Recent noisy holiday fireworks delighted many people, but terrified hundreds of pets — including my son’s beloved dog. She panicked, jumped a fence she shouldn’t have been able to clear, and disappeared into the night. Those of us who love her drove through nearby neighborhoods in ever widening circles, hoping to find our needle in a county-wide haystack.

We finally gave up, went home, and tried to sleep but our dreams reflected unspoken fears. Is she hurt? Has she found water on such a hot night? Is she hungry? Does someone have her? Does someone have her who intends to keep her? Will her collar tracker ever register? And the worst thought: Will we ever see her again or … is she gone from us forever?

Morning comes and she is still missing. The children who love her are a mess. We’re all a mess. Online postings are on every imaginable site. Her photo and info are taped to phone poles and street poles. We aimlessly drive around again. All of this is covered with constant prayers that somehow this lone animal in this vast area will return to us.

And then … our hourly check of the animal shelter’s website yields her photo! There she is, in all her furry glory. Personally, I cry for joy.

The shelter is closed for the holiday. But we send a notice that she belongs to a family; please keep her until they can come get her. The next morning the family is there when the doors open, waiting in the outer room, holding their breaths. What if it’s not her? What if we made a mistake? What if … The handler brings her in. She’s so confused; she doesn’t spot them at first. Then my son whistles. Her head jerks around, her eyes see them, and oh, the mutual happiness, especially hers, is unmistakable. She’s found. She’s safe. She once again belongs.

So many questions will never be answered because she can’t talk. She can’t tell us why she ran 4 miles in one direction. Why she went in nearly a straight line eastward, toward the mountains (someone joked maybe she knew the fireworks restrictions there). Why she was limping. (The shelter vet said her footpads were overworn; she’ll recover).

The question of how she got to the shelter is answered. A saint of a woman saw her limping past, called animal control, and an officer she describes as “amazing” came to help catch the dog. From there, she was transferred to the shelter, where good people bring lost animals so desperate people can find them. I’ve undervalued this crucial collection point until we needed it. And then, quite suddenly, the genius of it is clearly apparent. And the gratitude is unmatched.

So consider this a public “Thank You!” to the collective people who returned what was hopelessly, helplessly lost. First, to the woman who saw the need in a lowly animal and did something about it. She posted a video of our dog and her desire to get her back to her family. I wish I could shake her hand. Actually, give her a hug.

Next, to the Davis County Animal Shelter folks for helping to catch her, bring her to the shelter, feed and water her, guard her from the noisy elements, care for her wounded and weary feet, and promptly post her furry face online so we could find her — all on a holiday, no less. These people likely never tire of seeing families joyfully unite with their lost pets. The fulfillment of those daily miracles must be part of the reason they do what they do.

Our missing pooch is home because others did for her what she could not do for herself. It’s said the mark of a good society lies partly in how it helps those who cannot help themselves. It’s inspiring to realize this is true not only of its people, but also of its animals.