Curly takes off

An update on Curly, the mixed breed poodle that wandered onto our farm just a few days before I arrived for some rest and relaxation: He'd clearly been mistreated before he arrived, given the distance at which he kept Mom and me.

Though he wouldn't let us get close, he clearly wanted to stay. He'd sun himself on our front porch and press his face against the glass patio door to watch what we were doing inside. (There has been a longstanding "no pets inside the house" rule at the Finger farm, and that hasn't changed even in recent years)

He hungrily ate anything Mom would offer him - except dry dog food. Go figure.

Whenever I would venture someplace outside, he would follow ---- at a distance --- curious about what I was up to. He even tailed Mom on her various ventures. She began to invite him along whenever she went out to hang or retrieve clothes from the clothesline.

It was there he began to let her pet him. Mom took the opportunity to check his coat and legs for wounds or scars or stickers. She would talk to him, getting him used to the sound of her voice, using a soothing tone to comfort him.

One day, he followed her out to the mailbox, at her invitation. It's out next to K-156, a state highway that sees plenty of truck traffic and other heavy vehicles. Cocoa, the lone cat left on the farm --- it's her farm, she just lets Mom stay there --- also tagged along. She doesn't like Curly, seeing him as competition. She's shooed him away from the food bowl more than once, if for no other reason to let him know who's boss.

Well, while they were out at the mailbox a few days ago, Cocoa spooked Curly again ---- and this time he took off running. West, down K-156.

Mom yelled at him to come back, but he kept going.

She returned to the house, hoping to see him again soon. She worried that he would just keep on running.

I was more worried a truck would hit him, the driver unable to see or avoid that small black batch of curly fur ambling along a strange road. We had lost a number of family pets and other livestock - including Frosty Flyer, our best racing quarter horse, on Christmas Eve one year - so it was more than a possibility.

The hours passed, and still there was no sign of Curly. What had become of him?