The Legend of Zelda

 

Good Morning!

This is gonna be a little different from our usual, wresting-centric programming. From June 7th to July 4th, my wife Mo and I were on a quest to find our missing dog, a ten-year-old terrier mix named Zelda. And since we had a lot of people help us with that search, it seems only right to recap the whole adventure in one place. Facebook didn’t seem right for something this long, and since this blog exists anyways – and since I often use the introduction as a kind of therapy – I figured I’d just make a post on here about what happened. It also serves as a really long excuse as to why I hadn’t written about wrestling in a while, I suppose.

So ignore my poor editing skills, grab a frosty beverage, lean back in your favorite chair, and read on to experience…

June 7th

Zelda is a character, as anyone who has met that dog can tell you. She is what we lovingly refer to as a “replacement dog.” When our foster pug, Frank, passed away after a surgery that didn’t end well, we were distraught and did what anyone would do: we went to an adoption event held by Rocky Mountain Puppy Rescue. We saw this little, wiry, yellow reservation mutt and decided she was our Princess Zelda. 

Zelda is generally the definition of an “inside dog” with one exception: the girl loves paddleboarding. My wife tried both older dog brother Ditka and little sister Mudge, our little pug that has since passed, but it was only Zelda that really loved being on the water. She has a little life vest, and just hangs out on the board as Mo and her friends trek along the coastline.

That Friday wasn’t any different from dozens of others in that regard. They went out to Chatfield Reservoir, paddled about, and were getting ready to leave. While Mo was loading her paddleboard into our Jeep, Zelda’s leash slipped off of the strap it’s normally secured to the board with. Zelda wandered over to our friend’s dog and then just … walked a little further. Mo called out to her, but in that moment a cyclist passed nearby and Zelda just turned and ran. Mo followed, heading south, but somehow between the parking lot and the next lot south, Zelda turned somewhere and disappeared. Nobody saw her despite there being about sixty people about, and that was the last we saw of our dog for a while.

We searched all day for her, despite a torrential downpour that felt like it lasted hours. She ran off with a harness and leash attached, but no collar or tags, which seems handy for catching a dog but is also a rough combination for a dog in the brush. And that park is full of brush – it’s a large open area with a large reservoir and several smaller ponds, tons of ravines and wooded areas, and even a horse ranch. There are no real boundaries to the park aside from barbed wire fences and busy streets and the neighboring areas are mostly just private land and other green space, which isn’t exactly reassuring for the owners of a lost pet. 

So we did what anyone would do. We walked. We called out. We looked in the underbrush, searched the waterfront, walked along the trail, and tried to figure out what direction she could have gone. Logic dictated she’d have gone west, because the water was to the east and somebody would have seen her if she continued south. West was the road that forms a perimeter around the park, but across that was a small horse ranch and more open space.

The problem was, we had no idea what she would have done.. Sure, she’d been hiking with Mo – she even did part of the Colorado trail with her – but even then, off-leash, she’d never run off. She had been paddleboarding in that same park for six years and never once even wandered out of sight. Hell, she rarely wants to get off the couch to go outside if she’s comfortable. 

We took some solace in the fact that as a couple, we have a few things working in our favor. Mo has been in the veterinary industry since I met her – and I know that because she met me at the animal hospital where she’d start her career. During that time in Forest Park, IL, we worked with Oak Park’s animal control officers. A more sitcom-ready trio may have never existed, but we learned a lot about wildlife and how to use traps from those three officers – and a number of dirty jokes, to boot. 

Moreover, we Goods are a stubborn people. My mom is stubborn. My dad was stubborn. My sisters are stubborn. And the people my sisters and I married either brought their own brand of stubborn into the fold or just borrowed some of ours, Mo included. One thing we were never going to do was tap out.

At some point that day, the rain and the crowds and the overwhelming sadness was simply too much, and we went home to deal with the heartbreak. And to formulate a plan of attack.

