The lost are found

There's nothing like a happy ending.

Ethel went missing yesterday and created a mystery.

We left for an hour to run errands. The house was locked, as always. The gates to our fenced yard were locked. We double-checked, as always, to assure ourselves all was secure.

Our six-month Boston terrier pups, accustomed to these human forays into the unknown, eyed us nonchanlalantly as we departed. They know the routine. Use the doggy door; enjoy the freedoms of fenced-in yard while the humans are away.

But only one puppy greeted us on our return.

We searched the house, high and low. We searched the yard for possible escape routes. With the help of our neighbors, we canvassed the surrounding streets and interviewed everyone we met. We called our local police department.

No Ethel. We played with Lucy, her sister, and wondered. What had happened? How did she disappear ? Where in our small town could she possibly be?

Over coffee early this morning, we discussed the wording of a "lost puppy" ad in our local paper. We scoured the great outdoors once again, just to be sure there hadn't been a miraculous return. We walked through an empty house, calling her name.

And then, just as our thoughts turned to the business of a new week, when our attention was distracted by intruding realities, suddenly there were two. Both standing together, as though they'd never been apart. As though Ethel materialized out of thin air.

I wish dogs could talk. But since they can't, I'm sure there's a parable here somewhere.