By David Lohr

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March 19, 2007

ST. PAUL, Minn. (Crime Library) —  February 14 was not a very happy day for 17-year-old Crystal Brown.  Instead of giggling with her friends over gaudy valentines from overzealous boys, Crystal was busy going door to door in her neighborhood trying to find Chevy, her beloved 4-year-old Australian shepherd mix.  Chevy (named after her estranged father's favorite make of car) ran off when she let him out to relieve himself, and he never returned.  What made the situation all the worse was the fact that Chevy was not your typical family pet; he was Crystal's special needs therapy dog. 

For two weeks, Crystal went door to door, hanging "missing" posters in her neighborhood, and made multiple trips to a local animal shelter in hopes of finding Chevy. 

"I felt empty," Crystal told the Star Tribune of Minneapolis.  "I couldn't talk to anyone.  He was my dog.  It was just me and him. ... I told him everything, and he never shared any of my secrets."  Despite all of Crystal's efforts, Chevy was nowhere to be found.  He had simply vanished. 

In the coming weeks, Crystal's hopes faded, and she began to accept the fact that Chevy was not coming back.  The thought of his being hit by a car or suffering a similar awful fate was too much for Crystal to bear, so, when he Chevy came to mind, Crystal preferred to think that he was with another family who loved him just as much as she did.  And so, that is how it was, until two weeks ago, when her grandmother, Shirley Brown, came home to discover a box addressed to Crystal on her front steps.  Assuming it was a gift from a friend or relative, Shirley placed the box and her granddaughter's dresser, and thought nothing more of it until Crystal came home from school.

"Congratulations Crystal," a note on the gift-wrapped box said "This side up. Batteries included."  Sure enough, there was a new pack of batteries taped to one side of the box.  Excited at the prospect of what might be inside, Crystal ripped apart the wrapping paper and flipped open the flaps on the top of the box.  As she peered inside, she thought for a moment that her eyes were deceiving her.  Unfortunately, they were not, and Crystal's inquisitiveness quickly turned to horror as she ran, screaming, from the room.  "Is this my dog, Grandma?" she cried over and over again.

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Contact  David Lohr at           crimewriter74@hughes.net

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