DECEMBER 2016 PARKER COUNTY TODAY tember she got a call from a rancher near Cross Plains . He had Taffy . She ’ d wandered onto his ranch wearing the same collar and tag she wore when she left Patricia ’ s home in July . The rancher had called the number on the tag and someone in the vet ’ s office gave him Patricia ’ s phone number . Patricia called Taffy ’ s new owner several times before the woman called her back . She ’ d gone out of town for a few days and apparently , Taffy got bored , got out and wandered off . She called and promised she ’ d retrieve Taffy immediately . The last time Patricia spoke with the rancher , he ’ d connected with Taffy ’ s new owner and she was coming to get Taffy .
Patricia has since moved out of the assisted living center , “ It was just too confining .”
She ’ s now sharing a home with her daughter , visiting her husband every day and working full-time from home with her daughter in the business she and her husband started together a couple of decades ago . Life was going relatively smooth , for someone married to a dementia patient . Then came the Facebook post and avalanche of vicious phone calls . Patricia immediately called Taffy ’ s new owner but she never answered . Her granddaughter contacted Taffy ’ s new owner ’ s granddaughter . She said she was busy on a business trip and had no idea . Repeated inquiries through Facebook , resulted in a picture posted of the dog ’ s tags and picture of the dog , along with the addition of Patricia ’ s correct name . Patricia knew the dog was definitely Taffy .
104
Continued from page 4
After returning , Taffy ’ s first visit after the groomer was with Willie
The most stressful part for her was thinking of Taffy on a deer lease out somewhere in Brown County , drenched with rain , starving , frightened and surrounded by ravenous coyotes . Patricia ’ s daughter sent in a complaint to Craigslist and to Facebook . The posts were taken down but any hope of getting more information from him was also gone . “ I didn ’ t even know where Cross Plains was until I Googled it ,” she said . Repeated efforts to reach out to the Great White Hunter got no response . Patricia and I became friends as I tried to help find her dog . We called each other several times a day . Through cell phone records , she managed to dig up a phone number for the rancher that had contacted her in September about Taffy and called him . No answer . She left a message .
Days passed and Patricia was frantic about her dog . The only comfort was knowledge of how well Taffy dealt with coyotes while on their farm . “ But , she ’ s older now , so maybe not .” Patricia called me on Friday , afternoon . The Taffy drama had been going on since Monday . Patricia still sounded stressed but more hopeful . She ’ d heard back from the rancher . He had Taffy and she ’ d been with him since the end of August . The woman who had given Taffy her “ furrever home ’ had never retrieved her after they spoke in September . He told Patricia that she was welcome to come and get Taffy . He and his wife had been taking care of her the whole time . He gave directions to his ranch . Patricia was going to get Taffy as soon as she could get someone to go with her .
I pictured a human trafficking ring using lost dogs to lure unsuspecting women into either prostitution or sewing slavery . I ’ m pretty sure they ’ d bring me back on either count , but I called people . I told several friends that I was thinking about driving a lady I ’ d never met , to a place I ’ d never been to and retrieve an elderly dog I ’ d never seen from people no one knew anything about . Everyone said , “ Don ’ t go . It ’ s dangerous .” I called Patricia and told her I ’ d drive her . I bravely canceled my appointment with my hairdresser . Patricia met me at the PCT office .
We loaded blankets , garbage bags , dogfood , treats ; water and a . 38 caliber pistol into my car , and then began our journey to Cross Plains . I like adventure . We stopped along the way at a giant “ travel station ,” two counties away , where a large bus loaded with a lot of liquoredup young people were disembarking , I overheard them talking about how they were going to “ tear up Cowtown .” Sounded intriguing so I asked one of them , an oriental girl with dreadlocks for details , but she sneered at me . Patricia called my name and led me to an open cash register . She said , “ You ’ ll talk to anybody , won ’ t you ?” We got our drinks and got back on the road , fast . When we finally found the ranch , the rancher and his wife were kind enough to meet us at their gate , since it had been raining and their driveway was
“ pretty rough .”
