Zozo, or the Lost and the Found

My husband James and I got along until the idea of starting a family popped up. We had been married for over five years when we started trying, and by then I was already in my early forties. Perhaps we waited too long; in any case, he blamed me when doctors explained to us that the possibilities were nearly zero. In the meantime, because I felt I had so much love to give, I brought home a puppy, which I called Zozo. It was a little brown dog with a few black spots on his eyes that made him resemble a raccoon. My husband never cared too much for him and, after a few years, I had the suspicion he was cheating on me. First, with his best friend from high school, Sally, that used to come over for dinner with her husband, but experienced a bad divorced and looked for comfort in her old pals and –as I suspected- between their sheets. Then, I noticed a few weird looks among James and our next-door neighbor, Rosalyn Hayes. When I accused him, he laughed: “Come on, Marie, she’s sixty years old or more! You couldn’t possibly believe that she and I… you are being delusional. More: you are being ridiculous!” But Zozo kept barking at her every time the old woman approached, and thus my suspicions grew. Eventually, James got tired and moved out. The last thing I heard from him was that he got relocated to France.

In any case, I got to keep Zozo and I started living a new, different life just the two of us. I had to get a job at the grocery store, which was neither too fun nor too well paid, but I managed to make ends meet. I resigned to growing old childless, but that wasn’t a big deal: James had been the one obsessed with having kids. Years went by, and besides the occasional rude stare between me and my neighbor Rosalyn, things weren’t so bad.

But everything started to fall apart from the day Zozo vanished. So far, I could deal with getting a cut in my salary in the grocery shop, suffering from a cockroach infestation in my kitchen, or my eighty-year-old great-aunt passing. But losing Zozo was the straw that broke the camel’s back. After all, he had been with me for more than eight years. He was the one who stayed when James ditched me. He was as faithful as any dog but he wasn’t just any, he was mine. And I couldn’t believe he had left on his means. For days, I searched the neighborhood day and night. I stuck his picture on every shop window offering a symbolic reward (it’s not as he was a fancy pedigree dog, he was a simple mongrel). After a few weeks, I had to accept that Zozo had probably died somewhere. He liked going out for walks on his own, sometimes chasing females, and I couldn’t cross off the possibility that he may have been hit by a bus, or even died of old age lying in the bushes on the park nearby.

What never crossed my mind was that he may have been stolen. Abducted. That is, until some weeks later, I saw the new dog Rosalyn Hayes brought home with her. Despite what I had once suspected about her years ago, to say we hated each other would be stretching the truth a little bit: sure, we didn’t get along, but I would have never picked a fight with that old spinster; simply avoiding each other if we crossed our paths was enough for both of us. So I couldn’t simply confront her and ask her where she got the animal without accusing her.

And, to tell the truth, the dog didn’t look exactly like my Zozo. It was bigger, whiter, and fluffier. I heard her calling him “Spectacle” and I assume it was the dog’s name. And then I noticed his eyes, oh, his eyes: the exact round raccoon-like black spots around them. “If that’s not my old Zozo, well punch me!” That old bitch! Not only she had destroyed my marriage, but now she had taken my dog as well! Somehow, she had managed to dye his fur white, and maybe overfed him, and probably spoiled him enough so he would follow her around everywhere when before he just barked at her. If it was indeed James what she had taken from me, or perhaps my car, or even my job, I could have called the whole thing off. But it was Zozo we were talking about! My dog! My one and only company for my golden years! 

Besides, I couldn’t understand her motivation if it was anything else than bothering me and hurting me. For all I knew, she had never had a dog before. She hated Zozo, who would sometimes do his business in the common garden of the building (I used to pick up after him while I had the strength and dexterity, but I’m not getting any younger and now I cannot bend at ease). And, as far as I could tell, she had always had cats at home. Why would she bother stealing my old dog, and what kind of sick person would put an innocent animal through such a drastic transformation? His ears were shorter, and I shuddered in pain imagining she had cut them! 

Before calling the police or animal control, I decided to observe them for some time. I needed to collect the evidence. Every morning I started setting my alarm clock for 6 AM, so I could be awake by the time the old woman collected her newspaper and took the dog for a quick spin around the block. Zozo seemed happy and that puzzled me even more. I have always assumed he would miss me terribly after all these years together! I called in sick for a few days so I could skip work and follow them to the park, where they went together. Unlike when he was with me, the new Zozo was active and loud. He chased squirrels and sometimes even dived into the lake. I paid special attention at those times because I honestly believed I would see the white ink washing away, revealing the familiar brown shade of my beloved old four-legged companion.

Eventually, a sad thought began forming in my mind, and though it might seem obvious for most people, for me it was very painful. I had lost my dog several weeks away. He was already almost ten years old. This woman had brought “Spectacles” home some weeks later. Besides the black spots around the eyes, there was nothing that remotely resembled Zozo. The truth was evident. There was no point in denying it. I had to accept the fact that my dog, having been through all of these surgical procedures, his coat dyed, his body somehow enlarged, had forgotten about me. I was devastated.

And then, just when I was ready to give up, one morning the white dog scratched my front door. I heard his paws, and when I opened it, he jumped at me and licked my face in recognition. “Zozo, dear, dear old Zozo! I knew it was you! I knew it all along!” I fed him his favorite: boiled chicken with some rice. He ate, and then he fell asleep on his usual spot by the window. I didn’t care that he looked different now; I had my old friend back!

As for Rosalyn Hayes? It turns out she had fallen while showering and it took two days for the police to finally assist her. Somebody called them, not me of course, after hearing the screams. They found her naked under her shower curtain, with a broken hip, but still alive and kicking. As Zozo and I went outside to see the ambulance taking her away, I heard her screaming.

“You damn old bitch, that’s MY dog! You give me back my dog, you hear me!”

“Come on inside, Zozo”, I said, “I’ll pour a plate of warm milk for you.”

“It’s Speckles, you hear me? Speckles!”

And that’s the end of it. Or so I thought because a few days later, I received the strangest call: a guy had found an old brown dog, with black spots around his eyes, near the park where Zozo used to go for his daily walk. He had taken the dog with him, and only that morning he had seen his face on the poster. “Madam, I think you’ll be happy to get your dog back, and I honestly don’t need the reward, I will get him back to you right away,” he said on the phone. 

“Oh, dear, thank you so much! But I already found my Zozo!” I replied. “You can keep the other one, or if not, try and find him a good home. I’m all set up!” Who would have believed that not one, but TWO similar dogs got lost in the same park? I mean, what are the chances!