Post by Brooke on Jan 21, 2004 18:09:50 GMT -5
Woman falls Prey to Cruel Hoax when Beloved dog Vanishes
Tampa Bay, Fl
Published: Aug 24, 2003
You can find almost anything on the Internet nowadays. Even a missing dog.
At least that's what Fran McCarthy of St. Petersburg believed. Timmy, her beloved Chihuahua, bolted from a dog-watching friend's Safety Harbor home in November.
She recalled the day she picked him up at the Chihuahua rescue facility 18 months earlier.
The dogs ``were all barking and yapping, and Timmy was just looking out of the cage and not barking at all. So I picked him up and as soon as I did, he licked me on the chin! So, I was like, `This is absolutely the dog!' '' McCarthy laughed.
McCarthy frantically scoured Safety Harbor streets and inundated residents and posts with fliers showing Timmy's picture and begging for his return. She ran an ad in a local newspaper.
Arizona Caller Offers Hope A collect call came two weeks later.
A gentleman from Phoenix claimed he had Timmy. He said he saw her ad on the newspaper's Web site. McCarthy said he told a wild tale about his drunken boss who tossed Timmy into his service truck (it's unclear what type of service this company provided) and drove to Arizona.
Two-thousand miles later, the caller claimed he found the dog. The ``alcoholic boss'' said it belonged to the customer (supposedly in Safety Harbor) but the customer said he didn't own a dog. The caller said he saw McCarthy's ad and put two-and-two together.
He refused to give his name (for fear of losing his job, McCarthy said she was told) or any identifying information. But he assured her he had Timmy.
``He was just so believable, and our emotional loss - he could say almost anything and I would have believed him because we just wanted Timmy to come home,'' McCarthy said. ``It was very easy to get sucked in.''
She Wired Money To `Finder'
Anxious to be reunited, McCarthy offered her credit card number, which the caller immediately refused. He persuaded her to wire $300 for an airline ticket and a crate in which Timmy would fly.
Because the amount is less than $1,000, the recipient didn't need to show identification. All he needed was the answer to a question, which was, ``What is his name?'' The answer, of course, was ``Timmy.''
She transferred the money at 6:36 p.m. on Dec. 9. The caller indicated he would put Timmy on the next flight to Tampa.
``I was still convinced until 2 or 3 in the morning. He hadn't called and I began to worry and then, you know. Sure enough, we never heard from him again,'' McCarthy said.
But the caller collected his money. ``Curtis McClarren'' appears on a receipt. McCarthy contacted Arizona authorities, but she isn't optimistic that they will make Timmy a priority.
The caller sensed McCarthy's attachment to the dog and her desperation to find him. Drowning in emotions, McCarthy never thought to insist on what many of us probably would consider logical and reasonable requests: their name and contact information, and a picture of the dog or one of his tags. Timmy had a microchip that could be scanned at a shelter or veterinarian's office for confirmation of his identity and owner.
McCarthy wanted her story told so others won't be so trusting of Internet-related transactions ``so they don't get hooked,'' she said. She has two new Chihuahuas, but she said she'll continue searching for Timmy until he's found.
Tampa Bay, Fl
Published: Aug 24, 2003
You can find almost anything on the Internet nowadays. Even a missing dog.
At least that's what Fran McCarthy of St. Petersburg believed. Timmy, her beloved Chihuahua, bolted from a dog-watching friend's Safety Harbor home in November.
She recalled the day she picked him up at the Chihuahua rescue facility 18 months earlier.
The dogs ``were all barking and yapping, and Timmy was just looking out of the cage and not barking at all. So I picked him up and as soon as I did, he licked me on the chin! So, I was like, `This is absolutely the dog!' '' McCarthy laughed.
McCarthy frantically scoured Safety Harbor streets and inundated residents and posts with fliers showing Timmy's picture and begging for his return. She ran an ad in a local newspaper.
Arizona Caller Offers Hope A collect call came two weeks later.
A gentleman from Phoenix claimed he had Timmy. He said he saw her ad on the newspaper's Web site. McCarthy said he told a wild tale about his drunken boss who tossed Timmy into his service truck (it's unclear what type of service this company provided) and drove to Arizona.
Two-thousand miles later, the caller claimed he found the dog. The ``alcoholic boss'' said it belonged to the customer (supposedly in Safety Harbor) but the customer said he didn't own a dog. The caller said he saw McCarthy's ad and put two-and-two together.
He refused to give his name (for fear of losing his job, McCarthy said she was told) or any identifying information. But he assured her he had Timmy.
``He was just so believable, and our emotional loss - he could say almost anything and I would have believed him because we just wanted Timmy to come home,'' McCarthy said. ``It was very easy to get sucked in.''
She Wired Money To `Finder'
Anxious to be reunited, McCarthy offered her credit card number, which the caller immediately refused. He persuaded her to wire $300 for an airline ticket and a crate in which Timmy would fly.
Because the amount is less than $1,000, the recipient didn't need to show identification. All he needed was the answer to a question, which was, ``What is his name?'' The answer, of course, was ``Timmy.''
She transferred the money at 6:36 p.m. on Dec. 9. The caller indicated he would put Timmy on the next flight to Tampa.
``I was still convinced until 2 or 3 in the morning. He hadn't called and I began to worry and then, you know. Sure enough, we never heard from him again,'' McCarthy said.
But the caller collected his money. ``Curtis McClarren'' appears on a receipt. McCarthy contacted Arizona authorities, but she isn't optimistic that they will make Timmy a priority.
The caller sensed McCarthy's attachment to the dog and her desperation to find him. Drowning in emotions, McCarthy never thought to insist on what many of us probably would consider logical and reasonable requests: their name and contact information, and a picture of the dog or one of his tags. Timmy had a microchip that could be scanned at a shelter or veterinarian's office for confirmation of his identity and owner.
McCarthy wanted her story told so others won't be so trusting of Internet-related transactions ``so they don't get hooked,'' she said. She has two new Chihuahuas, but she said she'll continue searching for Timmy until he's found.