Did you steal my blind dog’s trailer?

Last week, I bought Roger, my blind dog, a trailer so I could cart him around Montreal for the summer. A few days later, that trailer disappeared.

Someone, maybe even you, stole my blind dog’s trailer from outside my house. That’s up there with taking candy from a baby or pushing past older people in the checkout line.

You should be ashamed of yourself!

Let me back up a bit.

Roger is getting old. He’s an angel and a perfect boi, but age comes for all of us, and his range and pace just aren’t what they used to be.

In LA, we drive to the park every day. In Montreal, I don’t have a car. And it’s too nice to drive. So we walk. As Roger gets older, our walks become slower. That’s not a problem, but sometimes the day doesn’t allow for leisurely strolls. Or, at other times, I want to bring him with me to friends’ houses or the bike shop where I volunteer, but it’s just too far for him to travel.

So rather than leave him at home, I went on Facebook Marketplace and found a used dog trailer. The couple I bought it from tried to get their dog to like the trailer, but he wasn’t a trailer dog. Too anxious. Not like Roger.

Rode my bike out to Saint Leonard, a suburb of Montreal, about a 30-minute ride from my house. Cash and trailer are exchanged, and I ride that bad boy home.

I grab Roger and show him his new trailer. He hops in immediately, and we’re off. He doesn’t question any of my hare-brained ideas. He’s along for the ride no matter what.

We head to the local bike shop to help people fix their bikes. Roger is happy. He kind of just snoozes while we ride around town.

We go to the park so I can throw sticks for him. Even though he’s been blind for about half his life, he still loves to fetch. It’s impressive. He’ll use his hearing to hear where the ball or stick landed, and then his nose to hone in on it.

I’m pumped about the trailer. And so is Roger. We even made a reel out of it.

After a great weekend in Montreal, I lock the trailer up outside my house. The chain I just bought is a little short, and so I can only pass it through the wheel, not the whole frame. “I should get a longer chain,” I think to myself.

The next morning, on my walk with Roger, I notice that instead of his trailer parked next to my balcony, all I find is the wheel.

Ooops.

What kind of scum steals a trailer? And what are your plans with a one-wheeled trailer? How do you intend to push this down the street?

Questions that I will no doubt never get answers to.

I get home, and I’m upset. So I turn to Reddit and fire up a post in r/montreal.

“Did you steal my old, blind dog’s trailer?”

And the response from the local Reddit community was overwhelming. People are outraged that someone stole a blind dog’s trailer. Folks start suggesting a GoFundMe for a new trailer fund. I get private messages from concerned citizens. Several people offer me their used dog trailers for good boys and girls who are no longer with us.

Reddit is a fickle animal.

Either you get torn to shreds and accused of karma farming, or you get warmly embraced by a loving group of people who empathize with your plight. Roger and I got the latter this time.

“Thank you for your generous offers of money, but I don’t need money to replace a $100 trailer. FIND THE TRAILER. WHERE IS THE TRAILER??”

People are rallying. People joke about forming a vigilante group to track down the trailer and the scum who stole it. Roger will be avenged, and justice will be served.

Someone creates this meme.

I wake up on Monday morning to a flurry of notifications and DMs.

Someone spotted the trailer. About eight blocks from my house, locked to a soccer goal post. In less than 24 hours.

Amped on justice juice, I grab a hammer, some pliers, and my bike, and head off to rescue my trailer.

Part of me is praying that I’ll run into the thieving scum that stole the trailer, and another part of me is apprehensive about the state of the trailer. Will it be destroyed or rendered unusable? Do I have what it takes to confront these lowlifes?!

But when I get to the school yard at 7 am on a summer Monday morning, no thieves in sight. Just a couple walking their dogs.

“Is this your trailer?”

“Yea. It was stolen. The internet found it for me.”

They have no idea what I’m talking about, look at me weirdly, and walk off.

It’s locked (correctly) to a goal post behind a school. It’s in decent condition. In the trailer is an old candle, a stripper boot, and a $5 coupon for a Burger King Whopper Trio. Strange.

I get to work hammering the lock off. After a few minutes, it gives in. Thanks to all those gym sessions, my biceps are up to the task. I congratulate myself for never skipping arm day.

I fold up the trailer, strap it to my bike, and head home, where I lock it up (properly).

Reddit is over the moon. Justice has been served. Well, the trailer has been recovered. We’ll never know who took it and why, but it was akin to a joyride. I don’t know why they locked it up; perhaps to use it again, but more likely to be a nuisance.

Later that day, a local radio station contacted me to discuss the theft and miraculous recovery of Roger’s trailer.

Listen here.

Roger never knew that someone had stolen his trailer. When I brought it back, he just hopped in like nothing had happened, ready for his next adventure.

But I learned something different from this whole ordeal. In a world that often feels disconnected and cynical, hundreds of strangers rallied around a blind dog they’d never met. They offered money, spare trailers, and their time to scan the streets of Montreal.

Sure, someone stole Roger’s trailer.

But dozens of others helped get it back.

Now, when Roger and I cruise around Montreal in his recovered chariot, I’m reminded that community isn’t just about the neighborhood you live in, it’s about the people willing to help when it matters.

Even when it’s just a $100 dog trailer.

Even when it’s for a dog they’ve never met.

And Roger? He’s just happy to be along for the ride, wherever it takes us.

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