This is a nod to a childhood picture book I used to read to my boys called “The Great Gracie Chase:  Stop that Dog!”  It made us laugh every time we read it!

No good deed goes unturned, or so I’ve been told. Random acts of kindness can be payed forward, or so I believe. Sometimes stepping in to assist others works in my favor, sometime not so much.

Like the time I attempted to help an elderly gentleman out of his car in the grocery store parking lot. He was clearly struggling yet so disgruntled with my assistance; he angrily dismissed me, declining my help. This falls under the ‘not so much category.’

Or the time I sprinted across the beach to deliver a wayward flipflop to a dad carrying the toddler who would inevitably cry after a long day at the beach realizing as the sand was rinsed off her feet that she was minus a pink bedazzled flipflop. This time, it worked in my favor as the young dad was very appreciative.

Last weekend I had another opportunity to ‘do the right thing,’ but as I review the situation in my mind, I cannot decide which column to put this situation under. Let me explain, and you can decide for yourself.

It was a glorious fall Sunday, 50-degree weather, blue skies all around, the perfect recipe for a vigorous walk with the dogs. The Goldens were eager, and I was game as walking them is one of my favorite activities of the day.

Off we went on our usual route – the three of us are creatures of habit, literally. Our jaunt takes us up our inclined street to a busier intersection where both dogs dutifully sit while we wait for the traffic to pass. After patting and cooing my approval at their obedience, we continue up the steeper inclined part of the street to be greeted by a crouching dog.

As Crouching Dog approaches, the three dogs engage in the appropriate amount of sniffing before accepting one another. Shackles are raised slightly but no snarling or bearing of teeth occurrs, so we proceed with our walk. The stray, also a male, has a collar but no tags. I have never seen him before and am concerned he ran here from another neighborhood. I consider myself observant and know most of the dogs and their humans. Hmmm….what to do?

I keep thinking someone will come running out of their house to claim him, but that isn’t happening. He appears friendly, energetic, playful; we continue our walk and he becomes one of our pack.

I stop at a neighbor’s house. Perhaps one of her dog’s has jumped the fence, although I think the color scheme is all wrong. Crouching Dog is brown with a white neck and white feet; her dogs are darker with white, but I checked any way.

No luck, but she does come out with a leash to try to catch him. He’s having none of it and treats it as a game. She’s having none of it either and goes back inside to watch Sunday afternoon football.

With my new pack in tow, we resume the walk. I have my fingers crossed that this happy stray will find his yard and go back to his home as we get our exercise through the neighborhood. Surely his mommy is looking for him by now?

As we make the loop of our daily stroll through the ‘hood, I now have concern for the addition to my brood. Eventually we must cross back over the double-yellow lined road to get home, and I don’t want Crouching Dog to come with us. Too dangerous. He is currently darting everywhere to leave his mark; I don’t need him getting hit by a car on my watch.

At the very last corner before crossing to home, I make a decision. I call the police. Afterall, safety first. I report this wayward pup because I want him to make it home. I envision the police car taking him safely to the station where they will scan him, much like merchandise at the grocery store, to check for an inserted, hidden chip to identify him. There will be a happy reunion and I will be the Good Samaritan.

Unfortunately, what happens in the next 20-minutes does not play out like a Hallmark movie. I identify where I am in the neighborhood and the color and breed of the dog. This turns out to be my only mistake as I state to the dispatcher the stray seems to be a Pitbull mix.

It’s a good thing it wasn’t a true emergency as I count down the minutes from phone call to arrival of the police car. While we wait, all three dogs have settled down. The stray is still staying in the vicinity, so I decide I’ll try to catch him. With two leashes and four ‘doggie duty’ bags in my hand, I manage to get the stray to come to me, and just like that, I have him by the collar!

I abandon the ‘doggie duty’ bags (yes, my dogs have decided to each do double-duty just to make the hijinks more interesting), get Crouching Dog to sit, and then talk to him. I let him know his mommy is missing him somewhere and he must get back to her. Then I try to guess his name: Rex, Spot, Walter, Fred, Frank…and on my last guess, he swivels his head so quickly to look at me that I start calling him Frank!

Finally, my hero (not) the policeman shows up. I have basically got the whole thing under control; all he has to do is put the stray in his car. Thrilled that I have managed to catch the dog, subdue the dog, and befriend the dog, I want to hand him over and be on my way. But the officer has attitude. He claims he knows this dog; evidently, he’s a mean dog who bites people. Who, Frank? No way!

Frank senses the change in atmosphere and gets edgy. The police officer opens the car door; I can easily lift Frank in with his assistance. Instead, he goes to the back of the car and gets an apparatus that makes me wince: the long pole with the noose around the end that dog catcher’s in the movies use. Frank is panicking now. He easily slips out of his collar, and I am left holding it, disappointed because he was so close to safety.

It becomes comical from here. The officer cannot get the situation under control and his vibe is making us all jumpy, except for my dogs. Golden retrievers are a trusting, loveable breed, and they were willing to get into the back seat of the squad car, certain there are treats inside for them. Soon, another neighbor comes down the street with her two labradoodles, and she has the scared vibe permeating off her being. Frank is now running wild, the officer is shouting how he’s a mean dog, and the dog walker begins freaking out. Another neighbor comes out to watch the show. This all could have all been avoided, so simple, but now it’s become my problem to get under control.

The officer claims he knows where the dog lives and since Frank seems to like us, he suggests I walk that way in hope Frank will follow. The police officer plans to follow in his car as well. Fine, I’ll see this through to the end. Frank continues to walk with us like a good boy.

The same antics continue at the end of the street, and I know the officer feels foolish (he should). He admits to me that he was wrong, the dog actually lives in the direction from where we just were waiting; I’m not convinced because Frank’s owners still have not shown up. Again, I am able to catch Frank minus his collar, gently holding him by the scruff of his neck, but he gets skittish when the officer approaches with the medieval looking apparatus. Frank runs free yet again.

I’m ready to tag out of this game. As much as I like having a police officer patrol our neighborhood, this guy is a bit of a buffoon, or he is simply afraid of dogs. Frank is now heading in the opposite direction, so my dogs and I continue on our merry way. Good luck to Officer Befuddled.

As we head home, a frazzled man is coming up the incline of the street at the exact spot where we first encountered Frank. I simply must ask, “Are you looking for your dog?” He doesn’t have a leash in his hand, but his face says yes, yes I am. And it turns out he is looking for Frank. Except Frank isn’t Frank after all; he is Otis.

I start to explain what happened and where I found Frank… errr, Otis, and where the officer thought he lived when Otis comes dashing out of nowhere, sprinting down the street, finally heading for home. The man takes off after him, shouting for Otis. The man’s wife has shown up in an SUV, presumably to capture Otis safely, but Otis is homeward bound now. The police officer is giving Otis’ mommy an unpleasant (and unnecessary) lecture.

There was some satisfaction in knowing Otis was finally heading home, yet there was also some dissatisfaction in not being able to tell his owners that Otis was a good boy. Still, I think I will put this situation in the category where the outcome went in my favor. I hope some day to run into Otis again, but hopefully this time he will be safely on a leash.