This little one was lost for a large part of this weekend. Foxes have been stealing local chickens and a mob of roos has been hanging around our hill at nights. When Bruce and Holly next door met a roo in 2014, the marsupial fared way better than the staffys; Holly's missing eye had me, I must admit, worried at 2 am. I cried to myself this morning. Rather a lot, I'm embarrassed to say.
But here's the good bit: I've never really been one to espouse "community", by which I mean the vague, touchy-feely version I hear all too often, and yet, today, we met some people - lovely, helpful, amazing people - in our neighbourhood who genuinely cared. Nothing like a lost dog to unite, eh? Peter talked to neighbours, we dropped off leaflets, walked and walked and called and called and, in the end, she was brought back to us by a woman I hugged twice, and maybe a bit too tightly.
Get active, stay calm and ask people for help. That, right there, is the opposite of lost.
Puss licked Poppy's ear as they lay together on the doormat in the sun on her return. We all missed her.