June 8th-11th

By this time, we had learned a little more about the tactics to find a missing dog. A “wagon wheel” approach is recommended, where you’ve got a central location and a large circle around it, with “spokes” leading back to the center. A “scent station” is to be set up, a spot with some food, water, and stuff that smells like home: an old blanket, worn shirts, things like that. Getting the word out is paramount, as well. Letting people in the area know via flyers, social media, and face-to-face interaction. 

After posting to several social media sites, it became pretty clear that my least favorite was going to be the one to get the most results. Facebook simply has more lost-and-found groups for local areas, and they are all very active. I joined a handful and started posting little “pupdates,” although we hadn’t had any sightings. What we did have was a stubborn attitude, an observant community, and enough Lost Dog flyers to cover every bathroom in Chatfield State Park. If you had to poop in that park, you knew there was a little yellow dog missing, and you knew not to try to chase her. Rangers were notified, as were local animal control in three surrounding counties.

We played to our strengths. Mo is a seasoned hiker, and works in the veterinary field. After learning about scent stations and trails, she decided she would lead that charge, walking from Waterton Canyon, through Chatfield, and all the way north to our house – a four hour hike of around twelve miles. 

The extra-scribbly areas between the two lower 121s on that map were my route. We stayed in the parking lot every night, getting some pity from the Park Rangers while they also promised to be on the lookout. And it wasn’t just lip service – every ranger or employee in that park knew us and Zelda by the third night we were there. Every morning, I woke up around five and walked the path past gazebos and parking lots along the reservoir until I reached the gravel pond lots, where Mo and Zelda also paddleboarded from time to time. As an “indoorsy” 44-year-old, I’m not exactly the spry hiker that my wife or Zelda are, but there was no way I was going to limit myself to staying behind a keyboard. My family needed me out there, because apparently our stink was going to help bring our dog home. Mo is naturally a night person, so she stayed awake in the Jeep as late as she could. We had blankets hanging out of the back, just in case she was nearby and wanted to hop in there with us.

June 12-18

These were, without a doubt, the hardest days. We had no sightings, despite constantly expanding our search and scent radius. Local businesses were good enough to hang flyers in the neighborhoods outside the park and on the way home, just in case. Mo hiked from the park to our home a second time, taking a second safe route in case the first wasn’t good enough for our girl. Heavy rains probably washed out our scent on a number of occasions, and the park became a wetland that we slogged through. 

We started a little game while staying in that parking lot. Frog or Mouse is best played when visibility is at an absolute minimum, and you’ve only got starlight guiding your path. Players hear a little shuffle in the grass along the main path, and after hoping it’s their missing dog, guess whether it’s a little mouse or a frog. Frogs are in abundance in Chatfield after dark, just hopping along the sidewalk without a care in the world. The mice are at least smart enough to stick to the grass. 

The game gave us a little levity, and the mice gave us hope. Zelda has caught mice in our backyard before, making a little game of hunting them and beating them up a little. If she wasn’t getting food from the trash bins in the park, at least she’d have something in her little belly if she got hungry enough. We also made up little stories about what Zelda might be doing. “Maybe she’s on a bender after licking one of those frogs.” “Maybe she’s taken over a prairie dog warren and has become their queen.” “Maybe she’s leading a pack of coyotes as their new alpha.”

We also picked up a couple trail cameras after some food we left out was eaten one night. We had hoped that it was Zelda, but all we ended up learning was that sometimes people show up to Chatfield at 430AM to walk their dogs off leash. We did catch a mom and baby deer though, which was kinda cool. And we learned how to set up a trail camera, so that’s something to add to our resumes.

This period was also when the scams started. One of the big suggestions the Facebook groups had was to register with several online pet-finding communities. The downside of that is that you’re putting your phone number on the internet. We started getting texts that would give us a jolt of false hope before we realized what was happening:

They wouldn’t say where they were or who, specifically, they worked for. The trick was to get you to agree to let them send you a six digit number. That would actually be Google, which they were using to get you to allow them access to your account to set up a Google voice thing. I never did figure out what the endgame was, but I assure you I had choice words for these folks before I hit the block button. 

