You know I don’t like to brag. It’s one of my many great attributes, really. But I’ll break my rule of humility just long enough to tell you about the dog. The dog I saved from certain death and returned to its owner via heroics unparalleled in our generation. The dog who charmed hearts, unified a community and possibly peed on my ankle.

It happened on Saturday as I was driving up Farwell Street. There in the roadway as the sun descended was a small, black dog running through traffic. A sedan almost flattened him. The driver of a pickup swerved around the dog and sped away. Carnage was imminent.

We stopped in the lot of a school and lured the dog to the car. He was on the tiny side — I’ve seen fish bait that is bigger — but he was a personable beast, with alert eyes and a comfortable demeanor.

I couldn’t wait to be rid of him.

We started by knocking on nearby doors. You know how that goes. Homeowners peer our warily, sure that you’re going to try to sell them something, ask them to sign a petition or possibly murder them.

“Hello, sir or madam,” went my pitch. “We have found a small dog, or possibly fish bait, and thought you might know where he belongs.” 

Eyes narrowed with suspicion. It sounds like a trick. You hear horror stories all the time about fiends who lure children with stories of missing pets. This sounded like that, with a twist. Fortunately, I had evidence of my story in the form of the brown-eyed dog sitting on my wife’s lap in the driveway. And this is where the dog became a unifier instead of just a stupid animal who lost his way.

You know my philosophy on people. Cut to its essence, the wrappings of locution cast aside, it goes like this: People are bastards.

And I mean it. My view on people is that most of us are back-stabbing, money-grubbing, self-serving mongrels with streaks of narcissism and weird sexual urges. Show me a pillar of the community and I’ll show you a guy who sacrifices kittens in his basement. Tell me that people are essentially good and I’ll suspect you of cheating on your wife and your taxes. You call me a paranoid cynic, but I know what you keep in secret folders on your hard drive.

I will grant you that people have the capacity for goodness. It frequently goes on display when a suffering child, victimized old person or helpless animal enters the mix.

And so, there I was with possible pee on my leg and taking this lost dog from house to house. 

A man with rock-‘n’-roll hair and a face full of piercings lit right up when he beheld the dog. The bad-ass expression transformed into something like boyish delight. Lost dog, you say? Cute little fella. You might try the house around the corner.

On another street, a burly man with a beard took a quick interest in our plight. He looked like a man who might wrestle grizzly bears for fun and profit. But in the presence of the little dog, he stopped just short of giggling and making cooing noises.

Cranky women who appeared ready — nay, happy! — to beat me about the head with a rolling pin instead got all gushing and high-voiced when the dog came into view.

“Ohhhhhh, look at him! He’s a-DOR-able!”

And suddenly, I’m worthy of being invited inside or carousing with their daughters. Come to the aid of a helpless animal, my friend, and you’re as close as you’ll get to wearing a halo.

But times have changed. The hunt for a dog owner entails (get it?) more than knocking on doors and hanging signs on poles. There are those Internets that everybody’s talking about. Why try spreading the word on a street corner when you can go as big as the World Wide Web?

We took the dog home and let him run amok. We started looking for places where people with lost pets might hang out.

The local shelter has a website and a place to report runaway animals. There’s a lost pets section on Craigslist, which works well if you learn to ignore the hookers in disguise. There are even a few stray (get it?) sites like Find Toto.com, which I swear to Dorothy I am not making up.

We took photos of the dog and posted them on Facebook. Hint to businesspeople: Post a photo of a cute animal on Facebook and your friends list will grow as fast and as large as a driver-side air bag.

On Facebook, normally cold people were suddenly gushing and using ALL CAPITAL LETTERS to express their glee. They were interrupting their poking and Farmville to help find the owner of this wayward crotch-sniffer. One person shares the info with all of their friends and their friends share it with their friends and a social network plague is spreading at the speed of magic Internet dust.

While the nameless dog was alternately napping and chewing his backside, five blocks of people were buzzing about him outside and a hefty segment of Facebook was at work on his behalf. A creature not much larger than a loaf of bread — and one who will openly go to the bathroom outdoors — brought together strangers who would otherwise have no use for each other. 

It was all very touching. And the tender-hearted among you will insist that this kind of human kindness is the rule, not the exception. I just don’t agree. And anyway, I didn’t come to discuss matters of morality, I came to brag.

After spending the night at my place, the dog was reunited with its owner. The woman had contacted the shelter, which contacted us. It was all very neat and very happy and it ended well — once the woman forked over the 500 clams I demanded for the return of the dog.

Huh? So, what do you think of that?

Of course, I kid you! There was no such ransom. But for a moment, you believed it. For a moment, you were aghast. Because you know, man. You know.

People are bastards, with only fleeting forays into kindness.

Mark LaFlamme is a Sun Journal staff writer. You can share your thoughts on human nature by e-mailing him at mlaflamme@sunjournal.com.