Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: FRIDAY, June 23, 1995 TAG: 9506230073
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: SPORTS EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: RAY COX STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
Ian Silitch sat on a tack trunk outside a tent stall beside the Salem Civic Center, torched up a low-tar cigarette with a butane lighter and stared across the valley to the mountains beyond.
Suddenly, the professional horseman looked very tired. He turned and glanced down to the sawdust floor where a pointy-eared, short-legged, light-brownish dog reclined.
Then, Silitch began the tale of how the 2-year-old male corgi, named Dozer, had become lost.
Silitch, 34 and his own man in the training and riding of hunters and jumpers since he graduated from prep school, travels the country on the show circuit from his base in Sperryville. Ultimately, his aim is to be a member of the U.S. Olympic team.
This week, he and 11 of his horses were making a stop at the Roanoke Valley Horse Show.
Silitch grew up around horses and dogs and, like most if not all those in his trade, loves his animals as if they were members of his family.
Although dogs always were around, Silitch had only had two that he called his own. The first was another corgi, named Sammy, who had gone everywhere with him. One day, Sammy grew sick and a veterinarian predicted he would perish shortly.
Sammy didn't die then and he and his master grew closer than ever. When the end did come, Silitch had to have the dog put down. The experience ranked with the most hideous of his life.
Offers of other dogs came, but for two years Silitch declined.
``I didn't want another dog,'' he said.
Until he met Dozer. The son of a dog belonging to one of Silitch's students, Dozer had come as a wrapped gift. The horseman took the tiny pup with the Valentine's Day birthday home from Middleburg, and shortly thereafter they were heading down the road to a horse show in Texas.
``Every show we went to, Dozer did the same thing,'' Silitch said. ``He had his own agenda. He'd have his own little route around the place - I always knew where to find him. He'd check back every 45 minutes to see if we'd gone anywhere.''
On the second day of the American Royal horse show late in autumn 1994 at huge Kemper Arena in Kansas City, Mo., Dozer didn't check back in from his rounds.
First, they searched. Then there were announcements over the public address system that continued on the hour.
``There are hordes and hordes of people who go to that show,'' Silitch said. ``I should have known that somebody would have thought that Dozer was cute.''
Next, Silitch engaged a security guard to unlock every door in the joint on the chance Dozer might be trapped.
The task took seven hours. Silitch was there through most of it, and when he had to ride, his top assistant, Jim Smith, took over the methodical search.
Then, Silitch started combing the pounds, the municipal ones on the Kansas and Missouri sides of the river as well as private ones. The public facilities were the ones that shook him.
``Horrifying,'' he said. ``Hundreds and hundreds of dogs, every one wanting a home and every one facing the same fate. Terrible. Nobody should ever buy a dog.''
At last, he was directed to the road-kill bins, where the casualties are deposited to await the daily cremations. Nothing.
Silitch's stalls were the last to come down in Kansas City. Finally, time ran out and he had to vacate the empty arena and return home.
Silitch developed a renewed appreciation for the good in people. The effort strangers had made to help had been extraordinary. That knowledge gave him some comfort as he left Dozer behind.
Before departing, Silitch took out a classified ad in the Kansas City Star. No calls came as more than a month passed.
Those who think all this is obsessive are correct. If they don't understand, they probably never have owned a pet. Or been a parent.
``Even if it's the worst, you have to know,'' Silitch said. ``Or you wonder if he's suffering somewhere.''
The classified ad continued to run as winter deepened. One of Silitch's friends suggested the wording be changed to include ``substantial award being offered.''
That's when the calls came, at least 30 of them. All of them, con men and scammers, wanted money. The guy at the Missouri penitentiary said his aunt who lived 10 blocks from Kemper Arena had the dog. Silitch knew the guy was behind bars because a recording in the background kept repeating that was where the call originated.
``Tell somebody and we kill the dog,'' the guy said.
``Now I know how victims of kidnappers feel,'' Silitch said.
The guy gave his name, and Silitch even managed to track down his parole officer. Still, paralyzed with fear, Silitch did nothing.
``You get desperate and crazy,'' he said.
In time, he came to believe that call, like all the rest, was a hoax.
Months passed until last week, at the big horse show in Upperville, Silitch got a call from home.
``That's never good,'' he said. ``When you get a call from home, there's been a disaster.''
When the barn phone was answered by employee Jaci Reid, she burst into tears. Then, Silitch really became alarmed.
``Dozer has been found,'' she said through sniffles.
A tow truck driver answering a car-in-distress call on Interstate 70 in Missouri had picked up a dog walking beside the road and rung up the number on the collar.
At first, the fellow thought he had dialed the wrong number, seeing as how he got a barn in Virginia. But Reid, after hearing the description of the dog, insisted he had not.
Arrangements were made to board the dog with a vet until Silitch could fly out to get him. That was on a Wednesday. Even though Silitch was beside himself with excitement, he had to delay his flight until Sunday because he still had a string of horses to show in Upperville.
In the meantime, he drove himself wacko thinking about all the reasons something could go wrong.
Even after his flight Sunday he had to wait. The vet's office was closed and nobody was willing to open it. Silitch was at the door at 8 a.m. sharp Monday.
``Dozer was as fat as a tick and his nails were long, longer than I'd ever kept them,'' Silitch said. ``Somebody had had him locked up and he escaped. I know it.
``When he saw me, he went nuts, skidding right past me on those long nails.
``The guy there started laughing. I said, `What's so funny?' And he said, `I guess identification won't be necessary.'''
That was Monday, the first day of the horse show here.
``You know, when that guy found him, Dozer was 55 miles east of Kansas City, going down the interstate heading east,'' Silitch said. ``I guess he was headed for Roanoke.''
by CNB