A lost dog offers a test: What kind of people are we?

Karina Bland is on vacation. A version of this column ran Nov. 11, 2012. This is the first of two parts:

My neighbor Aaron is at the front door with a ball of white fur tucked under his arm.

“What is that?” I ask.

That obviously is a dog. I close my eyes and will it to be his new dog, or a friend’s dog. But no, Aaron has found it on the busy street at the end of our block. No collar, no tag, no sign of the owner.

“I couldn’t let it get run over,” Aaron says.

Of course he couldn’t.

Aaron and the dog look at me with big, sad eyes.

I sigh with resignation and come out onto the porch. Aaron sets the dog on its feet, and it just stands there looking adorable.

Aaron calls Maricopa County Animal Care and Control. A recording says it closed at 5 p.m. He calls the Humane Society. It also closed at 5.

My dog, Widdle, is watching us through the front window, his nose pushed between the slats of the wooden blinds.

The dog looks at Aaron, then at me and back again at Aaron as if trying to size up which one of us offered his best hope. Aaron and I eye each other. Neither of us wants to keep the dog.

Aaron had been on his way to dinner. He has papers to grade and a translation to finish. I could keep the dog in a crate in the laundry room overnight, but then what? I have carpool and work. Aaron has classes.

Aaron takes the dog to a vet in hopes that he has a microchip with his owner’s information. He doesn’t.

This is one reason why people don’t get involved. Once Aaron touched the dog, it became his business. And because Aaron’s my friend and came to my front door, the dog has become my business and more important than anywhere I need to be.

It feels like a test. What kind of people are we? Would we do the right thing? Saturday: What now?