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Abstract

ed I would find her, waiting in the football field or close to home. I didn’t imagine quite where she would go from there or the adventures she would have.After another half hour of driving around and searching high and low, it was time to put the word out on social media.It went in several local Facebook groups and on my personal profile.Not only was I overwhelmed with the kindness that people showed but I was amazed at the volunteer organisations that were immediately on our trail to help us locate her. One organisation designed and printed posters for us at no cost to us. Another phoned me up to check I was okay and to give me detailed advice on what to do and what not to do. And a search and rescue organisation offered use of drones and land searches to find her.They all worked alongside each other and, before long, my sister and I were in a messenger group with a group of kind strangers, all working in unison to help to reunite Snowy with us.They plotted sightings on Google Earth and kept updating it. They suggested ideas to leave our scent close to where she had been seen and to form a trail of our scent back home.We left clothes that smelled of us hanging outside the house, slept with the gate and front door wide open for two nights, and left a trail of bowls of tuna, oil, kibble and water for her hungry tummy to be lured by. Ginger the dog and I met one of the volunteers, dressed in full bush gear, in the wood where she had been spotted. He searched one side of the small river that ran through it while Ginger and I searched the other.We had no luck. But, with hope still, Ginger and I walked the two miles home to leave our scent along the way.<h1 id="317c">But where had Snowy gone?</h1>At that time, we were still following leads from the evening before.But later we knew she had moved on a long way, probably that very night.The following morning, two days after she had scarpered, I received a text message at 6.17 am, just as I was making myself a cup of tea to wake myself up a little. She had just been seen in the woods by the river, a good few miles upstream from the last definite sighting.The message was from a lady who kept her horses in the grounds of a large house. She went early each morning to take care of the horses and had seen Snowy the morning before too. But, while the previous day Snowy was still too fast to catch a clear glimpse of, that morning she was decidedly slower and the woman knew for certain it was her.While my sister, Ginger the dog, and I went down there armed with my pyjamas from the night before, more tuna, kibble and water, and two bags of dog treats, our group of amazing supporters were on hand, plotting the latest map of sightings, and giving us exact directions of what to do and what not to do:<ul><li>If we see her, do not follow her for she will run away from us until her brain has been convinced she is safe.</li><li>Do not make eye contact. Eyes down, crouch down.</li><li>Throw food gently and move back. This will show her that we aren’t a threat.</li><li>Talk in calm, happy voices to each other and to Ginger, but not to her. Use keywords such as “walkies,” and ask Ginger, “where’s Snowy?”</li><li>If she remains within viewing distance of us, throw the treats gently and pretend to eat them ourselves, making happy eating noises.</li></ul><figure id="deff"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*urCaHiXSbPA2TK_wwcnyvg.png"><figcaption>Snowy’s presumed route — around 7 miles without any extra running she may have done. Author’s screenshot, edited.</figcaption></figure>On arrival, the kind lady who had messaged me came to meet us and showed us exactly where she had

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seen Snowy. She pointed in the direction she had gone and told us we were welcome to walk right through the grounds of the house.We walked and, within moments, spotted her under a small tree. But no sooner had we done so than she had turned and fled.Nervous of frightening her more, we stopped there and sat down. We talked and we threw treats but she didn’t return.We stayed there awhile. I tried putting some tuna and kibble down under the tree where she had been, and hanging my pyjamas in another tree, and then moved back to our sitting place. But still she didn’t return.We had been there for about one-and-a-half hours by the time we decided we could brave moving on. We now let Ginger off her leash to sniff Snowy out and Ginger was off, nose to the ground, seemingly knowing exactly where to go.At a fork in the path — one way leading over a broken stone wall into a meadow and the other leading steeply down onto the riverbank, Ginger took the steep downhill path while my sister stood and looked into the meadow.I declared I was following Ginger and, as my sister also began descending onto the riverbank, I saw, through the foliage, not just the movements of Ginger, still with her nose to the ground and running around in a circle, but a scruffy white thing, hiding under a rhododendron bush. I stopped, turned to my sister, eyes to the ground, and said, “she’s there.”Although the sound of the river was loud, I know she must have been able to hear us and smell us the whole time we were there, from this safe place. It’s possible that hour-and-a-half was enough to begin to calm her brain a little and give her the sense of safety she needed to stop retreating from us.We sat and began our silly happy talk again while I pulled out the dog treats and began to throw. From the corner of my eye, I could see her watching me. I pretended to eat the dog treats, making sounds of great enjoyment, and I sensed a change in her.She was hungry and our actions had now triggered the necessary switch in her brain. She sensed food and comfort and she began to climb out of her hiding place, rounded the bush, and approached me.I held out a treat and let her take it before I looked at her. But as I did, she began to cry and cry. She cuddled up close and only stopped crying when she took great mouthfuls of treats and swallowed them hungrily. She went to my sister and cried all the more while I filled my sister’s palm with more treats and passed her the leash.<figure id="c86d"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*Ln4XB1vuvXZcwuDJAT3NhQ.jpeg"><figcaption>Snowy with my sister when she had just been found. Author’s photo.</figcaption></figure>Finally, Snowy was secure. But we needn’t have worried that she would escape again. She was too exhausted, hungry and sore to do so. There was no fight as we fed her the food we brought and walked her back to the car.Arriving back at the house, she walked straight past the food and water we had left out for her and into her favourite corner of the living room, where she lay down and didn’t move for the next several hours.It’s now three days later. Having given her raw and painful paw pads time to heal, she went out on her first, short tentative walks yesterday. Not surprisingly, she was recognised around the town and I had many conversations about her walkabout.Today, seemingly recovered and healed, we are taking her down to the coast with the other dogs, to enjoy family time and sea air.After all, as much as she became a hardened bush-walker over those two days, she evidently enjoys our company, regular meals, and structured walkies far more.</article></body>

