Oh Where Has My Little Dog Gone?

Durban Dog

"Not my circus, not my monkeys." --Polish Proverb




Thanks Facebook for outing me. I was trying to keep our crazy under wraps, so it was UN-kind of you to tell all my friends that my dog was MIA. I reported the dog MISSING to a Facebook Lost and Found group in Cape Town, and within minutes my whole world knew, due to your stupid algorithm. 




Our new neighbors definitely knew our dog was missing, because we drove around the neighborhood shouting “Durban!” Actually that’s not true. Durban is a city in South Africa, so they probably thought we were drunk Americans. 




And yes, South Africans think that “Durban” is a stupid name—like Americans would smirk at a dog named Tacoma. I’ve tried to modify it—Durby, Durbs, Dave—but nothing sounds right, so Durban it is. I tell people the name sounds better in Zambia and then shrug my shoulders.




But we were in Cape Town now, and we'd managed to lose him in one day. To be fair, he RAN AWAY, but that's beside the point.




Since dogs don’t talk, I imagine Durban slipped out the gate, because he was worried we would leave him again. This dog, like many labradors, is sensitive, loyal, and a bit exceptionally needy. He felt deserted in Zambia. He didn’t know that he had to wait for his blood tests to be approved by the South African government before he could be loaded in a crate, shoved on a plane, and flown to a new place where he'd be locked in quarantine for 10 days. Come to think of it, I would have some trust issues as well, if my family did this to me.




When the pet courier company finally dropped him off, he was hysterical. I'm sure we wound him up a little. (Trying to upload video here...)




A few minutes later I took him to his first dog park. A dog park? Like a kid in a candy shop, it was sensory overload. The first thing he did was run to the fountain and jump into the murky water-- which is completely normal for a labrador to do. However we were now “those people” shouting “Durban” at a water fountain.




The next morning Eric took the boys and Durban on a hike ½ way up Table Mountain. This was Durban’s first. hike. ever. One of the charms of Zambia is that you can camp with wild animals, but Durban never joined us, because he'd be a leopard's lunch in no time.




As you can imagine, Durban thought Cape Town was incredible: a dog park and a hike in a day? When I took Alex to a birthday party, Durban decided that we were either abandoning him and/or doing something awesome without him, so he chased after us.




I only noticed he was gone when I got back. We were frantic. We had just endured three months of off-the-charts stress, and this was the proverbial fly buzzing around a pile of dog droppings.

Our summer vacation went something like this: we needed to get FBI background checks, chest x-rays and notarized copies of every official document known to man, so the whole family could zip down to the South African embassy in Los Angeles and submit our visa application in person. Go figure--my x-ray came back abnormal, which meant more tests for me.* 

Then we had annual doctor's appointments for everyone. I got my first mammogram, which turned out abnormal. That meant more testing and a biopsy which led to surgery to remove a benign tumor. 

Everyone had eye appointments and got new glasses, which Oliver managed to lose between Seattle and Cape Town. 

I did three 100-mile (Century) bike races, and despite being in the best shape of my life, was diagnosed with high blood pressure. My family does not have high blood pressure, so I had to get scans of my kidneys. Again, more doctors appointments to get that under control. 




Oliver had a scheduled tonsillectomy, but he needed an "all-clear" from his cardiologist before the anesthesiologist would knock him out. This meant more tests and doctors visits before heading to the hospital. This surgery is an outpatient procedure for typical kids, but Oliver is an overachiever and needed a three-day stint in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit.




Between appointments we spent time with our loved ones, which let's be honest, always includes a good dose of drama.




After returning to Zambia we had ten days to pack up our house and move to Cape Town. 




Once arriving in Cape Town we had a ton more work to do: get bank accounts set up, buy a car, find insurance, get kids in school, find a school for Oliver, and move into a house. To make things interesting, South Africa doesn't let you get a cell phone contract until you can provide proof of address. To rent a house you need to have a bank account. To have a bank account you need a miracle from God. 




God came through for us, but by the time Durban arrived at our temporary housing, we were fragile, frayed, and on edge. To think our beloved Durban could be dead on the highway was unbearable. 




Someone suggested we post his photo and information on a Cape Town Petfinders group on Facebook, so I did.




Within the hour, a woman connected us to the people who had found our dog. When Durban tried to cross four lanes of traffic, two cars nearly hit him. A third car stopped, coaxed him into their car, and took him home. They fed him a yummy ostrich lunch and gave him lots of love. Then they took his photo and posted it to Facebook.

Why did my dog cross this road?

When we picked him up, the people actually invited us in for dinner. We declined, because, well, the afternoon had been a bit much already. 




So thanks Facebook for helping us find our dog. I forgive you for letting my secret out, because you've forced me face the truth. I cannot deny it any longer.




This is my circus, and these are my monkeys. 

*I am fine. Turns out that the growth in my lung is probably scar tissue from asthma.