by Joyce Huyett Turner
There are certain words and phrases you hope you’ll never hear — and hope you’ll never have to say. For me, one of them came in a phone call from my friend Susan, who had kindly agreed to dog-sit my little corgi, Gaia, while I was visiting family in Kansas City.
Her voice trembling, Susan told me Gaia had gotten out around 3 p.m. that Friday afternoon, and they didn’t know where she was. A thousand miles away, all I could say was, “Oh no, oh no, oh no.”
This wasn’t Gaia’s first great escape. She had bolted from my house before, and once from another friend’s home. I hadn’t thought to warn Susan. We were both apologetic, but there was no time to dwell on that — we needed a plan. Fortunately, Susan and her husband, Mark, were already taking action.
They had been searching the neighborhood, calling Gaia’s name to no avail. They quickly made flyers with Gaia’s photo, last known location, and their contact information. They also created a Facebook group to share updates. Over the next 24 hours, they posted 110 flyers around the neighborhood and placed another 215 in mailboxes nearby and in adjacent areas where Gaia might have gone.
Friends and neighbors were called. I began contacting my own circle — people Gaia knew and whose voices she might recognize.
Gaia, it’s important to note, is incredibly shy and skittish. She will run from anyone she doesn’t know, even though she was comfortable with Susan and Mark after several successful trial stays without me.
I called my boyfriend, Dennis, who immediately drove the 30-plus miles from Santa Barbara to Ventura to join the search, treats in hand. Susan spotted him while posting signs, and greeted him: “You must be Dennis!” He was quickly welcomed into the growing team.
From Kansas City, I posted on social media, contacted local rescue groups, and alerted Ventura County Animal Services, the Humane Society, Nextdoor, and even the Ventura Police Department. I reached out to every neighbor, friend, and dog-walker I could think of. Remarkably, everyone jumped in to help.
Susan asked if Gaia was microchipped. I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t reach my vet after hours but left a message. I didn’t have Gaia’s records with me (yes, I’m old school). I assumed she wasn’t chipped.
The next day, my vet’s office called: Gaia was microchipped — but not through them. One of her previous owners would be contacted if she was found. After reaching out, both of Gaia’s former moms, Jennifer and Kimberly, joined the search, driving up from the Los Angeles area. Their familiar voices would surely attract Gaia if she heard them.
Team Gaia was growing. And my gratitude was, too.
Just as our hopes were starting to dim, there was a sighting! Late Friday night, a corgi was seen running along Foothill Road. People stopped their cars, tried to catch her, but she outran them and disappeared into the night. At least we knew she was alive around 10:30 p.m. — our first confirmed sighting since she escaped.
Meanwhile, Susan and Mark’s security cameras had captured Gaia leaving through a seemingly secure backyard, but her exact escape route remained a mystery.
Knowing she was still in the general area, closer to Arroyo Verde Park — a place Gaia loved — we refocused our search there, posting more signs and speaking to everyone we could.
Hours later, another sighting gave us new hope. As Susan and Mark made one last sweep before dark — neighbors had reported hearing coyotes the night before — Susan’s phone started ringing. Gaia was back in the neighborhood!
Susan and Mark split up to cover more ground. Neighbors, some of whom they’d never met before, ran out to help.
“We had never talked to most of our neighbors before — didn’t even know their names or which homes they came from,” Susan recalled.
“To us, they were angels. They had seen our flyers, saw Gaia, immediately called us, and flew into action.”
The team of eight neighbors quickly organized and managed to corral Gaia. Mark was ready to scoop her up when she darted under a parked truck across the street. Acting fast, the group surrounded the truck, and a young girl, speaking softly, coaxed Gaia out. Mark swooped in and carried her home.
Mission accomplished!
Soon after, I received a photo of my worn-out little corgi, tongue hanging nearly to the ground, with a caption that read: Look who we found! She was the most beautiful sight I could imagine.
I had already canceled my original return flight and rebooked an earlier one, thinking I would join the search. Now, I couldn’t wait to get home, hug Gaia, and thank Susan and Mark for their heroic efforts.
The saying “it takes a village” proved true.
Mark and Susan made 325 flyers, including updates, and distributed them relentlessly. From Kansas City, I kept reaching out through social media, calls, and texts.
The day after I brought Gaia home, a Ventura police officer called to check in, asking if I still needed help. How Mayberry is that?
I am so grateful to Susan and Mark for their swift, strategic action, their love for Gaia, and their unyielding dedication — and to the friends, neighbors, and strangers who became part of Team Gaia.
Moving to Ventura a year and a half ago — and adopting Gaia — are two of the best decisions I’ve ever made.
Follow your heart. Believe. Love and trust your family and friends. Work together. Even from a thousand miles away, no one is ever truly alone.
A heartfelt thanks to my Kansas City family — Kim, David, Rick, Julie, David Don, Meg, and Isabelle — for helping me stay focused, encouraged, and strong. I love you all.