The Day “Crocodile Snowy” Went Walkabout in the Devonshire Bush

Our timid little fluffy dog took herself off on an unlikely adventure and had the whole neighbourhood searching for her

It was just an ordinary day in May.

The sun was shining and life was happening in a busy but happy way.

Everything seemed to flow with ease and grace and the day promised to be a great one…or so I thought…

But Snowy the dog had other plans…

Okay, perhaps “plans” is taking it a bit far. Because although Snowy was about to take off on a big adventure that only the most adventurous of adventurers would undertake, I doubt she really would have ever planned it that way.

In fact, she’s the least adventurous dog you can imagine.

Sometimes, when I look behind me to check she’s okay, my eyes miss her completely because I am looking for a dog exploring some distance away. Yet she’s actually glued to my heel, and so close to me that she’s out of my line of vision.

She enjoys a bit of a run, but she ADORES being put back on the leash. Nothing beats that security for little Snowy.

Anyway, back to that ordinary yet happy May day.

Snowy and her companions were lucky enough to have a bright, early walk to the football field for a run-around and were promised another, longer walk at lunchtime. A familiar walk that she has done many a time, and that she loves. Mostly because it takes her up the hill to a field where she has often, of recent, hunted down delicious-smelling fox poo to roll in.

Nothing seemed strange…except for the vegetation having grown thick and bushy beside the path from the main road to the tiny lane, narrowing and darkening it.

But that shouldn’t have been a problem. After all, we all love the feeling of nature doing her thing as the weather warms up at this beautiful time of year.

But suddenly, a man appeared, walking fast in the opposite direction to us.

Little Snowy hated having to pass any strangers in close proximity. Being a nervous little thing, she would run when a stranger approached.

That day, she was at the back of our party as the man came towards her with giant strides, and she realised the danger facing her. The narrowed path felt claustrophobic. She backed up in fear, began to panic, and then turned on her heel and ran.

She ran back home.

It should have all been fine.

There she was, sitting outside the closed gate. But I could see she was still anxious.

Little did I know that her frightened brain, no longer able to comprehend the safety of her humans, heard me calling, saw me approaching with the same speed as the scary man, interpreted me as danger, and bolted.

And that was the last I saw of her until two days later.

Of course, I pursued her. I followed leads shared by people who saw her.

The kindness of strangers overwhelmed me in just that first ten minutes of her escape; one man, having seen me calling her name and holding a dog leash with no dog attached, drove back to tell me he had seen her. Another woman pointed the way. And yet another woman took my phone number and offered to help to find her.

I spotted a clue — a fresh Snowy poo on the corner where she had been spotted. I’m sorry — I didn’t stop to pick it up. Sue me but pursuing Snowy felt too urgent right then to waste any time picking up a poo.

But at that time, I still believed I would find her, waiting in the football field or close to home. I didn’t imagine quite where she would go from there or the adventures she would have.

After another half hour of driving around and searching high and low, it was time to put the word out on social media.

It went in several local Facebook groups and on my personal profile.

Not only was I overwhelmed with the kindness that people showed but I was amazed at the volunteer organisations that were immediately on our trail to help us locate her. One organisation designed and printed posters for us at no cost to us. Another phoned me up to check I was okay and to give me detailed advice on what to do and what not to do. And a search and rescue organisation offered use of drones and land searches to find her.

They all worked alongside each other and, before long, my sister and I were in a messenger group with a group of kind strangers, all working in unison to help to reunite Snowy with us.

They plotted sightings on Google Earth and kept updating it. They suggested ideas to leave our scent close to where she had been seen and to form a trail of our scent back home.

