Being kinder to domestic animals and pets helps save the environment. How? Let's take a look.

* Fewer court cases involving abused animals leads to less paper usage, which means reduced use of trees * Less driving around by animal control to rescue abused animals minimizes carbon footprint * Fewer dead animals in landfills Sorry to be so disgusting. I guess a lot of the unwanted ones get cremated, anyway.

Sorry. Again.

Maybe the real question is: Which comes first? Saving animals or saving the environment?

Well, can't we do both?

Saving habitats = saving animals.

So, I guess the environment is the egg, and the animals are the chicken.

Without egg, no chicken.

Or without chicken, no egg.

Which is it?

And should we even eat chicken or eggs? I think not.

10/24.

Oscar is missing.

It was only a matter of time, I guess. He runs off at least once a season. We were due. Still, he's been missing since last night. He got out while I was at work. Somehow. (Ahem. Clearing throat.) Not saying who. (Clearing throat.) (Dara.) Overnight! He's hardly ever been gone overnight before. I didn't even get to pack him a lunch. Or his pajamas.

Shawna, Dara, and I just spent hours driving around in Dara's car looking for him. After we searched campus, we headed for the mountains.

"Who knows, he could have felt the pull of the mountains. His, like, wolf instincts kicked in," said Shawna.

"You've been watching too many Coors commercials." I shook my head. "They've never kicked in before. You know what he likes? Bright lights and pasta."

"So we're looking for an all-night Italian restaurant," said Dara.

"Want to hit Olive Garden?" asked Shawna.

"I said Italian restaurant," Dara said.

I didn't think he'd be all the way up in the mountains, but then again, he has strayed pretty far before. "Maybe he saw the big A in the hills and headed for it, thinking it stood for, I don't know . . . Animals?"

"I've been meaning to ask," said Dara. "What is that giant A all about, anyway?"

"This is an ag school. Agriculture," I said. "That's its background."

"Oh. I always thought it stood for athletics," said Shawna.

"I thought it stood for alt.i.tude," said Dara. "'Cause, you know. It's up on the mountains."

"Why would they label a mountain that . . . never mind," I said.

Since we were all the way up near Horsetooth Reservoir, we decided to scout that area as well. I didn't think Oscar could run that far, but he'd escaped once in Denver and we found him all the way at the zoo.

"So this is that Horsetooth place? OK . . . it's a horse's tooth. Really? It doesn't look like one," said Dara.

"How many horses did you ride back in Seattle?" Shawna asked.

Dara shrugged. "None. Why?"

"Just wondering."

"Let's go home. Maybe he's there by now," I said, feeling strangely, falsely confident for some reason. But he wasn't. I mean, he isn't. Here yet.

I don't want to say anything to Dara yet, but I can't help thinking DeathKitty is involved, that she lured a bigger, meaner dog to the yard and then somehow got Oscar to go outside. How many times can you tell a dog not to talk to strangers without feeling ridiculous? Um, one.

I called Grant to ask if he could help look, but he's working tonight.

"You have the magic touch. Or eye. Or whatever," I argued.

"But-I can't just take off, Courtney. This is my job," he said.

"Right. You're right. OK, fine."

"Don't be hurt-" he protested.

"No, I'm not, I'm not-I get it. It's not your responsibility-it's mine."

So, I just called Bryan and told him to drive to FC ASAP.

Wait a second.

What about all those stories and movies about animals that walk, like, 1,000 miles to get back to their original homes?

Oscar must not be as happy as he's seemed.

Tragic vet science cla.s.s experience.

He has begun the long, lonely trek south to Denver. Only explanation.

I didn't get a chance to tell him that Mom changed the locks.

Called Bryan back and told him to stay there, just in case.

LATER.

Oscar's home. Major drama involved. Grant got a container of pasta salad from the ready-to-eat cooler at Shop & Shop as he left work, and we met in Old Town, which is this old section of town (duh) with brick buildings, restaurants, bars, shops, etc.

We called and called Oscar. Nothing. Some street people asked us for money and we may have attracted the attention of a couple of shopkeepers.

Finally, we spotted him.

He was sitting outside this great restaurant called the Rio Grande, which has a big, lit-up margarita gla.s.s in the window. He seemed to also be eating a taco, which can't be good. I gave him a hundred hugs and squeezes, but all he wanted to do was lick Grant and make happy whimpering sounds at him. Like I didn't exist.

