In Southbank, a Brushtail becomes a Maltese Terrier.

My long-handled net has caught brushtails, ringtails, ducks, ducklings, Magpies, Wattlebirds, Lorikeets, Sulphur Crested Cockatoos, Fairy Penguins, a Goshawk, Black Swans, Tawny Frogmouths, and more. But never a dog. Until today.

Here's the tale.

A Southbank resident called Wildlife Victoria to report an injured brushtail in her apartment building's courtyard. I went to the heavily congested neighborhood just over the Yarra River from Melbourne's CBD, searched the courtyard, but didn't find a brushtail. Walking back to my car I glimpsed a grey and white Maltese Terrier just as it turned a corner. I followed and saw it walking quickly along a sidewalk before making a sharp right and crossing the street. No look, no pause, no street savvy whatsoever. Just, seemingly, a four-legged death wish. I caught up and noticed its hair was dirty and its skin appeared dry and balding on its back. Tried to get close but it moved away each time. It walked with a purpose and the miniscule portion of my brain marked 'Optimistic' took this as a sign it knew where it was going and wasn't as sad and lost and clueless as it appeared.

Then I watched it casually launch itself into four lanes of traffic -- which drew shouts from a pair of jabbering office workers who paused to watch the dog reach the other side without any intervention on their part -- and so ran back to my car to gave chase. I tore down the road I'd last seen but the road turned left at a Mercedes Benz warehouse and dead-ended at a closed intersection with 8-lane Kings Way. Of course this fearless or suicidal Maltese Terrier was making a bee-line for one of Melbourne's most traveled north-south roadways. I stomped the accelerator and roared to the end of the street, hopped out, grabbed my net from the rear of the car, and prayed I wouldn't spot the dog dodging Kings Way trucks and taxis. Or worse.

Didn't spot it on Kings Way. Matter of fact I'd lost sight of it completely.

I ran to the left and -- blessed Jesus Mary and Joseph -- spotted it walking on a sidewalk beside Kings Way and back in the direction of the apartment building where this misadventure began. It was clearly directionless and moving for the sake of not sitting still. As the dog paused near a group of young men doing something noisy and athletic I snuck behind it and brought my net down over its disheveled frame. It tried to flee but couldn't. Unlike most of the wild animals I net it never barked, never snapped, didn't even bare its teeth. I picked it up with the net over its body as the men stared but said nothing. I brought the dog to my car and placed it in a Wildlife Victoria animal carrier.

Now what?

Called WV and asked a wise emergency phone operator (EPO) named Ellie about the best place to bring a stray dog in Melbourne. We all know most animal shelters are grossly under-budgeted and can't hold animals for long and I was already developing great affection for this Maltese Terrier. Ellie suggested Lort Smith Animal Hospital, one of Melbourne's best and a place I've brought many injured animals to as a WV volunteer. Drove to its North Melbourne location and was directed to an upstairs dog kennel. Told my story of the dog's capture to a magnificent Lort Smith staff member named Kate who immediately pulled out a Gene Roddenberry-esque microchip reader and placed it against the dog. A few keystrokes later and we learned our stray was a 14-year-old female named Boots whose listed address was in country Victoria, far from inner-city Southbank.

Something changed with this information. Working with wildlife obviously means interacting with undocumented animals, creatures that exist in a purgatory between humankind and nature. The only information available is derived from observing and diagnosing their immediate behaviour, physical characteristics and, too often, mortal wounds. This crazy-ass dog was now an old timer with a silly name, a pet who'd somehow found herself seeking comfort on cold, wet and windy days and nights in a part of Melbourne criss-crossed by busy roadways and highway off-ramps. I suddenly felt protective of Boots and furious with her owners, who'd failed at protecting her from a potentially nasty fate in a merciless city.

Kate made several phone calls and began piecing together a scenario of a divorced couple who'd either given the dog up, lost her or, even worse, abandoned her. Another magnificent Lort Smith staff member named Lisa came over and rubbed behind Boots's ears as I held her in my lap. The dog had been stiff and nervous when I first took her from the carrier but after a few minutes of stroking and being called by her name she relaxed, most likely for the first time since finding herself on her own. I loudly opined about appropriate punishments for poor animal stewardship while Kate found a warm, quiet place for Boots to rest away from the kennel's barking dogs. I filled out the necessary paperwork and made it known Boots had a home with Aradhna and I if she went unclaimed. The role of social worker was obviously old hat to Kate as she allowed me to vent my anger while she left voicemails with strangers about Boots's discovery and temporary encampment at Lort Smith.

The clock was ticking. But not for long.

Two hours after returning from North Melbourne I discovered a voicemail on my phone. It was Kate. Boots's owner -- a "lovely guy" -- had come and collected his dog. He'd told Kate the dog had been missing for two days after someone had attempted to steal his car and Boots had chased after the wannabe thief and the owner had been searching for her and was "very, very happy" to have his dog back.

As he should be.

I miss her like mad.