We left clothes that smelled of us hanging outside the house, slept with the gate and front door wide open for two nights, and left a trail of bowls of tuna, oil, kibble and water for her hungry tummy to be lured by. Ginger the dog and I met one of the volunteers, dressed in full bush gear, in the wood where she had been spotted. He searched one side of the small river that ran through it while Ginger and I searched the other.

We had no luck. But, with hope still, Ginger and I walked the two miles home to leave our scent along the way.

But where had Snowy gone?

At that time, we were still following leads from the evening before.

But later we knew she had moved on a long way, probably that very night.

The following morning, two days after she had scarpered, I received a text message at 6.17 am, just as I was making myself a cup of tea to wake myself up a little. She had just been seen in the woods by the river, a good few miles upstream from the last definite sighting.

The message was from a lady who kept her horses in the grounds of a large house. She went early each morning to take care of the horses and had seen Snowy the morning before too. But, while the previous day Snowy was still too fast to catch a clear glimpse of, that morning she was decidedly slower and the woman knew for certain it was her.

While my sister, Ginger the dog, and I went down there armed with my pyjamas from the night before, more tuna, kibble and water, and two bags of dog treats, our group of amazing supporters were on hand, plotting the latest map of sightings, and giving us exact directions of what to do and what not to do:

If we see her, do not follow her for she will run away from us until her brain has been convinced she is safe.
Do not make eye contact. Eyes down, crouch down.
Throw food gently and move back. This will show her that we aren’t a threat.
Talk in calm, happy voices to each other and to Ginger, but not to her. Use keywords such as “walkies,” and ask Ginger, “where’s Snowy?”
If she remains within viewing distance of us, throw the treats gently and pretend to eat them ourselves, making happy eating noises.

Snowy’s presumed route — around 7 miles without any extra running she may have done. Author’s screenshot, edited.

On arrival, the kind lady who had messaged me came to meet us and showed us exactly where she had seen Snowy. She pointed in the direction she had gone and told us we were welcome to walk right through the grounds of the house.

We walked and, within moments, spotted her under a small tree. But no sooner had we done so than she had turned and fled.

Nervous of frightening her more, we stopped there and sat down. We talked and we threw treats but she didn’t return.

We stayed there awhile. I tried putting some tuna and kibble down under the tree where she had been, and hanging my pyjamas in another tree, and then moved back to our sitting place. But still she didn’t return.

We had been there for about one-and-a-half hours by the time we decided we could brave moving on. We now let Ginger off her leash to sniff Snowy out and Ginger was off, nose to the ground, seemingly knowing exactly where to go.

At a fork in the path — one way leading over a broken stone wall into a meadow and the other leading steeply down onto the riverbank, Ginger took the steep downhill path while my sister stood and looked into the meadow.

I declared I was following Ginger and, as my sister also began descending onto the riverbank, I saw, through the foliage, not just the movements of Ginger, still with her nose to the ground and running around in a circle, but a scruffy white thing, hiding under a rhododendron bush. I stopped, turned to my sister, eyes to the ground, and said, “she’s there.”

Although the sound of the river was loud, I know she must have been able to hear us and smell us the whole time we were there, from this safe place. It’s possible that hour-and-a-half was enough to begin to calm her brain a little and give her the sense of safety she needed to stop retreating from us.

We sat and began our silly happy talk again while I pulled out the dog treats and began to throw. From the corner of my eye, I could see her watching me. I pretended to eat the dog treats, making sounds of great enjoyment, and I sensed a change in her.

She was hungry and our actions had now triggered the necessary switch in her brain. She sensed food and comfort and she began to climb out of her hiding place, rounded the bush, and approached me.

I held out a treat and let her take it before I looked at her. But as I did, she began to cry and cry. She cuddled up close and only stopped crying when she took great mouthfuls of treats and swallowed them hungrily. She went to my sister and cried all the more while I filled my sister’s palm with more treats and passed her the leash.

Snowy with my sister when she had just been found. Author’s photo.

Finally, Snowy was secure. But we needn’t have worried that she would escape again. She was too exhausted, hungry and sore to do so. There was no fight as we fed her the food we brought and walked her back to the car.

Arriving back at the house, she walked straight past the food and water we had left out for her and into her favourite corner of the living room, where she lay down and didn’t move for the next several hours.

It’s now three days later. Having given her raw and painful paw pads time to heal, she went out on her first, short tentative walks yesterday. Not surprisingly, she was recognised around the town and I had many conversations about her walkabout.

Today, seemingly recovered and healed, we are taking her down to the coast with the other dogs, to enjoy family time and sea air.

After all, as much as she became a hardened bush-walker over those two days, she evidently enjoys our company, regular meals, and structured walkies far more.