Georgia was a street dog.  Not this past week, but back in the early summer of 1999 when I first found her staring at me through the glass door of a Whataburger in Fort Worth, TX at 2:00 a.m.  She was gaunt, losing her hair, but her personality and tags led my friends and I to believe she must be someone’s lost pet.  After going for a swim with the dog to cool off from the sticky heat it was decided I’d hang onto the dog through the night and try and reach the owners in the morning.

Using the number on the tags I began calling the owners expecting to find an ecstatic owner on the other end of the line.  Instead it took three days to get a return phone call and arrange for the return.  I met them on the campus of Texas Christian University near Frog Fountain.  The dog bolted past her owner to go run in the grassy field and the young lady in front of me didn’t bother to call her name.  I had the distinct feeling that the dog would be on her own again as soon as I was out of sight.  And I told her so.

So there I was, on the TCU campus, and the previous owner is getting my address to send me the AKC paperwork on the dog I’d never intended to have.  A visit to the dogs vet filled in a lot of blanks.  The previous owners already had another Husky male they wanted to breed.  When a friend came along with a female Husky pup  they took her with every intention of breeding the dog.  In her first heat at nine months old Georgia had a healthy litter of six which were promptly sold for ~ $3,000.  Money to be used to fund a move to New York where a second dog just wasn’t necessary.  When Georgia made her exit from their yard there was no search to retrieve her.

From that point until now the dog has been my companion through time in Texas, Washington, Texas, Missouri, New Mexico, and back to Texas again before moving onto a boat and cruising down to Cartagena, Colombia where she’s had her most recent adventure.

This is the story of how she came back to the boat.  The story of the first few days can be read here: First Day & A Week. 

Yesterday was a day to resume my old schedule.  Breakfast, coffee, then get started putting the boat in order.  A call the night before had my friends and I out late so I was dragging when the phone rang again in the morning.  It was a radio advertising agent wanting to sell me more broadcast time.  Sure, let’s try it.  A series of calls followed and all were so wildly off base they didn’t demand any real attention, but every time my heard dropped a bit further.  After a week in Colombia I was starting to believe it was done.  It was a different city, but I’d lost Georgia to the street just as I had found her.

Mariposas?  I couldn’t believe the question I was hearing later that afternoon.  I’d walked over to the other dock to visit the same friends who’d helped me the night before.  Like me they are doing a refit on the boat getting ready for the next ocean passage.  It was while we were talking that my local friend and worker, Creison came over to ask a question.  Does Georgia have mariposas on her collar?  I didn’t know the word in Spanish, but knew it as the name of another boat my kiwi friend Meg had taken care of in Isla Linton.  I immediately knew he wanted to know if there were butterflies on Georgia’s collar, but I waited until one of my friends did a proper translation.

Not one person in Cartagena had been told her collar had butterflies on it in addition to being blue and white.  Someone had Georgia and they were on my phone speaking with Creason, my fixer for the past week.  It was clear the caller was scared.  They made several short phone calls to us confirming the dog was ours and the time we spent waiting was excruciating.  After 45 minutes of waiting we finally got a call with instructions.  Things began to feel more like I was paying a ransom instead of a reward and I was nauseous with fear it would all turn out to be just another false alarm.

With three of us in a taxi and two friends in the Rambler’s 4Runner we headed to Centro to pick up two men and proceeded to their home.  As we pulled up in front of the simple but nice casa I was looking frantically for a glimpse of the dog.  I wasn’t out of the cab two seconds before I called for Georgia and I heard her scramble for the front door in greeting.  As I kneeled down she came in, spun, and leaned in between my legs for some love as only Georgia can do.  Everyone was clearly excited all around me, but I really couldn’t tell you what else was occurring at that moment.

A few minutes later the family was showing us their home and the small bed they had rigged for the dog with a large fan just two feet off the floor to keep her cool on the tile floor.  After much conversation it was revealed that a drug addict had found the dog not far from the marina and walked her all the way back to this barrio many miles away by the airport.  This family saw the dog and purchased her from the addict for ~ $40 dollars, but not before the scum bag removed Georgia’s tags preventing anyone from contacting me.  Georgia had been well taken care of since last Thursday.

As we headed to the front door a wild eyed man began making a fuss just down the street.  I couldn’t understand exactly what was happening, but this man came over sheepishly and began petting the dog.  It wasn’t until we were all in our cars and on the way to the bank I was told this was the addict who’d found Georgia and removed her tags.  I only wished I’d had the Spanish to confront him myself.  However, in my stead, Nick let him know that, “God knows what you did and I’ll knock your teeth out if you ever touch another dog again”.

When I walked through the large sheet metal partition door of Club Nautico the entire area went off with a collective cheer.  After spending a few minutes telling the story and letting everyone pet the Million Peso Dog Georgia made her way back onto Jargo.  Home again, at last.

The man of the family who had the dog accompanied me to the bank to collect his reward.  While it was clear his wife and become good friends and the care taker of Georgia this man was all business when it came to the recompense.  I withdrew the 1.000.000 pesos, ~ $525 USD, and handed him his cash.  With a bit of English he questioningly said, “you are happy now”.  I replied simply, “Si, y tu tambien, no”?  We shook hands and parted company both happy with our rewards for the day.

Now, with every walk Georgia and I walk the route I walked alone putting up the lost dog posters.  As I pull the tape from the buildings and telephone poles people stare, smile, and ask how and where I found her.  I almost lose it every time I see the excitement with which the people of this neighborhood, Manga, congratulate me on finding my dog.  Reward or not, the people here had become invested in my success and the happiness of Georgia’s return has been shared with many.

Welcome home pup.  We’re all glad you’re back.

Lee Winters
Skype: lee_winters

www.SailingForSOS.com