Brother can you spare a dog?

I'll admit, I'm a pet psychic's worst nightmare.  First, I'm so grateful to hear from the spirit of the animal known to Deb Perkins as Thunder, that I'm psychically kissing the psychic's feet.  She provides me with details of where to find my lost dog: a grey-haired woman with bright eyes; a recessed door in an alley way with plants (a plant?); Northeast by 2 blocks; a slight incline.  The psychic suggests we meditate, then send Thunder positive messages before we leave to look for him.  On the street, we should call to him and listen for his bark!  What more could a bereft dog owner ask for?  I picture our reunion.  I'll be yelling Thun-der, and I'll hear his arf! arf!  and I'll go straight to the door with the plant next to it.  I'll knock and the Grey-haired lady will become like a Spanish grandmother to us and the dogs forever and ever, amen. I sleep soundly for the first time in a week.

Then the looking begins.  Joyfully, we set off in two groups searching the area where our Thunder awaits.  We've been told the grey-haired lady is sociable and that we should talk to as many people as possible.  I figure the grey-haired lady probably speaks to other grey-haired ladies and they become our focus group.

We start asking every grey-hair we meet if they've seen our dog.  Most are not bright eyed, in fact, most members of our focus group are vision-impaired and squint to see the poster we hold in front of them.  Many are wearing hearing aids and respond with the Spanish equivalent of eh?  But the most common response we get is a frightened look, a widening of the eyes and a backing away from us as though we're about to rob them of their last euro.  We're not exactly a frightening looking bunch, yet we instill fear in almost every older person we canvas. We loose a tiny bit of hope when a couple of grey-haired nuns point to the sky and callously suggest that there are more important things than lost dogs. NUNS!

As the day wears on and the city sounds drown out everything and I can barely hear what my children are saying next to me, my pretty picture starts to dissolve in front of me.  Imagine standing in the middle of Times Square in NYC and calling Thun-der!  Imagine listening for his bark.  It's assinine.  We reach a spiritual low when Lucia, Sam and I find a building inset from the street and cleverly catch the door as a resident leaves.  We figure we'll leave some posters and the grey-haired lady will see them and give us a jingle. Instead, we learn that some Spanish apartment buildings trap you on the inside requiring a key or a code to get out.  After 15 minutes of entrapment I mentally channel the spirit of Thunder and say: Thun! Address please!

I apologize pet psychic.  My faith lapsed just a little bit today.  Here you are giving me direction and here I am wondering if maybe two pet psychics would be better than one.  Or maybe three would be better than two.  Maybe we could cross check the facts just a tiny bit.  But tomorrow is another day. Another chance to be treated like a beggar, another chance to find that magical alley way with the little plant in front of the door where the grey-haired lady is comforting our lost dog.