Sarah

Kazan probably owes his life to a woman named Sarah.  I haven't been able to reach her yet to thank her.  Kazan ran off with another dog while a neighbour and I were out walking our dogs together on Thursday.  Her dog came back within an hour or so, but Kazan seemed to have just disappeared into the immensity of wilderness that surrounds our home and lake.  Hours later as the sun went down, Sarah called.  She had been walking her dog on a road about 5 kilometers away (as the crow flies, over rugged wilderness).  A muddy, 85-pound, wolf-like dog was following her along a country road, and she let this cold, ragged, dirty, potentially dangerous beast into her home, warmed him up, probably fed him, and somehow made out the almost-obliterated hand-scratched telephone number on the back of one of his tags.  She called us while I was out searching in the darkness of the early evening.  Ron got the message and went to retrieve Kazan.  After we cleaned him up, Kazan collapsed in utter exhaustion.  What would have happened to him if not for Sarah?