A waiter came out and explained how everyone felt sorry for this poor, lonely dog. He'd been seen wandering around Old Town and he was so skinny, but whenever someone tried to help him, he'd run away- "OK, it's only been, like, a day, and he's not that skinny," I said.

"So then animal control tried to corral him, but that didn't work. And did you know his collar has no tags?" the server asked.

"Well, I-"

"Courtney!" Grant said. "You told me you were going to get tags!"

Just then my phone rang-it was Wittenauer.

"I'm with Grant and guess what?" I said. "We just found Oscar!"

Wittenauer was not impressed. "Is it me, or does it seem like you're spending every spare minute with Grant?"

"But I had to find Oscar. And Grant's really good at finding him," I said.

"Maybe you shouldn't have let him run away in the first place," said Wittenauer.

I was getting so exasperated with him I didn't know what to say. "Of course I didn't let him!" I said.

"Didn't you?" He hung up abruptly.

Agh. I was getting attacked by both sides.

I gently clipped the leash to Oscar's collar, thanked all involved, and started walking home. Next thing I knew, Grant was walking beside me, eating from the little bowl of pasta with his fingers as he walked.

I kept stealing angry glances at him. Looking so smug. He hadn't even really helped find Oscar. I mean, maybe he was a good-luck charm, but that was it. And now Wittenauer was mad because I'd asked him to help, and he hadn't even really helped.

"You know what?" I said. "This has to end."

"What does?"

"This!" I cried. "You and your potato salad walking me and Oscar home-"

"It's pasta salad," Grant said. "And it can't walk."

I knew he was trying to make me laugh. But I couldn't. My life was getting really sort of out of control. It was a Sat.u.r.day night, and instead of being out with friends, Wittenauer was a thousand miles away and mad at me, and I was wandering down a Fort Collins street with Oscar and Grant.

He touched my sleeve. "Hey. I'll help you get Oscar's tags," said Grant. "There are some forms at the Humane Society-"

"I don't need your help," I said.

"Well . . . yeah, you do. Or why else am I here?"

"I don't know!" I said. "OK? I don't know! Maybe you shouldn't be."

"Well. I'm headed to my house, which is right next to your house. I'm not going a different way."

"Fine," I said.

We walked the rest of the way home without talking. He went into his house. I went into mine. Oscar trotted to his food bowl, where DeathKitty was in the midst of eating. I glared at her. All her fault. Or was it my fault, for asking Grant to help? But what else could I do, and Oscar was home now, so all's well that ends well, right?

Probably not when it ends with your boyfriend not speaking to you.

10/25.

Wittenauer made up by text, but make-up text is not as good as some other things that may possibly rhyme with it.

Wittenauer: You need to get away. Come visit me. Come on, please.

Me: But who would watch Oscar?

Wittenauer: Your roommates. Please, he's not an exotic pet who needs special attention.

Me: Yeah, but . . .

Wittenauer: But nothing! Ask Bryan, then. He'll pick up Oscar for the weekend.

Me: K.

10/26.

Went to about twenty travel sites last night, until I found a flight even I could afford. Going this weekend. Will only be there two nights, but it'll be great. Wittenauer and I can snuggle for 48 hours, I'll see my friends (so maybe we won't snuggle for 48 hours straight), I'll be there for Halloween, which should be awesome. . . . I emailed flight confirmation info to Wittenauer sometime around 3 AM, and this morning a van pulled up with a flower delivery from him.

Note said: "Sorry, just having a really hard time. Love you and can't wait to see you soon! Xxooxxoo W."

Soon, soon.

Swoon, swoon.

10/27.

Dreamed that I got on this giant plane to Milwaukee but halfway through the flight, the pilot announced we'd be landing in Fort Collins.

"No!" I cried.

I ran up to the front of the plane to protest that the airport was too small for a 747, but before I could get there, a hot-looking vampire stepped out of first cla.s.s into the aisle. Told me to stop making trouble. Attempted to bite my neck.

I was just starting to enjoy it when he opened the emergency door and threw me out.

I was falling through the sky. Saw lots of cool things on the way down to imminent death. I was hoping I'd land on a snowy mountain when a giant eagle swooped from the sky and- Sometimes I really hate dreams.

10/28 WII-DNESDAY.

It's definitely time to go away for a few days.