They ’ d brought Taffy up on a 4-wheeler . They introduced themselves and apologized for Taffy ’ s lack of grooming . It had rained the day before and Taffy was a little disheveled but looked healthy and happy to see Patricia . She also seemed to be fond of the couple that had been taking care of her for the past couple of months . Patricia offered to pay them for their trouble . “ She wasn ’ t any trouble ,” he said , making it clear that he wouldn ’ t take reimbursement of any kind and that they were both fond of the dog . Taffy wagged . The woman gave the big white dog one last hug before Patricia put her in the car . It occurred to me that Taffy was the chubbiest starving dog I ’ ve ever seen . I said as much . The man said , “ She came here at the end of August and we ’ ve been taking care of her ever since .” I asked about the woman who ’ d said she was coming to get Taffy , no time and date were specified . Time got away . He said , “ I don ’ t know . She never showed up . We just kept feeding and taking care of her .” Why she never came to get Taffy remains a mystery . Maybe sometime months from now , she ’ ll show up to pick up Taffy and Taffy won ’ t be there . Things tend to move more slowly out here , I suspect . I watched the lady as Taffy got in the back seat of my car . She had tears in her eyes . I looked at Taffy . It may be my imagination but she seemed to look longingly at the pair , then she looked at Patricia and wagged .
Once we were on the road , Taffy panted for a couple of minutes , until we turned onto the highway and a smoother path .
Patricia said , “ We ’ re going home , Taffy .”
The big white dog wagged , then curled up in her traveling bed and soon began to snore .
Some mysteries remain unsolved . Why did the hunter post such a nasty comment ? Why did he behave as though no one was taking care of the dog ? What happened to Taffy ’ s second owner ? Why did Hillary Clinton wear those awful pantsuits ? Why would a Chinese girl wear dreadlocks ?
We may never know the answer to any of these questions but all I know is that Patricia was overjoyed to have her Great Pyrenees back and the three of us made it back from Cross Plains in one piece .
“ First thing in the morning I ’ m taking her to the groomer and then I ’ m taking her to see Willie ,” she said . “ Something tells me I ’ m going to be doing a lot more walking from now on .”
I hope all your adventures lead to a happy , safe destination and I wish you the very best for 2017 . I also hope you don ’ t starve or get eaten by coyotes .
Marsha Brown Editor-in-Chief and Publisher , Parker County Today Magazine
Continued from page 4
DECEMBER 2016
PA R K E R C O U N T Y T O D AY
After returning, Taffy’s first visit after the
groomer was with Willie
tember she got a call from a rancher near
Cross Plains. He had Taffy. She’d wandered onto his ranch wearing the same
collar and tag she wore when she left
Patricia’s home in July. The rancher had
called the number on the tag and someone in the vet’s office gave him Patricia’s
phone number. Patricia called Taffy’s new
owner several times before the woman
called her back. She’d gone out of town
for a few days and apparently, Taffy got
bored, got out and wandered off. She
called and promised she’d retrieve Taffy
immediately. The last time Patricia spoke
with the rancher, he’d connected with
Taffy’s new owner and she was coming to
get Taffy.
Patricia has since moved out of the
assisted living center, “It was just too
confining.”
She’s now sharing a home with her
daughter, visiting her husband every day
and working full-time from home with her
daughter in the business she and her husband started together a couple of decades
ago. Life was going relatively smooth, for
someone married to a dementia patient.
Then came the Facebook post and
avalanche of vicious phone calls. Patricia
immediately called Taffy’s new owner but
she never answered. Her granddaughter
contacted Taffy’s new owner’s granddaughter. She said she was busy on a
business trip and had no idea. Repeated
inquiries through Facebook, resulted in
a picture posted of the dog’s tags and
picture of the dog, along with the addition
of Patricia’s correct name. Patricia knew
the dog was definitely Taffy.