I got dozens of these texts. They always had inconsistent punctuation and capitalization, so I got to recognize what they were pretty quick. We also had a number of Facebook interactions that were linked to “pet recovery services” that had zero online presence outside of FB or Instagram. Those were more straightforward – they were going to take money and disappear.

So I have a bit of a, um, short fuse, let’s say. My dad, literally the nicest person anyone has ever met, had one too, and I am pretty sure I got it from him. And it kicks in at the most inconvenient times, i.e. when I’m frustrated or stressed. And I was getting stressed.

With no sightings, your phone becomes your only lead generator besides your eyes. Mo and I were constantly refreshing the pages for Foothills Animal Shelter, Dumb Friends League, and Facebook. And it was that last one that sent me over the edge. 

Drones are illegal in state parks because they can frighten wildlife. Live traps are illegal for similar reasons – it’s an area designed to allow nature to live free, after all, and trapping wildlife on the off chance that it was Zelda was a no-go. But stating that several times didn’t stop people from acting as though they were the first people to come up with those novel solutions. And seeing the same advice, being admonished by strangers for not using strategies that were illegal, illogical, or simply unrealistic, is stress on top of the stress of not knowing where our Zelda was. Being told what we were doing wasn’t right, both in Facebook posts and in direct text messages, became a daily occurrence. Getting advice that contradicted other advice, getting constantly scammed – it all weighed heavily on me. 

But I couldn’t just log off, either – good people were trying to forward photos from others or from shelters, hoping to help us get reunited. And most of the people I was getting frustrated with harbored no ill will, either. However, I feel like if one is so heavily involved in a lost-and-found community, one would realize that after the first week of saying the same advice over and over you’re simply kicking us when we’re down. 

FUN FACT, FACEBOOK STRANGER: She had a harness and leash on, and was physically attached to the paddleboard until she wasn’t. Stuff just happens sometimes. Also, while one in every three pets will become lost in their lifetime, 93% of dogs are found alive – and 20% even return home on their own. Also also, for all we know, Zelda not only ran into a coyote, she straight up defeated one in Mortal Kombat -- either the game or the real deal. WHO'S TO SAY?!?

Even now, after this whole story ended, I’m still quick to just block people offering up comments like the one above, posted today, trying to hold us responsible for a dog we’ve had for ten years slipping our grasp one time. On July 1st, I literally had someone text me out of nowhere at 12:30 AM to tell me the things we were doing wrong on our search. There’s a line between “just trying to help” and “it’s very important for you, a failure as a pet owner, to realize that I know better” and that line was crossed pretty often over the past several weeks. 

But I digress. We’re grateful for, let’s say, 98% of the people who helped us out. Facebook didn’t end up being the godsend we were hoping for, although it did give us a ton of supportive messages and an outpouring of love throughout this past month. It also put us in contact with Deb, who was by our side since Zelda first went missing, and was there pulling down flyers for us after we’d been reunited. We got a “cool concert-going aunt” vibe from her, and she was always there with support and advice when we needed it. A true hero.

June 19th

Mo’s birthday is a big deal around here. We take the day off, no matter when it falls, and host a big cookout. There’s food, a cornhole tournament, and a grown-up water balloon fight that never fails to make us feel a lot older after the fact. It’s a great time. 

But we canceled it this year, for the first time since we’ve owned our home. There was nothing to celebrate. Sure, Mo was a little older, but part of our family was missing and nobody was really in a partying mood. 

The whole ordeal was pretty enlightening in that regard. We’re not really social people, but we have a close group of friends. And after a few weeks, you realize all the things you’ve been neglecting – laundry, eating, work, and keeping those friendships alive. I made a point to reach out to people, just to make sure they knew we loved them but we were pouring all our energy into this. They understood. That’s how friends work – they get you, they help you, and when you need them to, they take a step back and let you go full-on Charlie Day when you need to.

