Lost and Found - Then Almost Stolen

Tonight we're in FW (note previous posts about never ever being home) and we were heading back from dinner when we found a very cute Spaniel sort of a dog standing in the middle of a residential intersection. It was a 4 way stop, no crazy traffic or anything but still. He was standing out there and his mom was nowhere to be seen. So I got out of my car to ask him where he lived and he very willingly hopped right into my mom's lap in the backseat. We drove around for a few minutes looking for someone who might look like they lost their dog (you can always tell) to no avail. He was wearing a bark collar type thing but no tags. (PEOPLE, PUT TAGS ON YOUR DOGS!) My mom had the genius idea to take him to the 24 hour vet nearby to see if he had a microchip. Voila. He did. (Avery's will be put in next week.) Meanwhile he and my mom had gotten to know each other and she was even showing off his excellent behavior to a bystander in the waiting room. We were given the phone number and address to his mom's house. We had jokingly discussed how it was very possible that the dog lived right where we picked him up so our valiant rescue efforts could have just as easily been a kidnapping. He ended up living about 4 blocks from where we found him so he actually had gone on quite a stroll. We find the house and it's totally dark. I knock. No answer but the TV mutes. (Please keep in mind that the microchip people who gave me the address said that the owners had already reported him missing so I'm thinking we're dealing with frantic, loving parents who are beside themselves and wouldn't eat or sleep until their pup was safe and sound.) I knock again. Nothing. The house is creepy. I yell, "Hello?" Still thinking that they must be so worried that it's good for me to persevere. I start walking around to the back wondering what my gravestone will read if I'm shot in someones dark, spooky backyard trying to do a good deed. Suddenly, a guy around 20 walks out in his white socks and Rob Zombie t-shirt, clearly unconcerned. By this point, Malvey (so named for the street where we had found our new dog) had very comfortably lounged his filthy, smelly, very cute self onto my mom's brand new jacket and it hadn't taken us long to decide we loved him. I ask if he's lost his dog and yes, he has. He walks to the back of my car and greets the dog by saying,
"Luke, you're in trouble."
What?!
How about "Luke, I missed you! I'm so sorry I'm a jackass and I left the gate/fence/door open and you got lost and spent your evening cold and scared. I'm so happy these people were able to bring you home! Let's go sit on the couch together, eat some Beggin' Strips and talk about what happened."
Suddenly we were very sad. We wished we had just kept Luke because he was a very good dog. The hour we spent together was a happy hour. My mom claims that the owner was stoned. (She thinks anyone who walks outside in a black Rob Zombie t-shirt and white socks is stoned.) The phone number we had to call for Luke's mom had a voicemail with an older, momish sounding person so we're making ourselves feel better by figuring that it was the mom who called the microchip company to report Luke missing. Then, she had to work the night shift to pay for her son's drug habit and had no choice but to leave for work to pay the bills. The son then got baked on the couch, as usual, and totally forgot about Luke. He couldn't answer the door when I first knocked because he was hiding his stash. Now, as the story in my head goes, Luke's mom is home and has showered Luke with the love (and hopefully soap and water) he deserves and she's forever grateful to the generous strangers who spent an hour helping Luke get back home. We miss you, Luke.