It's a dog's life

My sister Tracie lives in rural Florida, on 20 acres of pasture dotted by a bunch of pecan trees.

She has horses, cats, barnyard fowl, a couple big dogs, a couple little dogs, and ... Queenie.

Queenie is what? Six years old? She looks like a cross between a Welsh Corgi and a beagle, and has the sweetest disposition of any dog you'll meet.

She followed Tracie home one day while Tracie was out for a bike ride.

Tracie has acquired a couple of dogs this way. And no, she's not hijacking someone else's pets.

Sadly, a lot of people drive out to the country to drop off unwanted animals. Queenie was left in the middle of nowhere to fend for herself against wild animals, the too-fast-for-caution drivers, and the older, more weather-beaten cast-offs of the canine world.

Anyway, there was Queenie, a furry little bundle of love and bad luck. And there was Tracie, who never met a stray puppy she didn't like. Tracie tried (not too hard) to discourage Queenie on the bike ride back to the house, but Queenie was persistent.

When Tracie got home, she took the puppy over to meet Dad, who lived on the other side of the property. Queenie and Dad made an instant connection, and she proceeded to lord it over his part of the property from then on, acting every bit like royalty. Which is how she got her name.

Queenie loved roaming all over Tracie's 20 acres, and seemed to understand that the fence surrounding the property defined her safe zone. Nobody was going to bother the homestead with big girls Bess and Tippy and a bruiser of a bloodhound, Beau, all on watch.

Queenie ran with the big dogs, but she always came home to sleep close to Dad's RV at night. As Dad's health failed, he liked to bring her inside for some company while he watched TV.

When Dad died in 2008, Queenie mourned the loss of her best friend, and because I was starting to be a fixture up there, I became her "occasional human." When I go up to visit, Queenie always rushes up to greet my van, and she shifts her attention from hanging out with the current crop of big dogs to keeping close to me (and an abundant supply of treats).

She has friends her own size, now, too. When my bro-in-law's rat terrier, Li'l Bit, had puppies, Tracie kept one of them for her own. Penny quickly glommed on to her Aunt Queenie, and Queenie takes abuse from that puppy that she'd never tolerate from the big dogs. When Penny got old enough to play outside, the three of them were constantly on patrol around the pastures. Indoors, they rough-house just like a passel of little kids.

Queenie's become a fixture in my life, now, so when Tracie called about a week ago to tell me she was gone, I felt a huge empty place open up in my heart.

"She's just not here," Tracie told me. "Queenie's not one to miss a meal, and when I went out to the barn to feed, she wasn't waitin'. Didn't come when I called. I've been lookin' in all the buildings and walkin' the property for the last couple of days, hollerin' and whistlin'. Nuthin."

Tracie combed the roads near her farm, thinking Queenie might have darted past the fence after all, and been hit by a car. She did a more thorough search of the property, concentrating on the wooded areas to see if Queenie had stumbled across a snake or some aggressive animal. Nada.

It would have been better to find her chunky little body. At least we'd know she wasn't suffering.

What worried us both was the idea that someone had snatched her up to train fighting dogs. It's evidently a popular "sport" in the area, and the fighters always need fresh meat to tear apart. Queenie is too small to be a serious threat to them, but feisty enough to be an interesting moving target.

Every hour that Queenie didn't come home was an hour that she could be in torment.

More than a few tears were shed over the thought of that sweet natured girl being used for blood sport.

Whatever angels caused Queenie to follow Tracie home six years ago must have been on duty still.

Queenie was back in the barn at dinnertime two nights ago, looking none the worse for whatever had kept her from home so long.

Tracie called me right away, of course, and we celebrated together as much as you can on the phone.

And Queenie? Who knows where she was?

I'm just glad that she discovered "there's no place like home."