A Dog Named Pete

Chapter 11: "The Call of the Wild"
The most beloved pet of my life was a miniature schnauzer named Pete. His partner for many years was Rosie, a typical schnauzer - endlessly high strung. But Baron von Pete Rose somehow missed out on the schnauzer yippy gene. He was one of the most mellow and gentle souls i ever had the pleasure to know. The greatest adventure of Pete's life will always remain a mystery to those of us who loved him. We only know how it started, and how it ended.
My Mom lived for a few years in a house by Five Mile Woods County Park. Pete was never the kind of dog to run off, so one night my step-father Chuck let him out, and forgot about him. A thunderstorm hit. Pete, like most dogs, was a little scared of thunderstorms. When Chuck remembered, he went out back, and called and called.
Pete was gone.
Mom and Chuck spent hours searching for him and putting up signs over the next few days. By the time i got home from college the following weekend, Mom was in misery. On Friday night, sad as i was myself, i did my best to comfort her. On Saturday night a restlessness grew in me, and i drove alone to the park, to search one more time. I knew it was perhaps no more than a gesture, as it had been seven days. But i went. Instead of searching near the house, i went to the far opposite end of the park. I left my car, and started walking the long, lonely road that bordered the woods. There were street lights every forty feet or so. I walked and called..."Pe-terr! Pee-terrr!!" Walked and called. Walked and called. Woods are quiet at night, and the echoes of my own voice were my only company. I finally came to where the road curved away from the park. I stopped, and gave one last long shout. I stood there. After a minute or three, my feet turned back toward the car.
And i heard a sound.
I looked back, to the edge of the wood. Forty feet away, something was rustling in the tall grass. A little creature slowly emerged into the sickly yellow light. If you had taken a photograph, i never would have recognized him, not in a million years. But instantly, i knew who it was.
Pete.
He looked around. I shouted his name, and he looked toward me. I walked, then ran. As i got to him, he looked up as if to say, "I knew you'd come." I wrapped him in my arms, and held him close as i hurried back to the car. I got to my Mom's house, and carried him to the front door. When she opened it...the look on her face is one i'll not forget in a million years. Her eyes watered and she fell apart.
Pete was tired and smelled terrible, just fishy and awful. No longer schnauzer grey, he was thouroughly muck-brown. His hair was matted with barbs and stickers. We bathed him, and removed no less than thirty-five ticks. If i had to guess, i'd say that my Mom didn't leave Pete's side for even one moment the whole rest of that night.
Later on, we speculated about his adventure. Where he went, what he ate...all we could be certain of was that no one had taken him in. If i'd been a painter, i'd have painted him standing proudly by a stream, a fish wriggling in his mouth.
I'll always love a dog named Pete.