The other day I was driving home and pulled into my neighborhood. And on the sidewalk was sitting a crate.
The crate had a sign on it. It had a picture of something, but I couldn't tell what. The only word I could make out was "FOUND."
I kept driving, but thought it was weird that someone would set out a crate with a found sign on it rather than just, you know, doing what most people do and taping the posters up on light poles and whatnot.
And then, as I'm about to pull into my driveway, the thought occurs to me: Ohmygosh what if there's a puppy trapped inside that crate!
Keep in mind that I live in Texas and it's like at least 100 degrees here. Texas heat + puppy - water = dead puppy.
So I pulled into my driveway, ran upstairs and quickly changed into some clothes that wouldn't cause me to melt into a puddle. Then, I went for a little stroll. You know, in the scorching, furnace-like, Texas summer heat. All the way to the entrance of our neighborhood (it's about, like, half a mile, total, going there and back to my house. Maybe less. I don't know. But it felt SUPER LONG.)
I was going to be the super hero. Save the poor dehydrated puppy in that crate. Take it home and give it water and if it was a chihuahua, name it Jorge (pronounced "hor-hay", not "George". Chihuahuas are Mexican and therefore deserve the Spanish pronunciation of the name).
So, I got there, looked in the crate...and it was empty.
Well, it wasn't empty...there were rocks inside. You know, so the crate wouldn't blow away. You know, because there's so much wind in Texas in the summer. (I wish...)
And in all honesty, as relieved as I am that there wasn't a puppy in there...I was also kind of disappointed. I wanted to bring home a puppy. (Plus it was SO not worth the walk).
So I trudged back another half mile (or whatever) in the scorching heat
and then went swimming in my imaginary pool to cool off. Since, you
know, this story is full of things that I wish had happened but didn't.
So that's my I-almost-saved-the-day-but-didn't-because-I-underestimated-the-goodness-of-mankind story. I have a couple of those, now.
I have an active/slightly wild imagination.
But it's okay. My mom still thinks I'm great and that means I must be doing something right.