With the party canceled and no updates, I woke up ready to get back out to Chatfield. Mo had stayed until sunup the night before, and was asleep while I was having a coffee and feeding Ditka before heading out. That’s when I got the text from Katie, with the first photo we had seen of Zelda since she went missing:

She’d been caught in a backyard in the southern part of Ken Caryl Valley. For reference:

If she stayed heading west from where we lost her, and only stuck to undeveloped land, we’re probably looking at about ten miles. But that didn’t matter. We had hope, and I was able to wake my wife with the news that her dog was alive. Moreover, she was in a neighborhood – an area with food, and yards, and people. Zelda had slipped her harness – to be fair, it was Mudge’s harness first and Zelda is not built like a pug – which meant one of our biggest worries, that she’d get caught on something, was eliminated. We raced down to Ken Caryl, for the first time ever for either of us, but by the time we’d gotten down there she had gotten out of the yard. 

We were already prepared for this. We had flyers, and some neighborhood people were already looking for her. I walked with Katie, the lovely person who sent me the text, for several hours. Mo begged the administrators of the area’s online page to let her join, and it was the Ken Caryl Neighbors page that we owe a big part of the rescue effort to. This community allowed Mo to join their online page despite us living nowhere near the area and – let’s be honest – not exactly being the demographic that lives in that lovely area. And it wasn’t just online. We had a fantastic group out there that understood the assignment – you don’t try to be a hero, you don’t try to chase her. Just live your life, keep your eyes peeled, check those Ring cameras, and call us if you spot her. 

We had two sightings on Mo’s birthday, but came home empty handed. However, we had a renewed sense of purpose and hope. Our dog was alive, looked healthy, and was in a relatively easier-to-navigate area.

However, after that, we had ten days of absolutely nothing. We made more flyers and we met neighbors, and we walked trails and learned the ins and outs of the subdivisions. But we didn’t have another sighting for days, and it started to feel like the same thing that happened at Chatfield all over again. To quote my wife:

2 sightings that day. Then nothing. 10 days of nothing.

How much time and effort do you dedicate to a dog you have had for 10 years? How much PTO? How many sleepless nights and work-filled days?

The only answer that seemed appropriate was "more". No matter how tired we were. The only answer we had in us was "more."

We kept looking, kept walking. We maintained the same type of vigil that we did at the reservoir, me walking the paths early and Mo staying late. The mailboxes of Ken Caryl Valley were covered with flyers much like the bathrooms at Chatfield – if you checked your mail, you saw our dog. 

Based on the info that the last sighting was her heading north, we moved on to the upper part of the Valley, adding flyers to the boxes in the North Ranch area. 

June 30th-July 1st

Exhausted, we’d decided that we needed a mental health break. There happened to be an All Elite Wrestling Pay-Per-View, Forbidden Door, on Sunday night, so I invited a friend over and we were going to enjoy the wrestling and turn our brains off for a few hours. (See, I told you it’s still technically a wrestling blog) And that was when we got a sighting, just as Danielson/Shingo was about to start, in that same area we’d been – hanging out in the residential area near the Red Rocks Country Club, where we’d been welcomed and supported by their club staff and a really cool drink cart girl just the day before:

For those keeping score, we’re up to a walking distance of fifteen miles, but since there’s no way Zelda kept to the trails, we’ll round it up to an even twenty.

Monday brought us another two sightings of our girl running down the main drag of the neighborhood, headed back around where we’d been looking for the majority of our time in Ken Caryl. 

So we were back where we started – hanging out in a parking lot overnight. Ken Caryl’s rangers were very understanding, and let us know that we were welcome and had their support in the search. We had the hope that Zelda picked up our scent, and that she was headed back to the area, and we had spent the time between spottings establishing new scent trails and stations. 

