NOT WITHOUT MY CORGI: THE TOBY JONES STORY

PART DEUX

Toby went missing on a Thursday (September 13).

The very next day, I had suspicions that Susan and Karin were behind this.  Call it a hunch — or call it obvious, based on what I’ve already told you.  I tried a “sneak attack” that night and stopped by Karin’s house unannounced.  I brought my friend, Leif, as back-up in case we needed to take her down…or, in case we caught her and I needed a witness.  There were a lot of dogs at her house, but no Toby.  I told her I was coming by with some flyers for her to post – which she happily took.  She gave me some tips on where to search (checking with humane societies, for example) but didn’t seem that distraught or concerned.  She also didn’t offer to help herself.

And neither did Susan.  Over the next week, I posted 100 flyers around town.  You can see a crappy black & white version here.  Imagine it in color and 11 x 17 – beautiful really 🙂  I put a notice in The Washington Post, I posted several places online, and I checked-in daily with the humane societies in the three closest counties.  I visited them and checked out their DOA (Dead on Arrival) list; which is just awful thing to have to do.  But several people thought Toby had been struck and killed by a car – not that they really told me to my face, but I knew what everyone was thinking.  And it was possible.  However, unless the person took his body and disposed of it themselves, it would have been picked up with the county and recorded by the humane society.  Thankfully, it wasn’t.

Can I interject here with how heartbroken I was?  I was simply destroyed by his disappearance.  I was not a crier at that time, but I would break down all the time, thinking about it.  Toby was my child, essentially, and he was all I had in DC.  I didn’t have a husband or children, I was far away from my family.  He was it for me.  So for him to go missing and for me to have no idea what happened to him, it tortured me.  And what’s the most dangerous thing on earth?  An angry mother.  See, you just don’t mess with someone’s child.  It’s the one thing they will kill for.  So it’s understandable that I went slightly crazy in the weeks following  his dissapearnce.

Which it turns out was a good thing.  See, just like Sally Field in the hit TV movie, “Not Without My Daughter,” you don’t give up on your kids.  If there is a chance they are out there, you’re going to find them.  You are going to move heaven and earth to get to them.

I started searching for clues around the house.  Looked through the living room, around the computer – checking out all the notepads that Susan writes on.  I looked for numbers, names, that stood out.  I was trying to locate other foster homes that Karin used for her “rescued” dogs.  Perhaps they took him to one of those?  I even looked up Susan and Karin on Maryland’s ciminal database.  It’s public.  Both had been charged with petty thefts (under $500).  Hmm, stealing something?  Sounds familiar to me.  Susan only had the one charge.  Karin had that plus: rogue and vagabond and disorderly conduct.   These charges were brought up by the arresting officer.  The found her not guilty of disorderly conduct, but the other two stuck and she was given probation.

After one week I was getting nowhere; I even offered up a $500 award, but only got a couple of useless phone calls (pranksters).  I just knew he hadn’t vanished into thin air, someone had to be hiding him.  I just needed to find them.   

So I decided to hire a pet detective.   Oh yes, they exist.  I looked up several and spoke to a few.  They are hella expensive though, thousands of dollars and that’s just to get them to travel to your home.  Mama might be sad, but she didn’t have that kind of money.  Instead, I ended up going with a local retired cop.  I created a timeline for him, recording what I knew so far.  Yeah, I was serious.  My co-workers thought I was losing my mind, I’m sure.  I know they did.  But they could see that I needed this hope to cling to.  So if I needed to believe that my landlord and her old neighbor stole my dog, so be it.  Little did they know…

The detective saw some plausibility to my story – or he saw that I would pay the retainer.  Either way, he agreed to take on the case.  We have hope!  The next two weeks went by and no evidence turned up.  The detective had all sorts of plans to investigate them, but he wasn’t turning anything up.  I was getting frustrated.  One Sunday afternoon, I was on the porch, making more reward signs.  Susan was reading the paper next to me.  Leisurely.  I casually brought up Toby, asking her what she thought about a reward.  She was all for it, she thought it was a good way to get leads.  I kept repeating to her that I just needed to know if he was ok, I just needed to know he was safe.  I was trying to coax anything out of her, get her to confess something.  Fat chance.  Here’s what she had to offer up instead.

 Susan:  You know, there have been a lot of construction workers across the street, working on a neighbor’s house.  And a lot of them are Mexicans.  Now, I don’t want to come off as racist (HERE COMES SOMETHING INCREDIBLE RACIST), but you know that they don’t have any respect for people’s things.

