What is love?
I thought I knew. I mean, I have two children, a husband, close friends and a sister I call nearly every day. Surely, I understand what love is.
Then, my dog went missing and everything I thought I knew about love changed. Now I know that loving something gives you the courage to run down the road, chasing a stranger, so you can tell them about how your dog ran off, push a flyer into their hands and not care that tears are streaming down your face.
Now I know that love looks like your husband literally getting blisters from pushing thumbtacks into telephone poles in nine towns and leading prayer meetings in parking lots with random strangers. Now I know love is when your best friend walks through tick-infested woods with an iPhone in the hopes that the airtag you attached to your dog’s collar will notify you of his location.
Love is when those closest to you spend hours calling local animal shelters repeatedly or showing up at midnight to walk on a busy highway in the hopes of catching a glimpse of a furry head or tail. Love is people you’ve never met in town hugging you and saying “stay positive.”
It’s the town vet sharing stories about the time his dog ran away for more than 10 days and still came back safely. It’s the Alaskan woman who heard your dog was missing through Facebook and called her relative in Peterborough to make sure everyone was keeping an eye out.
Love is Granite State Dog Recovery — a local volunteer-run organization — making posters with a simple message: “Lost Dog. Call 855-639-5678. Do not Chase.” Love is former students sending their parents into the woods to search and former coworkers calling ex-spouses who still live in the area to make sure they are on the lookout. Love is Instagram posts, laminated posters, Facebook comments, text messages and Gorilla tape.
Banksy or Banks, as we most often call him, was named after the English street artist and also the small town where my husband grew up. He is a black and white border collie, from a Montana-based line of working dogs. When I went to pick him up, his parents had just returned from herding cattle all day. Literally, these dogs had jobs.
I bought Banks with the intention of having a running companion. What I ended up getting was a best friend.
Banks goes paddleboarding, trail-running, car-riding and dock-diving. He sleeps in my 5-year-old daughter’s bed every night. He lays at my feet while I work from home and he acts happy to see me every single day.
Then, on Thursday June 23, at around 6:15 p.m., my little shadow went missing. While walking with a friend and her dogs, he took off after a deer and didn’t come back.
Brain scans confirm that you experience emotional loss in the same ways you experience physical loss. This has been true for me. When Banks went missing I felt stabbed. I felt sick, angry, distraught, fearful, embarrassed and lonely.
Even now, I can’t focus enough to work out, do my job or read a book to my daughter. I’m sleeping two to four hours a night and waking up at least three times. I’m having trouble writing this piece. Should I be emotional or reasoned? How can I convey what I’m feeling in a way that will motivate you (the reader) to call if you see him? Seriously, don’t go into the woods to look. Just call 855-639-5678 if you see him. Talk to your neighbors and friends and ask them to call.
Just call. Please.
My advice for dog owners who lose a dog:
Contact Granite State Dog Recovery right away – Seriously, Brie and Lauren Morrisseey grew up in Peterborough. They are local heroes. Everyone knows them. They have the tools you need, everything from liquid smoke and remote game cameras to knowledge on dog behavior.
Read reunion stories — Read about lost dogs that have returned. You need to keep the faith and believe your dog will be found; reunion stories will help with this. I read them constantly.
Ask for help — People want to help. New England has a reputation as being an unfriendly place, but I am telling you, nearly everyone we approached — from Greenfield to Antrim, from Dublin to Hancock — took a flyer and shared a word of encouragement. Police officers, road crews, Dunkin’ Donuts employees, landowners, mothers on the playground, they all wanted to help. Even the owner of the Water House restaurant told me he was looking.
People let us put game cameras on their property, shared sightings and made logical guesses on where he might be located.
Because of Banks, I now know that love is losing your mind publicly but feeling like no one is judging you. It’s trusting that whether you do it right or not, people want you to succeed.
Love, I have learned, is felt most when you let people help you.
Amanda Bastoni lives in Peterborough. Her dog Banks went missing June 23.