The neighborhood rallied behind us as well. It got to the point where folks knew Zelda before I could introduce myself and hand them a flyer on the trail. It was incredibly heartening – for every online interaction that made me want to tear my hair out, I had five people whose hearts were breaking for us as they told us they already had our numbers in their phones, just in case. And they all said the same thing – we know not to chase, just to call. Folks like Joe, who lives just across from the lot, checked in on us every night and let us know we had an ally nearby. The Rangers checked in on us too, making sure we were doing okay and asking for updates. And even random kids were on alert, although some parental bribery seemed to be their true motivation.

Mo was simply running herself ragged at this point, working all day and heading straight to the neighborhood after, and staying in the Jeep as late as she physically could, often past sunrise. Then I’d bring my pickup down, walk the trails for a few hours, head home, write, and head back out around sundown. Every sighting of Zelda was either late night or early morning, so we had our bases covered. 

July 2nd-July 3rd

She spotted Zelda getting chased by a deer around 1230 on the morning of July 2nd, right past the lot. She called to her, and Zelda tried her damnedest to turn around but the deer cut her off, sending Zelda into the subdivisions and out of view. Mo walked the neighborhood for another few hours before eventually giving in to exhaustion. She was devastated, and so worried that that may have been the last time she’d see our dog. But she was back out the next morning, because at 830 I got a text.

Kelly had spotted Zelda on her outdoor camera, just walking past her house. The location made sense – her home is in a subdivision just East of where Mo had lost sight of Zelda. I got down there as fast as I could, and was surprised (although I shouldn’t have been) that Mo appeared a little later. We met with Kelly, who is another standout in a series of them in that area. She let us set up a live trap on her property, because we were more desperate than ever and worried about the upcoming fireworks. 

The 3rd brought no full trap, and an ominous sighting. At 3am, Zelda was seen wandering near the entrance to the valley. It’s near an expressway and wide, open spaces, making it the worst place to hear she’d gone. If she’d have left, we would be starting the whole enterprise over once again, guessing which area she’d gone to and posting flyers, hoping for a sighting. We were, again, heartbroken. We walked the trails, and stayed late again with no luck. And with the neighborhood expected to be noisy and full for the holiday, we resigned ourselves to working and only doing the morning lap, taking the evening off and planning on resuming the search on that Friday.

July 4th

I woke up early, parked in a different place than normal, and walked the trail from the community center to our base parking lot and back. Mo went to work. It was around 2:40 when I got the call. Not just a random sighting, but a person who had eyes on Zelda, and had scrambled up some precarious rocks to get to her!

She put me on speaker a number of times to try to coax Zelda out, or at least calm her down. In between her calls, I called Mo, who had been literally falling asleep at her desk and decided to head home early. That timing could not have worked out better – my call was answered when Mo was at the intersection to C-470, which goes directly over to Ken Caryl. Mo bolted over while I talked, and Mo arrived to an incredible scene:

Savannah: "I first spotted her on trail by road on valley parkway. She ran across the road. Brian, Cliff and I followed her up the rocks. she hid in the rocks and kept climbing!! she was tired. but Mo and Russ talked to her on speaker phone and she was pretty calm."

I came into the valley and parked by the cars pulled over along a steep hill. I see two men, like sentinels, on either end of a level area surrounded by steep outcroppings. Savannah and Zelda were somewhere between them. It was quite the climb to get to where everyone was. Savannah crouched under a bush, inches away from Zelda. I came over and for the first time in 26 days saw those worried eyes. "Hi Zeldy-poopers, we missed you baby." She crawled over to me and I got to hold my girl for the first time in far, far too long.

Mo immediately headed back to the animal hospital where she works, and I met them there, speeding and bawling and blasting music from my Ranger as I headed down Santa Fe. I texted literally every number in my phone that had sent a photo or a tip, thanking them. I got to hug my little dog for the first time in nearly a month, and my family was back together. I was a less buff Dom Toretto in that moment.

