George is in the doghouse

He went walkabout this afternoon.

A misunderstanding between Husband and me meant I let George out in the garden when the back gates were wide open. By the time we'd noticed he was far gone.

Husband went one way and I went the other, clutching in my hot little hand the last piece of banana I was saving to lure him to me.

First sighting was a lady who said she'd seen a big white dog lying in the middle of the road holding up all the traffic. 'Didn't you notice the jams?'

The direction she said she'd seen him go in was the way to the tip, his usual walking ground so Husband got on his bike and pedalled over it. I headed back to call on our friend whom he's been to visit on occasion. She'd just returned from retrieving her dog after getting a phone call from a man down the road and hadn't seen George.

Back to the main road where a car pulled in opposite me. The elderly lady driving said, 'Are you looking for a big white dog?'

'Yes.'

'He's down the road. Get in and we'll take you to find him.'

Her three grandchildren had spotted George and after they'd passed him they'd got worried. They were just on their way back to see if he had a name tag on (which reminds me: he needs a new one after biting his last one off) and 'We saw you, wandering along talking to yourself, and thought you must be looking for a dog.'

It's a good job people are so kind. As I told George all the way back home.