By Vicki Larson
On New Year's Day, I found myself thinking of Mr. Rogers.
"When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping,'" Fred Rogers famously told his neighbors on "Mr. Rogers Neighborhood" years ago.
I wasn't thinking about the news that day, however. I think about the news a lot and a lot of it is scary ― and I'm far removed from childhood. But on the first day of the new year, the first sunny day after an atmospheric river slammed Marin and the state, on the walk back to my home from enjoying a leisurely afternoon sipping a cappuccino and people-watching in my city's downtown, I was feeling grateful and hopeful for better things in 2023.
Out of nowhere, a tiny black and white Pomeranian-like dog ran in front of us and kept running like it was Forrest Gump ― and he ran for three years, two months, 14 days and 16 hours.
"Is that your dog?" I asked the man who approached us from his seat on a front step.
No it wasn't. It's lost, he told us as he proceeded to return to the front step and sit back down.
As the dogmom of Mia, a somewhat traumatized rescue who constantly ran away for the first few weeks after I brought her home until she finally realized it wasn't too bad a gig being a Marin dog, I was not going to let that tiny pup run away. It was somebody's baby― it had tags and a collar ― and it was lost. And so with my dog in tow, we began to follow it ― not too closely as the closer we got, the faster it ran on those little chicken legs ― calling sweetly and holding out our hands as if we had treats (note to self: always carry dog treats).
After a few blocks, it turned onto a heavily trafficked street. Thankfully, it was a holiday and the street was not as busy as it usually is. Still, drivers were out and about. I panicked. This is not going to end well, I thought to myself as my heart raced.
Suddenly a man appeared, asking about the dog. Was it lost? Was it a black dog? Was it a Lab mix about yay high?
No, we said. It's black and white. It's a tiny Pomeranian-like thing. But, yes, it's lost.
Oh, he replied. He thought perhaps it was his dog, which evidently, curiously, wasn't even missing. So he turned around and headed back home.
Just then, an SUV full of teen boys came careening down the street. I braced myself for the worst, but seeing us waving our arms wildly, they slowed down and stopped.
Thank you, we called out. We're chasing a lost dog.
"Do you need help?"
Yes, we did.
They pulled into a safe place, parked, got out of the car and started running. A short time later, one of the guys emerged from a yard, the pup cradled in his arms.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, we cried.
I called the number on the tag and left a voicemail message, took the dog from him, placed my dog's leash around its neck ― Mia is a very good girl and stays close to me even when she's off-leash ― and started heading back home again.
We didn't get too far before Panda's people showed up in their car. Panda had done a Houdini from their front gate. Thankfully, Panda has a tracker so they knew where to head to.
A New Year's Day near tragedy instead became a New Year's Day triumph, a hopeful sign for 2023 if you believe such things. I don't, although I had once again made a pot of Hoppin' John, a Southern dish that, if eaten on New Year's Day, offers luck throughout the year, so there's that.
And so I thought about Mr. Rogers.
"Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping."
We did. Not the two men, but the handful of teens who, with luck, will be men one day. To me, they were heroes.
We didn't ask for help. Few of us do, even if we need it.
"Do you need help?" ― four little words that mean so much.
May more of us say them in the new year.
This article was published in the Marin Independent Journal, Novato, Calif., and distributed by Tribune Content Agency.
On New Year's Day, I found myself thinking of Mr. Rogers.
"When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping,'" Fred Rogers famously told his neighbors on "Mr. Rogers Neighborhood" years ago.
I wasn't thinking about the news that day, however. I think about the news a lot and a lot of it is scary ― and I'm far removed from childhood. But on the first day of the new year, the first sunny day after an atmospheric river slammed Marin and the state, on the walk back to my home from enjoying a leisurely afternoon sipping a cappuccino and people-watching in my city's downtown, I was feeling grateful and hopeful for better things in 2023.
Out of nowhere, a tiny black and white Pomeranian-like dog ran in front of us and kept running like it was Forrest Gump ― and he ran for three years, two months, 14 days and 16 hours.
"Is that your dog?" I asked the man who approached us from his seat on a front step.
No it wasn't. It's lost, he told us as he proceeded to return to the front step and sit back down.
As the dogmom of Mia, a somewhat traumatized rescue who constantly ran away for the first few weeks after I brought her home until she finally realized it wasn't too bad a gig being a Marin dog, I was not going to let that tiny pup run away. It was somebody's baby― it had tags and a collar ― and it was lost. And so with my dog in tow, we began to follow it ― not too closely as the closer we got, the faster it ran on those little chicken legs ― calling sweetly and holding out our hands as if we had treats (note to self: always carry dog treats).
After a few blocks, it turned onto a heavily trafficked street. Thankfully, it was a holiday and the street was not as busy as it usually is. Still, drivers were out and about. I panicked. This is not going to end well, I thought to myself as my heart raced.
Suddenly a man appeared, asking about the dog. Was it lost? Was it a black dog? Was it a Lab mix about yay high?
No, we said. It's black and white. It's a tiny Pomeranian-like thing. But, yes, it's lost.
Oh, he replied. He thought perhaps it was his dog, which evidently, curiously, wasn't even missing. So he turned around and headed back home.
Just then, an SUV full of teen boys came careening down the street. I braced myself for the worst, but seeing us waving our arms wildly, they slowed down and stopped.
Thank you, we called out. We're chasing a lost dog.
"Do you need help?"
Yes, we did.
They pulled into a safe place, parked, got out of the car and started running. A short time later, one of the guys emerged from a yard, the pup cradled in his arms.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, we cried.
I called the number on the tag and left a voicemail message, took the dog from him, placed my dog's leash around its neck ― Mia is a very good girl and stays close to me even when she's off-leash ― and started heading back home again.
We didn't get too far before Panda's people showed up in their car. Panda had done a Houdini from their front gate. Thankfully, Panda has a tracker so they knew where to head to.
A New Year's Day near tragedy instead became a New Year's Day triumph, a hopeful sign for 2023 if you believe such things. I don't, although I had once again made a pot of Hoppin' John, a Southern dish that, if eaten on New Year's Day, offers luck throughout the year, so there's that.
And so I thought about Mr. Rogers.
"Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping."
We did. Not the two men, but the handful of teens who, with luck, will be men one day. To me, they were heroes.
We didn't ask for help. Few of us do, even if we need it.
"Do you need help?" ― four little words that mean so much.
May more of us say them in the new year.
This article was published in the Marin Independent Journal, Novato, Calif., and distributed by Tribune Content Agency.
![[LIFE'S OLLE TRAILS 1] How hiking Jeju's 437km of trails changed my life](https://img.koreatimes.co.kr/upload/thumbnailV2/76a9bfb384714b8d8bb0078962a18259.jpg/dims/resize/178/optimize)
![[INTERVIEW] 'One Day Off' star Lee Na-young, director on creating subtle, feel-good series](https://img.koreatimes.co.kr/upload/thumbnailV2/796618f56a44402eabe81fe4530ab988.jpg/dims/resize/178/optimize)
