We put up signs. I called shelters and rescues. As each day passed, we grew more saddened. Had he been attacked by the coyotes that got into the neighbor's goat herd? Had someone driving past picked him up to 'adopt the country dog' in spite of the identification he wore, like what happened to our neighbor's dog?
For the past four and a half years, Scooter has been an integral part of our family. We miss him. Small movements, from the corner of my eyes, on the deck or in the pasture, and I think it is his tail. All that remains are some dog treats, a huge bag of Purina, and a few well-loved toys. Plus a small amount of dwindling hope, and a huge dose of memories.
It's hard not knowing.