the puppy who lost his way

The following exchange took place at 3:00 today:

mjw (talking on phone): Hi, I've got a yellow labrador retriever that just showed up at my door and his tags have this phone number on them.

Mr. "Coates" (vague Old Yeller reference): Oh, okay. I've got a haircut at five, so I'll be there at six to pick him up.

mjw (thoroughly confused): Uh, okay, then, I guess.

Undoubtedly it will come as no surprise to most of my readers that animals show up at my house on an almost weekly basis. Usually, they're some sort of weird reptile from sub-Saharan Africa that roommate has brought home. Today, though, a lost doggy showed up. So I called the number on the tags to alert his owner.

The owner seemed less than enthused that I had rescued his dog. I probably saved a canine life, considering I live five houses off an entirely too busy north-south Lubbock thoroughfare. So when the owner tells me just to hang onto it for a couple of hours for no good reason, I have to wonder about whether I'm actually doing the dog a favor.

I'm a little sensitive to this type of thing, considering I have a Vizsla that I treat as if he were my own son.

What was that line Adam Sandler yelled at Ms. Lippy in Billy Madison?