Harry's Epic Adventure
作者是 Gregory Walsh 週日, 25 七月 2010 01:56
The feel-good story of the year
It was a last minute decision to even go to Canada d’eh. I’m far from a patriotic dude. It was a toss up between the Food Expo and Baishawan, so I was going to let the weather decide. As I rolled out of bed
on the morning of Saturday, June 26 the partial sun told me we were
going to the beach. By 2:00 PM, I was sporting a bathing suit and a USA
Las vegas tank top, and a couple dogs and a couple friends were piled
into my classic ’97 Cefiro. We were off on an adventure. Little did I know, I would be making that journey nearly a dozen times over the next 3 weeks.
Upon arrival, I got about 200 yards away from the car, and as my buddy Mal wished his dog was as obedient and non-leash dependent as Harry, I had a thought, “Maybe I should actually bring a leash for Harry, in case it got a little crazy down there.” So I went back to car and rummaged through the mess of a trunk until I found an old Christmas leash that had been used a few years back. Yes, better safe than sorry. That is, of course, if you actually use the leash.
The crowd was fairly tame, in the beginning, and after a few beers, a dip in the coral, and a little dancing, everything was mellow and cool. We’d stick around for a bit and be back in Taipei for the Uruguay-South Korea (World Cup) game. Then, the rains came, then a band I’d never heard of rocked everyone into a rain-soaked frenzy, then the cake dive, then more rain dance, then mud slides, and then fireworks…..yes, the fireworks….Harry had been enjoying the festivities by my side right up until the mud slides, and as the party subsided, I assumed he was nearby with our little harem of friends . So as I gathered my car pool, and my things, I casually called for Harry. He was always nearby, rarely out of eyeshot, and never out of earshot. But this time was different. After about five minutes of calling, and searching the food stalls, the beach, the houses, the bar, Daddy was becoming increasingly frantic. Then someone mentioned the fireworks, and panic struck. Harry’s adventure had begun.
From that point on, the Search for Harry built momentum, thanks largely to a little social networking site called Facebook, (have you heard of it?) I can’t even begin to tell you how blown away I have been by the overwhelming support, assistance and love Harry and I have received throughout this ordeal. Without it, I can honestly
say I would not be telling this story today. From the numerous trips people made to help look, to the phone calls made to shelters, animal hospitals, and police. From the assistance with posters, and website notices, to the intelligent and creative advice I received when my head wasn’t clear; THANK YOU. This is what allowed me to keep hope alive, and there is no doubt that hope is what kept Harry alive, and eventually brought him home.
Not that it was always easy to keep hope alive. Here is summary of the events, starting on the Sunday after the disappearance:
The first positive news came late afternoon on Sunday when we learned that Harry had been seen the previous night at the Longhorn 96 Steak House. This gave me a huge boost, as I figured Harry would no doubt return for the chance at grabbing a t-bone, his favorite cut. So the next day I brought his bed to Longhorn 96 along with some slippers and dirty clothes, and figured Harry would be home sooner than later.
Another couple search parties and campouts at the Longhorn the first week sadly reported no more encouraging news. The reality of Harry being gone, and the fact that he could be anywhere, set in. Another week passed, with hundreds of posters and flyers distributed in and around Baishawan, but no news. I drew the conclusion
that he must be trying to make his way home, back to Taipei. This was at the same time that I decided to really focus on the reward, and really canvas thenorthcoast hard. This was the result of good advice. Any new angle was a source of hope. So we printed new posters and flyers that focused on a significant reward, no questions asked, and implied good luck would come to those who helped Harry find his home (nice one, JB). Sure enough, the same day that the reward materials had circulated, and I had decided to stay the night in hopes of a late night or early morning Harry stroll, we received a call from a local friend of the SPCA who claimed Harry had been spotted, again at the Longhorn. The report was a little fishy, but hope was fueled. I spent the next day at the Longhorn from open til
an hour past close, with no luck.
The Longhorn had become Sababa's
northern office, and the emotional roller coaster continued. The next day, hope received its greatest boost when I got a call from dog’s best friend, Sean McCormack, who along with his animal-loving sidekick, Anri, had made several trips to Baishawan on Harry’s behalf. He had just spoken with a man who seemed certain he had seen Harry two days earlier, not far from where his adventure had originally begun. We were now on day 14….
After another demoralizing trip on day 16, a friend told me I needed to ask the Gods for help. I concurred, and was escorted on day 17 to Xinzhuang to a temple that housed some pet-friendly Gods. I had a good chat with the relevant powers that be, and honestly felt there was someone looking out for Harry. Remarkably, I recalled, the weather had been void of thunderstorms for the entire 17 days….
