Dawn told me this story today.

One winter night seven years ago I was driving home from work and I saw two dogs loose running down Elbow Street with their leashes dragging. They were both big dogs but one was huge. He looked like a Rottweiler and the other was a shaggy black and white mutt. I stopped my car and opened the window. "Hey puppies!" I shouted, and they came bounding over ready to jump into my little red Toyota. Okay, so I know they're friendly, I said to myself. I put on my flashers and got out of the car. It was freezing out, zero degrees with that fierce wind that whips across the ball field. I stepped on the Rottie's leash and grabbed the other dog's leash. A man drove by in a big blue truck and opened his window and shouted, pointing, "the owner's over there, and she's drunk," and drove off. Thanks buddy, you're really helpful. So I started walking towards East School Street with the two dogs to find the owner. I see a woman seated on the granite stairs of the stone house completely soused. "I can't help you up, because my hands are full, do you need me to call an ambulance?" I said.

"No, I'm fine," the woman said trying to get up. She stood wobbling, holding the handrail for support.

"Where do you live?" I asked.

"That way," she said, pointing east towards Rathbun Street. We walked in the freezing wind up the hill to the intersection.

"Okay, now which way?"

"That way!" she said, pointing to the right. We went south down Rathbun, turning back onto Elbow Street, circling the block. We could've just cut across right here and saved ourselves the trouble. 

Then I looked right at the woman and said, "I need you to tell me where you live so we can get you and your dogs home safe." I was beginning to wonder if I was the crazy one, trying to help.

The lady shouted at the Rottie "Reggie! Home!" Meanwhile I was still clutching the leashes of both dogs. I went flying west down East School Street. I felt like a water-skier without the water. The dogs suddenly stopped at the yellow vinyl triple-decker. This must be home, I said to myself. "What floor do you live on?"

"Third." She shouted again, "Reggie! Home!" and opened the back stairwell. Reggie and the shaggy dog tore up the three flights of stairs with me in tow, my fingers screaming. Then when we got to the top the Rottie turned and barked and growled at me. The other dog was quiet.

"Reggie, stop that!" the lady shouted, slowly catching up. "Dexter is, of course, quiet as a mouse, Mr. Goody Two-shoes," the lady said, cackling to herself.

"Reggie's just protecting his home," I said, as the woman fumbled in her pockets for her keys, not finding them. So she just pushed open the door and Reggie and Dexter charged in. 

I  turned and said goodbye. I was so relieved, knowing this whole situation could have been so much worse.