I forgot to close the overhead garage door and didn’t realize it until I went out an hour later and Ivy was nowhere to be found. Again, don’t judge – I’m sure I was occupied with lofty thoughts. Again.
A frantic search ensued. I called Algona’s Finest – the dispatcher was so nice and assured me he would call if she was picked up. I drove all around the neighborhood with my head out the window calling for her. And calling. And calling.
Finally, I came home and started looking for her on foot. A little girl and boy were strolling down the alley from the library and offered to help me look for her. I assured them the police were helping me look and they should continue their way home. They were really sweet. A few minutes later, they were even sweeter – they came back with Ivy trotting happily between them! She had been only a block away.
The whole episode brought back memories of the time Daughter #4, Amy, wandered away from home when she was three. Again, the police were called and the whole neighborhood turned out to look for her. Our neighbor across the street even came over and looked under all our beds, in case she was hiding there (she wasn’t).
I never asked what she found under our beds – I didn’t want to know. Dust under ours, I’m sure, and probably candy wrappers and stale pizza under Heather, Erin and Meg’s beds. Wade wasn’t born yet, so hadn’t contributed to the under-the-bed stashes.
Eventually, another neighbor spotted her a number of blocks from home, sauntering along humming to herself. Bing was in California at the time, taking a continuing education course at Stanford, so missed out on the drama. When he called a few hours later and I told him of our scare, he said, “Oh well, kids are always wandering off.” I suppose he thought that would make me feel better. I could have killed him. I settled for shrieking at him over the phone – I’m surprised he didn’t stay a week longer at Stanford to give me time to cool down.
I eventually cooled down, but for years afterward, I would bring it up, usually when I’d done something annoying. “You think that was annoying? Well, remember the time…?”
We Irish have long memories.