Zelda has been in the hospital since then with a number of issues, refeeding syndrome chief among them. If you’re ever watched those survival shows, you know how one’s body starts to act differently to keep itself alive without nutrition or food. When food is reintroduced, levels of certain things in the blood need to be monitored and regulated so the body doesn’t get into even worse condition. As of now, she’s mostly leveled out, but she’ll be staying at least another day just to be safe. 

On top of that, she had what you’d expect from a dog that has been exposed to a Colorado summer in the wilderness for four weeks. Fleas, probably from whatever she ate, and a couple ticks. Grass awns all over her body, which can penetrate the skin and cause serious problems. A couple punctures on her back foot and butt, and raw foot pads all around. Rough, raw skin too. But nothing she can’t handle. And, since several incredibly generous folks brought it up, we’re covered by Trupanion pet insurance, so most of this is covered. 

Epilogue

Gratitude was on my mind first and foremost as I wrote this. People like (and I apologize in advance if I misnamed or misspelled) Joe, and Deb, and Katie, and Kelly, and Brian, and Savannah, and Emma, and Adam, and dozens of people whose names I didn’t get but smiled and offered condolences as we walked all the trails and posted all the flyers – you all kept us going, and kept our hopes up, and got this family back together. As are all the friends, neighbors, and strangers that helped us search. The whole Valley neighborhood of Ken Caryl Ranch, really.

Molly from Ken Caryl Neighbors got Mo into that online community, and we wouldn’t have found Zelda without them either. And despite my angry rant, Facebook groups helped, keeping us posted and posting prayers and positive vibes -- you have no idea how much that positive energy kept us going. And the rangers from Ken Caryl and Chatfield, along with JeffCo Animal Control, Douglas County Animal Control, and the dozens of animal hospitals I called that were willing to keep a note to be on the lookout for our little yellow terrier mix that’s so hard to describe -- all were essential pieces to this rescue effort.

The businesses that posted her flyer, like Hogback Barbecue, Eagle Automotive, Red Rocks Country Club, and several Rocket and Jenny’s Market gas stations were also incredible – especially since most of the employees brazenly disregarded the rules to allow us to put up our posters. And the docs and support staff at Veterinary Specialists of the Rockies, who are taking such good care of her while keeping us aware that we’re not quite out of the woods yet, are also owed a thank you. 

Zelda will be back home with us tonight, after some much-needed rehabilitation and monitoring. Doctors say she’s doing well, and when I visited her this morning she had a ton of energy. We’re looking forward to watching some wrestling with our pup while she chills out on the couch and gets reacquainted with big brother Ditka and professional business cat / acquaintance Trillian. 

One last pic (post bath, because Zelda needed a bath, and a caption from my lovely wife, Mo:

The Legendary Zelda and the thousand miracles that led us here. Retired paddleboarder. Retired backpacker. Retired hiker. Badass Survivor. On house arrest for all eternity once she gets to come home, with a GPS tracker.

And that’s it!

Thanks for reading all that! It was a hell of a journey for both us and Zelda, but it’s so nice that it’s over and we can get back to old habits. We’ll be back to our normal pro wrestling programming later this week, when we go over the weekend’s NXT Heatwave, WWE Money in the Bank, an eventful AEW Collision, and more. I’ll drop a note in the usual social media when that goes up.

If you have questions, concerns, or comments, drop 'em in the comments section below! And follow me on Twitter (X), Facebook, BlueSky and/or Instagram using the links on the right.

Thank you so much for reading. If you liked what you saw, consider telling your friends, mentioning Let’s Watch Some Wrestling on social media, or even buying me a hot cup of coffee using the Ko-Fi button (on desktop, anyways; I still can’t figure out how to make it work for mobile). Have a great week, and I’ll see you back here next time, dear reader. Until then…