DID THAT JUST HAPPEN?!

Yes, yes it did.  Susan just said that Mexicans have no respect for people’s things.  I mean, jesus, I could not make this stuff up.

Susan:  So if you get a call from someone, don’t ask any questions.  Just give them the money.

And I’m just sitting there, staring at her in disbelief.  Where does this woman get off??  And that’s when I decided to ask her what I had been thinking for awhile.  Why wasn’t she trying to help me find Toby?  Why didn’t she seem concerned that he was gone?

And she just went off.  Went off about  her upcoming trial, how she was so busy traveling back and forth to NYC to prepare for it, how she was worried about the house (they were trying to foreclose on it because she had no money for the mortgage).  So I just gave up on her, I didn’t think I was going to get her to break.  Especially after she offered up all the Mexicans in her place.

Did I mention that my detective’s name was Richard.  Which means, wait for it, that my Private Eye was a Dick!  Sorry, I had to say it.

So we’ve made it to the night of September 30.  The night before I move out of Susan’s house.  Yes, I was still moving.  While looking for my dog, I was also packing to move into DC.  There’s nothing stressful about this situation.  That last night I was at my boyfriend’s apartment; we had just got done watching the Gators lose to Auburn.  I was not in a good mood.

And then it happened.  Now, I can’t really say what IT is.  See, I’ve consulted with a few of my lawyer friends about how this all went down, how we discovered where Toby was.  And it’s a little…sticky.  And that’s why I didn’t want to tell this story online- I’m not able to tell the whole thing, plus it’s just a much better story to hear in person.  If you really need to know the whole story, just invite me out for a drink.

So…where was I?  The stickiness.  See, something happened that night, less than 8 hours before I was set to move.  And that something was this:  we discovered where Toby was.

He was in Maine.

Here’s what happened:

Mid-August:  I reveal to Susan that I am moving to DC and taking Toby with me.

End of August/Beginning of September:  Karin posts a listing on her PetFinder.com page.  She advertises that Toby is up for adoption.  But she changes his name to COLBY CHEDDAR and creates a new history for him!  He is now a neglected and abandoned dog.  His owner – that’s me! – got cancer shortly after she got him and died.  Oh yeah, I’m dead!  Did you know??  I’m sorry to tell you this way.  Believe me, I was shocked myself.

Anyways, people respond to this ad that Karin posted.   One of the responses is from a family from Maine – husband, wife, and son.  They live in the country, have plenty of land for dogs to roam, and they would love a corgi.  They arrange with Karin and Susan to adopt Toby- err, I mean COLBY CHEDDAR.  The wife drives all the way day from Maine to pick him up.

Now, the family in Maine ended up sending me all the correspondence between themselves and Susan/Karin.  Here’s where Susan writes them, describing how she is fostering Colby.   Yeah, she was kind enough to foster the Cheddster (I just made up that name right now) after my death.  By cancer.

September 13: The day that Toby went missing from the house was the day that the wife from Maine picked Toby/Colby up.  At Karin’s house.   Remember when I called up Karin that night to find out where Toby was??  Yeah, Susan was over there and Toby had already left for Maine.  Just fantastic human beings, these people are.

The Maine wife wrote to Karin when she and Toby/Colby made it back home.  She even sent pictures of T/C at his new home, wearing his Gators collar  – that I bought him (that would later be used to identify him)!  Oh, did you know that Karin was kind enough to offer up suggestions for Colby’s new name?  You know, since Colby wasn’t a new name.  Karin suggested Shiloh, because it means “place of peace.”

I barfed the first time I read that.

But never mind that, friends.  Just NEVER MIND THAT.  I had found my dog!!!  I was not crazy!!!  Well, I mean, I am definitely crazy, but not about this.

DON’T MESS WITH A MOTHER.

September 30/October 1: My Private Dick and I discuss our next move.  We agree that he will contact the family in Maine and arrange for the transfer of Colby  Toby back to DC.

That’s where we hit  our next roadblock.  Because the family in Maine, they weren’t giving him back.  In fact, when my detective called, they refused to believe him.  They said they they rescued Toby Colby from a neglect situation – and then they called their local police.

And THAT’S when the story gets rull interesting.

END OF PART DEUX.

Link to Part III

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Never follow a hippie to a second location. – Jackie D.