My View: What We Lost, and What We Found

Our family went through an anxious time recently that was joyfully resolved with the help of some terrific neighbors and first responders. 

On Feb. 6, a Tuesday, we noticed our beloved, 8-year-old black Lab, Raki, was missing from our cottage on Old West Point Road in Garrison. She sometimes wanders around but always returns to the porch and waits to be let back in. 

We called and called for her. We alerted neighbors; several came out and joined us walking the road. Had she been hit by a car? Had she been stolen? Had she found a deer carcass and was rummaging in the ribcage? Friends came and drove along Route 403 and Route 9D, searching in the ditches. 

We notified the Sheriff’s Office, the town clerk, the dog officer and the humane society; our daughter-in-law posted a photo on Facebook, Instagram, Lost Pets of the Hudson Valley and Hudson Valley Lost Pets.

The next morning, at dawn, we started again, walking the woods around the house, up and down the dirt roads, into the parkland surrounding us. Our granddaughter hiked into the state park across Route 403; friends hiked the routes of the walks they took with Raki nearly every day.

By Wednesday night we were exhausted, sad and frightened but still resolved. We faced the grief of loss but also the grief of not knowing if Raki was OK. In the middle of the night, I walked downstairs, praying she’d be sitting there at the door.

On Thursday morning, we began imagining life without Raki — the daily dog-hair sweep; the kitchen table cluttered with collars, leashes, toys, treats and medicine; the wagging tail, the cuddly pats and tummy rubs; the “pre-rinse” of the dinner plates; and the rushing around sniffing everything. With two nights of 20-degree temperatures, there was not much hope left. I took the treats out of the pocket of my jacket, thinking, “I guess I won’t be needing these anymore.” 

A few hours later, I saw our neighbor, Jim, sprinting toward the house. He’d been walking in the woods nearby when he heard a squeak. He searched for the noise and spotted a black nose peeking out from underneath a fallen log. Raki had climbed into the den of some other animal and been unable to get out. She was less than 100 feet from the house. We suspected she was so jammed in, headfirst, that she couldn’t bark to answer our calls. She’d been there two days and two cold nights, stuck fast.

The log was enormous. It was too rotten for my peevy (a lumberjack’s tool to provide leverage). We called 911 and, within a minute, two sheriff’s deputies arrived. They suggested calling the fire department for chain saws; I was afraid that would terrify Raki. A Philipstown public works truck showed up; they’d heard it on the scanner. They jumped out with shovels. 

A boulder kept the log in place. The deputies and the road workers — four strong young people — managed to move it. My grandson got a hoe from the shed to widen the hole. Soon we had her butt visible and carefully pulled her out like a breach birth. She shook, ran off a little way and did a long pee and poop before bounding back.

By this time, neighbors had gathered and there was cheering and some tears. We were so overjoyed. We led Raki to the porch and she downed a bowl of water in 30 seconds. 

Had she had to remain in the hole one more night, I don’t think she would have made it. A squeak and a friend who happened to pass by, along with the prompt help of our local constabulary, had saved her from a dreadful fate. 

We are so lucky to have her back with us. And we are so lucky to live in Philipstown, where neighbors rally; where public servants turn up instantly when called; where kindness and sympathy are rampant. We are enormously grateful.