The great escape

My dog Toto, a rescued terrier mix, ran away from me recently. It was the “great escape” for him — but his midday flight was troubling to me as his caretaker.

Here's what happened.

I live in an apartment on the ground floor. Picture this:  my “home office” is situated in a corner of the living room (don’t judge me). My laptop resides on a small desk accompanied by an office chair. To the left is a large picture window; I can see my small back yard, surrounded by a wooden fence, when the Venetian blinds are open. When I’m here, the gate isn’t locked.

After a package was delivered and placed outside my back door, apparently the gate didn't close completely. Just as I brought the package inside, I let Toto outside.

I walked back to my desk, sat down, and glanced outside to see the gate opening, spotting the tip of Toto’s tail as he moved down the two steps to the parking lot below.

I jumped up, grabbed his leash, a bag of doggy treats, and his favorite green plastic squeaky play bone.

I went out through the open gate, closed it, and turned to the left where I saw Toto from a distance trotting by other tenants’ fences. As I began to walk towards the escapee I screamed, “Toto! Want a yummy?” I uttered those same words repeatedly — in between tears — walking as quickly as possible in the direction he headed. Next, I came back inside the apartment and went out the front door, checking to see if he was around.

Grasping the squeaky toy and package of treats in my left hand and his leash in the right, I called his name repetitively. The cacophony of sound didn’t produce the desired result. I clenched the bright green bone so many times into my palm that my hand hurt.

I adjusted my grip on the leash for a moment to wipe the tears away from my eyes and brought my hand down, blubbering.

Then I felt something on my hand, a gentle nudge.

I looked down to see Toto and began to stop crying. “There you are.” I reached down slowly with the leash and attached it to his collar. “Time to go in.” He didn’t resist and followed me back inside.

Although this story is personal, there are business lessons here. Patience and persistence can lead to positive rewards or outcomes.