There’s been plenty in the news here in Israel over the last week; the rumours of the Palestinians unilaterally declaring Jerusalem as their capital; Netanyahu’s media adviser walking out – the third of his team to up sticks in recent weeks; reports of Iran drastically reducing funding of Hezbollah as international sanctions start to bite; and only yesterday, the untimely passing of Israeli football legend Avi Cohen, the first Israeli to play football in Britain (when he joined Liverpool in 1979), dead at 54 after suffering terrible head injuries in a motorbike crash in Ramat Gan, near Tel Aviv.

Plenty of downbeat stories to end 2010, but here’s one story that looked for all the world as if it would be disastrous, but ended having the happiest of endings. This blog’s not all about Middle East politics, religion and culture, it’s about everyday life in the little town of Zichron Yaakov where I live with my wife, my two daughters and my dog, and it’s the latter that is the source of this particular tale.

It might seem a strange place to start, but last week I was sent to have my hearing tested. You what?!!!! I WAS SENT TO HAVE MY HEARING TESTED! Funny thing is that I’ve never had a problem with my hearing, indeed I’ve always been of the opinion that it is one of the few things about my person that still functions reasonably well. I was sent to see if there was any connection between a recent health scare I endured for a few months, and the workings of the inner ear. I took the test and was told that not only is there no problem with my hearing, but that I have particularly good hearing, very much in the top 5% of the scale. (So anyone who had planned to whisper and tell tales behind my back should sit up and take note).

Forward to yesterday lunchtime when I returned from a business meeting to find that the usual happy sight that greets my entry through the front door was notably absent. No, not my wife and kids running to shower me with kisses, I'm talking about my dog Mocca, tail wagging and rolling over to be tickled, was nowhere to be seen. Mocca is always there for me, and although he does have a wander down the road now and then to have a sniff here and there, he never strays far and is always home when the kids are around. He’s only an aging mutt, but he is very precious to us all.

Immediately, I sensed something bad had happened and went looking for him, but after 20 minutes driving around there was not a sign of him. I returned to let Paz know and panic set in. He’d been in the garden when she went to collect the girls from school, but hadn’t been there as usual when they returned. They had assumed he had just gone for a stroll.

We set off at four different points of the compass in search of our hound and were joined by a number of concerned neighbours and kids from the street; the kids in particular adore Mocca as he is so friendly and gentle. He was nowhere to be seen. We called the evil dog-catcher’s office, a place about as welcoming to a dog owner as the child catcher’s cage was in ‘Chittty Chitty Bang Bang’! They said they hadn’t been and snatched him. I had my doubts. As the hours went by and the light faded, the kids were starting to cry, (not just ours, the neighbours as well), and after scouring the town we had to assume that he had been stolen or that some disaster had befallen him.

Our row of houses each has a garage with an electrically operated door and a few months ago our neighbours dog Zoe was inadvertently closed inside our garage after wandering in whilst our gaze was averted. I found her an hour later when I went in to get something. For a big Labrador dog who barks when necessary, it was surprising she hadn’t barked at all, clearly terrified at being locked up in absolute darkness.

Yesterday evening I went along like Blind Pew in the opening chapter of ‘Treasure Island’, tapping away on all the garage doors in the street, but couldn’t hear anything. Our next door neighbours all went and checked, but there was no sign of Mocca. I tapped on the door of Natan’s garage two doors away, a futile gesture as he is away on holiday and not due back for a fortnight. I thought I heard a noise, but even with my ‘bionic’ hearing, with the wind howling around it was hard to tell. Anyway, how could our dog possibly be inside a garage that had been locked for a week? (Even the combined mystical talents of David's Blaine and Copperfield would struggle to pull that one off!) I listened again, almost certainly imagining I had heard the faintest of scratching noises, but it was impossible.

By now posters had been printed and pasted up all around the town. We drove around time and again with the kids looking in different directions and calling his name, but Mocca had gone. There were many tears before bedtime and an atmosphere of bereavement hung over the house. To anyone who doesn’t have a dog or a treasured pet, this description must sound highly melodramatic. But whether you are young or old, Israeli or Arab, Jewish, Muslim, Christian, (or believer in anything else), your dog is invariably like one of the family – he just costs less, is always happy to see you, and never answer’s back!

At 0130 this morning I was back out into the street vainly searching for my little friend and returned to tap on the door of my neighbour’s garage. The wind was blowing stronger than ever, but I still thought I could hear the faintest of whining noises. No good though, so to bed and a fitful night of miserable sleep.

This morning nothing; an empty basket, no dog, no hope. Then I asked Paz to find the number for our neighbour’s daughter as she had been charged with popping in occasionally to keep an eye on the house while they are away. We obtained the number and called her. Yes, she had been over to the house yesterday, yes, she had opened the garage, and yes, she did see a black dog close by. Paz raced to collect the key from her and I continued looking around the area but returning to ‘that door’.

Paz arrived with the remote control and the door slowly lifted. Nothing. It was like losng the top prize in 'Deal or No Deal'. Our last hope had surely gone. Then, like a guided missile, a distressed but basically fine little black and brown dog came shooting out and ran to us in the middle of the street. Joy! What absolute joy! You could see the trauma on his face, but he was OK. He must have wandered inside for a moment and the door had closed behind him. He had been over 20 hours in the pitch black without a drop of water, but he was OK.

The phone rang off the hook for the next hour. The head teacher ran to tell the girls that Mocca had been found and the class cheered. And I don’t mind confessing that I cried – quite a lot. In fact, the last time I cried so much was when Jon Voight failed to wake up after being knocked out unconscious in the boxing movie ‘The Champ’, in 1979, and little Ricky Schroeder was begging him to wake up, and he didn’t.

In the context of the problems of the Middle East a mongrel dog is of no consequence whatsoever, but the news of the safe return of our little best friend has brought tremendous happiness and unlimited smiles to many faces around here. It’s nice to have a happy ending now and then, and after looking as if 2010 was going to finish on the most miserable of notes, my family and I, (and Mocca), can now look forward to good times ahead in 2011.

Next week I’ll give you my predictions for the region over the forthcoming 12 months, (you have been warned), but for now, may I wish you all a happy, healthy and prosperous New Year 2011.

 

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