Day 18 gets a little spiritually weird, so reader discretion is advised. I don’t remember dreams, ever. This night, however, I remember vividly a dream of reuniting with Harry, under a blue sky, and a calm happiness; relief, perhaps. And when I woke from this vision, I was honestly not upset or disappointed, as one might expect given the circumstances. The dream was that real, really. Believe it or not, two good friends, without knowing of my dream, later told me they had dreams involving Harry and me, all on the night of day 18. Anyway, I digress.
Day 19 had me receive a call from an old friend, whom I had not seen in over three years. She, through six degrees of separation, had heard of Harry’s troubles and mentioned she was free Friday if I needed any help. We decided to make my 10th trip to Harry’s jungle around 3 pm on day 20. That time would get bumped up considerably.
Day 20 was a beautiful day. I was on my way to an important 9:30 AM meeting when I received a call from an unknown land number (any unknown number had made my heart skip for three weeks). This one, however, seemed to have the first 4 digits I was hoping for. And yes, it was the first call from a stranger regarding Harry. This woman had seen him, but he was running away. She was following him on her motorcycle. This was arguably the greatest phone call I had ever received. As I arranged to pick up my friend Renee nearly five hours earlier than planned, and cut my important meeting to about 7 minutes, I received a second call, this time from the coast guard, and they had just seen Harry. All those posters, flyers and inquiries with the authorities were finally paying off. An incredible source of positive
energy rushed through my body. I was bringing Harry home, no matter what.
We arrived at Baishawan just before noon, and the local friend of the SPCA, Daniel, was at the spot where Harry had been followed. It was the middle of the jungle, and our calls fell on deaf ears. I then called back the coast guard, and asked where exactly they had seen Harry. The guy on the other end informed me that he was currently following Harry along the beach road NOW. We got his exact location, and the classic ’97 Cefiro went off-roading in hot pursuit of the scared puppy. When we
arrived a few minutes later, the guy in the orange suit motioned to a precise point of entry and said he ran into the bush less than a minute before we arrived. Nearly an hour of bushwhacking and various Harry calls produced nothing but severe disappointment. We made an educated guess to look further south, towards the Canada Day venue, me by bike and Renee by car and foot. About 20 minutes later, we got a call from some girls at the main visitor center. They had seen Harry, but again he had run away. Unfortunately, Harry is the fasted non-greyhound in the world, and that’s when he’s not scared shitless. By mid-afternoon, there had been at least four sightings, with the last one seeing him run deep into the jungle. He was obviously very scared, and scared dogs don’t respond to being called. A sad sense of disappointment was setting in, and a realization that nobody except me was going to be able to capture the frightened beast.
Given the extreme heat, and Harry’s extremely active first half of the day, we figured it was best to take a break, and hope Harry found us, as the other way around wasn’t working too well. So we bought a bag full of pungent sausage as bait, a few cold beers as refreshment, and settled in on the beach to regroup. At about 5:30, the search resumed. It was hard making the same loops of the same roads so many times, and as the sun was setting, so were our hopes. The plan was once we had made our final rounds, we would have dinner at the Longhorn, and hoped Harry was craving that t-bone. As we were about to make our last turn towards the restaurant, my phone rang. It was the lady we had left sausage with, who owned a little store right by the entrance to the main beach. She said she saw a dog going toward the hotel that might be Harry. We were literally 10 seconds away from where she was standing. Stepping on the gas, and making a hard left turn onto the main road, it was a good thing no children were crossing. I pulled the car over just before the hotel parking lot (where the first call had been made about 10 hours earlier). I got on my bike and decided to look ahead in case the speed dog had taken off towards Jinshan. Renee went by foot back towards where the woman’s store was. As my trip ahead came up empty, I doubled back along the ocean. Nothing. As I got back on the main road, I saw Renee in the distance walking strangely, slowly towards the car. As I got nearer, I saw she was offering sausage. About 20 yards ahead of her was a frightened, skinny beast starting to run away. That beast was Harry. As I made a u-turn, Renee yelled, Harry picked up speed, and I stayed silent, focused only on keeping pace and not sending Harry into a panic. As I pulled up beside him, as calmly as I could, I said, “Harry, stay.” He did. As he looked at me, and stopped in his tracks, I let the bike fall, and fell to my knees. I held him with one arm, and could not help but make a victorious fist pump with the other. “Yes! Yes! Yes! We did it!”
We all went for t-bones at the Longhorn 96 once the tears subsided.
It needs to be said here that many individual excursions and unknown efforts were made by many people, some of whom didn’t even know Harry, or me. To all the wonderful people who contributed to this cause, thank you, thank you, and thank you. Please let me buy you a t-bone sometime.
Much love,
Harry and Greg
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