It was one of those blindingly sunny January days in Indiana. After months and months of gray skies and gray ground and gray moods, this day streamed in sunglasses-bright. I would have praised God and the heavens above upon waking to blue skies except I'd lived in Indiana most of my life at that point. Bright sun in January only means one thing: sub-zero temperatures.
But it was payday and as my bank was only a couple blocks away from my office downtown, I somewhat merrily bundled myself in twelve layers and made the trek on my lunch hour. To expede efficiency, and to minimize the removal of too many layers, I'd endorsed the check before I left the office.
I arrived at my Credit Union, dug in my pocket and ... dug in my pocket and ... dug in my pocket and ... off come the gloves and the twelve layers. No check. I had to have dropped it along the way. Barely wrapping myself up against the frigid temperatures, I dashed back out to the street in a mad and somewhat desperate attempt to find my endorsed check. I retraced my steps over and over for close to the full lunch hour. Frozen and furious with myself I returned to work with the hopes that accounting could put a stop payment on my check, issue me a new one (perhaps with the stop payment amount deducted from my pay) and that all could be accomplished within 24 hours or so before my bank account went negative.
As I stepped off the elevator, stripping off the ridiculous layers of clothing for what seemed like the twelfth time that day, Becky, our receptionist, said there was a call for me while I was gone. Someone had found my check!
Back on go the layers and, this time with much more pep in my step, off I go tearing down to the building that housed my hero. She had found the check, saw it was endorsed, looked up the number for the law firm that was listed on it, and asked for me. Further, she was kind enough to speak with Becky rather than just leave a message - which absolutely ensured I would get the check returned to me quickly. I must have thanked her three thousand times and offered to pay her a reward, but of course she wouldn't accept it.
We adopted Logan as a 3 year old. He was quite pedigreed - a former show dog that was disqualified from competition due to a tiny speck of black in his big brown eye. Once his former owners learned he'd never earn his keep, they couldn't bear his bad behavior (which was fairly significant) and looked for a new, loving home for him. I was the lucky winner.
We brought him into our first home in California, which was a rented somewhat awful, somewhat awesome place. It could have used a bit more upkeep, definitely needed updating and there were minor things that were broken all over. Logan found one of those things: the back gate latch. In an incredibly quiet mode for a basset hound, Logan had followed a scent to that gate, jimmied it open and went walkabout. In all of about 10 minutes. I was just about to check on him when the phone rang.
"Hello? Are you Logan's owner?" came completely out of the blue over the phone line. Stunned (as I didn't even know he was gone yet) I answered "Yes?"
The woman explained that she was driving down Orchard Village (a pretty major road), had seen him sniffing around on the side of the street and worried that, as low to the ground as he is, he'd get hit. So she'd stopped, coaxed him into her car, drove him to safety, checked his collar, and called the number on the tag. After we provided her with the address, she even drove him home. This detour had made her run late for her original destination and thus she barely even heard my earnest thanks as she pulled back down our driveway.
For the greater part of a year, work was being done to the units in our complex. The contractors kept using my outside water tap for their water needs. I'm not sure why they picked mine over anyone else, but I got the fun of floating the bill for their many refills of both drinking water and their construction use. Finally I asked the foreman to stop using our water and, of course, he apologized profusely and promised they never would use it again.
The next day, while I was at work, the kids let Logan out on the front patio. When they didn't feel up to taking him for a walk, he could at least go out on this little patch of tile and lay in the sun or take care of his business in the tiny garden area. Now, Logan is a very large basset. He was 65 pounds at the time and not overweight in the least. So picture this - 65 pounds of a very, very long dog on a patio that's maybe 60 square feet.
The contractors (who weren't using my water any more) came onto my patio to use my water and this time left the gate open. They later claimed they didn't see Logan there.
Logan, per usual, just followed his nose. Some scent took him out the patio gate and then out our complex's gate (which was left open to accommodate the comings and goings of the contractors). The scent further took him down to McBean Parkway which is one of the most major thoroughfares in Valencia.
Of course, we didn't know all this right away. Cheyanne called me in a panic when she'd gone to let him back in and found him missing and the gate open. Scared to bits, she asked for my instructions. I sent one child off to look for Logan and instructed the other to stay at home by the phone. The phone was the winner.
A man called. He was with Logan. He'd said he watched the woman in the car in front of him clip his back end and send him flying onto the grassy embankment to the right of the road. The woman had kept going. This man stopped. Logan was hurt badly and needed medical attention on an emergency level. The man said he knew our vet, who was listed on Logan's tags, and would drive Logan there. He did and he saved his life.
I never got to thank him. I placed ads up all over. I placed an ad online. It was a long shot that he'd have seen either, but I had to try. I felt he should know what a hero he is.
THE POINT:
I have more stories like this. I don't have time to write them right now, but I'll put them in the list for future blog posts. I'm willing to bet that everyone has stories like this. So when the world's news gets you down, or when someone crushes your own world, or even when someone just cuts you off in traffic (potentially sneering at you while doing so) - don't go cynical. People are inherently good. Just remember your heroes - the little ones that return checks, or dogs, or act as your ambulance. Dwell there and you'll know it's not all bad.
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