The Lost Dog

One summer day, I went out my back door and found a small dog sitting in the grass. The dog stood up and wagged (摇) his tail when he saw me. I touched his short brown-and-white coat and checked him for a collar or ID tag (项圈或身份牌). He had neither. I lived in a small town. I knew all the dogs in the neighborhood, but I’d never seen him before. I told him to sit. To my surprise, he sat at once. “Stay,” I said, as I made my way into the storeroom where we kept the dry dog food for our dogs. When I returned, he was sitting in the exact place where I had left him. “Wow! You sure are trained,” I said. I set out some water and food, and the dog started eating.

I left him in the yard and went inside to read through the newspaper’s “Lost and Found” column (专栏). Unluckily, nobody had reported a missing brown-and-white dog. An hour later, my brother came home and asked why there was a strange dog in the yard. “I don’t know where he came from,” I said. “But he is owned by someone. Maybe he’s just lost and will find his way home.” Later that afternoon, my brother and I went outside and found the dog walking by the back door. We played with him for a while and found that the dog knew tricks. He could sit, stay, roll over, and lie down according to instructions. He also loved jumping to catch a tennis ball in mid-air. When my parents came home, we showed them the dog and all his tricks. My parents were shocked by his skills as much as we were. None of us had ever seen a dog so well-trained before. The dog got along well with our dogs, and we gave him a comfortable place to sleep in the storeroom.

The next day, I checked the “Lost and Found” column again, also with no result. Then, I called the newspaper and ran a “Found” advertisement describing our new friend.

In July 2019, to celebrate his 45th birthday, Colin Dowler booked off a week from his job as a manager for the Vancouver Island Health Authority. He planned to spend two days on his own, finding a route he would eventually use to climb Mount Doggie Dowler.

His wife Jenifer didn't like the sound of her husband's latest plan. She was used to Dowler going on adventures by himself, but this time he'd boat to an unknown bay, bike an unpopulated road, hike through grizzly bear country, and camp overnights alone. There was too much room for disaster.

The night before his journey Colin packed the necessities. He filled the remaining pockets of his bag with a handheld GPS, hiking poles, his homemade sausages, and a few other essentials. Instead of his usual Swiss Army knife, he took a three-inch pocket knife given to him by his dad.

The weather that Sunday, July 28, was nice. Colin pulled his car into the Campbell River port and quickly launched and set off in his motorboat with a mountain bike on board. About eight o'clock in the morning, he arrived at Ramsay Arm, and found a spot to tie the boat near a logging camp where he chatted with some logging workers.

One of the workers, Vito, gave him a ride in his truck until the forest got too thick. Colin took off his bike and backpack from the truck and started his hiking and route searching. In order not to lose the way back, he marked his path with blue ribbons. When he was doing it, he noticed something unusual in a short distance.

I looked over my grandma’s shoulder as she sewed pieces of cloth together. The two pieces became one faster than I’d imagined. The colors, however, looked ugly when put together and none of the patterns matched. All the patches (补丁) on this blanket seemed to disagree.

“Grandma, that’s the ugliest quilt (棉被) I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, sweetie, it’s warm and beautiful,” said Grandma, pointing to a pile of crazy patterned shirts and suits.“I can take these old clothes that you and I will never wear again and turn them into something useful and good. It’s not the quilt’s appearance but the love that sews it together that makes it beautiful. This quilt will keep you warm on a cold night like tonight. And I know that for a fact.” Grandma put her hand on my shoulder, “Not everyone is as lucky as we are. Here, put on your coat. We’ll get a second opinion about how ugly my quilts are.”

Grandma folded a finished quilt and tucked it into a shopping bag. Afterwards, we got in the car and drove downtown. The white snow turned grayer as we got to the city. Eventually, Grandma stopped at a dark alley (胡同) and we got out of the car. The terrible smell of rotting garbage made me feel sick. Grandma took my hand and led me to the street lamp. I could see the snow shining in the light.

Grandma paused. “There’s usually somebody down this alley. It’s quiet and out of the wind—a good place to stay on cold nights. A nice warm quilt might make it even better.”

The dark swallowed Grandma and I as we stepped deep into the alley. The pavement was broken and missing in spots. Chicken bones and dirt y boxes littered their way. And Grandma’s shoes made a loud sound with each step. Feeling scared, I squeezed Grandma’s hand. Grandma squeezed my hand back. “It’s OK,” she smiled.

“Who’s there?” shouted a voice out of the darkness.

“I have a nice warm quilt, if you want it,” said Grandma. After a while, a lady walked out of the darkness. Grandma opened the shopping bag and pulled out the multicolored quilt. “That’s pretty and it looks warm,” the lady screamed and took the quilt, her eyes filled with tears of gratitude. As we left, I looked back and saw the lady holding the quilt tightly. “You’re right, Grandma. That is a beautiful quilt.” On our ride back home, the lady’s grateful words were still ringing in my ears.