104
The most stressful part for her was
thinking of Taffy on a deer lease out
somewhere in Brown County, drenched
with rain, starving, frightened and surrounded by ravenous coyotes. Patricia’s
daughter sent in a complaint to Craigslist
and to Facebook. The posts were taken
down but any hope of getting more information from him was also gone. “I didn’t
even know where Cross Plains was until I
Googled it,” she said. Repeated efforts to
reach out to the Great White Hunter got
no response. Patricia and I became friends
as I tried to help find her dog. We called
each other several times a day. Through
cell phone records, she managed to dig
up a phone number for the rancher that
had contacted her in September about
Taffy and called him. No answer. She left
a message.
Days passed and Patricia was frantic
about her dog. The only comfort was
knowledge of how well Taffy dealt with
coyotes while on their farm. “But, she’s
older now, so maybe not.” Patricia called
me on Friday, afternoon. The Taffy drama
had been going on since Monday. Patricia
still sounded stressed but more hopeful. She’d heard back from the rancher.
He had Taffy and she’d been with him
since the end of August. The woman who
had given Taffy her “furrever home’ had
never retrieved her after they spoke in
September. He told Patricia that she was
welcome to come and get Taffy. He and
his wife had been taking care of her the
whole time. He gave directions to his
ranch. Patricia was going to get Taffy as
soon as she could get someone to go with
her.
I pictured a human trafficking ring using lost dogs to lure unsuspecting women
into either prostitution or sewing slavery.
I’m pretty sure they’d bring me back on
either count, but I called people. I told
several friends that I was thinking about
driving a lady I’d never met, to a place I’d
never been to and retrieve an elderly dog
I’d never seen from people no one knew
anything about. Everyone said, “Don’t go.
It’s dangerous.” I called Patricia and told
her I’d drive her. I bravely canceled my
appointment with my hairdresser. Patricia
met me at the PCT office.
We loaded blankets, garbage bags,
dogfood, treats; water and a .38 caliber
pistol into my car, and then began our
journey to Cross Plains. I like adventure.
We stopped along the way at a giant
“travel station,” two counties away, where
a large bus loaded with a lot of liquoredup young people were disembarking, I
overheard them talking about how they
were going to “tear up Cowtown.” Sounded intriguing so I asked one of them, an
oriental girl with dreadlocks for details,
but she sneered at me. Patricia called my
name and led me to an open cash register.
She said, “You’ll talk to anybody, won’t
you?” We got our drinks and got back on
the road, fast. When we finally found the
ranch, the rancher and his wife were kind
enough to meet us at their gate, since it
had been raining and their driveway was
“pretty rough.”
They’d brought Taffy up on a 4-wheeler. They introduced themselves and
apologized for Taffy’s lack of grooming. It
had rained the day before and Taffy was
a little disheveled but looked healthy and
happy to see Patricia. She also seemed
to be fond of the couple that had been
taking care of her for the past couple of
months. Patricia offered to pay them for
their trouble. “She wasn’t any trouble,” he
said, making it clear that he wouldn’t take
reimbursement of any kind and that they
were both fond of the dog.
Taffy wagged.
The woman gave the big white dog
one last hug before Patricia put her in the
car. It occurred to me that Taffy was the
chubbiest starving dog I’ve ever seen. I
said as much. The man said, “She came
here at the end of August and we’ve been
taking care of her ever since.” I asked
about the woman who’d said she was
coming to get Taffy, no time and date
were specified. Time got away. He said,
“I don’t know. She never showed up. We
just kept feeding and taking care of her.”
Why she never came to get Taffy remains
a mystery. Maybe sometime months from
now, she’ll show up to pick up Taffy and
Taffy won’t be there. Things tend to move
more slowly out here, I suspect. I watched
the lady as Taffy got in the back seat of
my car. She had tears in her eyes. I looked
at Taffy. It may be my imagination but she
seemed to look longingly at the pair, then
she looked at Patricia and wagged.
Once we were on the road, Taffy
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