Thompy's people, understandably dismayed, spent the next week in desperate search of their beloved dog, scouring the neighborhood, putting up hundreds of posters, but weren't really getting anywhere... Finally, Thompy's owner, Jon Crawford-Phillips, close to giving up, got a tip he could use: Saturday evening he received a phone call from a woman in deepest Red Hook claiming she'd seen a neighbor walking a dog that could only be Thompy. Hope! (Seriously, I would've gone absolutely nuts looking for my dog for 12 days. Christ.)
Early the next morning J.C.P. went to Red Hook to stake-out Thompy's new address and, after waiting for three hours, who should appear but the dog-napped youth himself. J.C.P. waited for the cops before confronting Thompy's new leash-jockey (I admire this restraint; if it were me I would've flipped the fuck out) who quickly admitted to having bought Thompy on the street just a week earlier. A quick trip to the vet confirmed Thompy's identity through his microchip.
And then everything was alright again, everywhere.