Part 3 of the found doggy - the Chip Scan

After my realization and subsequent humiliation of my kidnap technique with the young child on the corner (see part 2) I decide to forsake further interviews with strangers on the street and whisk mop dog to our vets office. I am hoping, as one of my co-workers suggest that a dog like this would have a microchip for identification. Since most vets know about these things, its off to the vet. I am supposed to meet up with a friend for coffee, but I call her, she will wait, I explain I need to get to the vet before they close.

I climb in the car and the mop dog curls up on my lap. Mop dog hardly weighs anything and I realize two things, one, I am used to a 70 pound Bernese Mountain Dog leaning her substantial head on my shoulder when I drive, two, I am looking like one of those people I always mock, the ones who drive with little dogs on their laps. You've seen them the big old dudes in the pickups toting Pekinese as their payload, paws up on the window. Geesh.

At the vet's office I automatically stick the dog on the scale - with a dog and two cats I am trained to do this. I have to push the reset button - this can't be right, but again the weight shows at 5.2 lbs. Holy cow! Even my cats and my newborn children weigh more than this dog, in fact my lunch likely weighed more than this dog. How can something so small not have gotten crunched by a car? Grabbed by an eagle? Pulverized by a pit bull?

Turning I plunk mop dog on the counter and ask if they can check to see if the dog has a chip. Now I have no idea how they do this - I am not sure if they put the dog under a machine, or have a hand scanner like the grocery checkout. At this point I am hoping, hoping the dog is chipped so I can find it's owner and get it home.

I already have one large dog, and two cats and a husband who loves animals too much. It took me years to beg for a dog, he hates to get attached to them. He would freak if I brought another one home.

So the vet tech, after she and the receptionists finish oohing and ahhing over little mop dog, pull out a gun like thing (the grocery scanner kind) and scan and scan and scan up and down mop dog's back. Nope, no chip.

"Can you try it again, please?" I am starting to feel desperate- what am I going to do next?

One of the vets cruises past the front desk, wondering who we have here. I explain, lost, nearly run over in Spenard, no chip (this will become my mantra).

She runs her hands over the dog, "hmmm an intact male! No wonder he was running loose."

Indeed! I think. So she runs down ideas, Craigslist, Daily News, call other vets. No one it appears has notified them of a missing Yorkie, for that is what the mop dog is, a Yorkshire Terrier, intact male, about middle aged.

Leaving I trot him over to the doggy pea garden and yep, sure enough its a he. So with no identity yet I take my new little buddy over to the coffee shop to meet my friend and my daughter (she works at the coffee shop and has begged relentlessly for years for a teeny dog).

Oh my my my, I have saved a little dog and now I am in such big trouble!!!