MILO's STORY

Milo’s story is tragic. In this case everything was done in the best way we could do it, with expert search and rescue volunteers, widespread awareness of his plight and a massive effort every day from the moment he ran off. We were really unlucky. The outcome should have been a happy one.

We share his story because it is one that helped inspire the creation of Safe Paws Network. It does show that sometimes even the best efforts come to nothing, but it also shows how careful we all need to be to take good care of our pets. I did make small and maybe fatal mistakes, and that guilt will stay with me always.

We were staying with my sister's family in Somerset for Christmas. For our Boxing Day walk we visited Staple Hill, a popular forest walk in the Blackdown Hills. The paths were wide and well groomed, the trees were spaced widely and there were lots of people and dogs around. I did not usually let my dogs off the lead in unfamiliar places. Today I did because it all looked so safe for them, and recall reinforcement had been going well. As usual, I called them back every minute or two and they came bounding back, happy yet calm. We had worked a lot on recall and I was a little over-confident. I gave them one more run around before leashing them back up to return to the car.

Suddenly, both their heads whipped round in reaction to something I never heard or saw and they bolted.

For almost four hours we could hear them barking manically and periodically as they chased whatever smell or animal had spooked them.

It turned out the environment was not as we thought. The dogs had run down a steep escarpment into a tangled, boggy mess of brambles and almost impassable tracks. We couldn’t run after them. I checked the tracker app. No charge. The true horror started to appear. Due to poor WIFI at home, the app had told me the trackers were fully charged. Due to flimsy magnetic chargers, they were not charged overnight.

Helplessly we waited, and walked as much as we could towards the periodic barks, which became more tired and infrequent. At times they were very close to us, but nothing brought them back.

Suddenly, after almost four hours, we saw a very bedraggled Petal was staggering towards us, covered in mud. I sobbed with relief. We waited for Milo to follow but he did not appear.

Phone signal and WiFi were very patchy but we managed to post on Dog Lost’s website and their local Facebook page, but seeing responses was tricky. They took ages to load and then…who was giving us the right advice? ‘Stay at the point of loss’.  Well, what did that MEAN for us? The car park? Where we last saw Milo, some way into the woods, or, where they clearly were most of the time, and where we found Petal? What to do?

Eventually we worked out who the actual DogLost Somerset people were on the post and we waited and called out for Milo until it got too dark and cold. After a quick return home to eat and get warm things, we went back. The woods were pitch black and muddy and we had no torches, so we waited and wandered in the car park and nearby paths, calling his name, throwing out tasty treats. We were horribly hampered by the cursed ‘doggers’ who were there waiting for liaisons in the backs of cars. Scary, and disruptive. Did they keep him away from us?

I didn’t stay all night. I didn’t find my way deep into the dark woods to wait for him. I should have. We left for a few hours’ sleep instead, just thinking he must be exhausted and asleep and that he would return in daylight.

Early next day we met Rachel and Friia, her wonderful tracker dog, and Mark and Kathleen, our brilliant volunteers. We tracked their every step, we found evidence of a ‘nest’ where he had laid overnight, but no Milo.

Over the next month, amazing strangers put up 800 posters, people heard unusual barking that turned out, via Friia's nose, to be Milo. We set up feeding stations and motion-sensor cameras. Petal and I walked routes for him to find. But apart from one fuzzy glimpse on a remote camera we had set up, and a comprehensive map of his probable movements, there was nothing.

After seven hideous weeks, a dog walker called us. Her dog had found poodle body parts. It had to be Milo.

Our world crashed in on us. I closed the curtains and hid for a week until his ashes came home. Petal scratched and made herself bleed, daily.

I will never, ever forget the dedication and kindness of the strangers, now friends, that helped us and who gave up countless hours, mid-winter, in remote countryside, through three huge named storms, through ice and snow, to try and bring back our baby boy. Through hell, in fact. I owe them everything. We didn’t get him back safe and well. Could a tiny change in what we did have made things different? Maybe, but probably not. Milo was an anxious adventurer! He loved to run free, but also loved to hide himself away, tiny and all alone. We were a few steps behind him all the time. There were pheasant shoots that maybe chased him away from our cameras, but that equally may have given him food. We will never know every detail, but he is gone, and we carry on building the Safe Paws Network in his name, in Doris’ name and in the names of all beloved pets that have not come home.