I was on my way over to Christie's where she and Katya were about to hold their very first Greater Avenues For Pets meeting, a gathering of neighborhood folks to talk about rescue and what they can do within the community to help homeless pets, when I got a call from Patti.
Patti had of course over-booked herself for the day, having a home check on one side of town, picking up an owner-relinquished dog on another, and in the middle, trying to find out why one foster she has is so obsessed with ball-chasing that it's ruined his chances of adoption. She had agreed to pick up an elderly Dalmatian by the name of Jasmine from East Valley, but it looked like she wouldn't make it into the Valley before they closed at 5pm, and so she asked if just perhaps I could pick her up instead. Patti would be by to pick her up later in the evening to overnight her and then meet up with her transport at 6:30am Monday morning. (Did I mention this woman does A LOT for dogs? As a dog, don't ask for Lady Luck, ask for Patti--she'll get you a home quicker). Lady Luck was by Patti's side as I told her I was on my way to this rescue meet-up, but I should be able to make it to the shelter by 5pm. I only ask that she text me the dog's ID number so I could be sure I was getting the right dog along with the address (I get confused on which shelters are where).
At the meet-up, I informed Katya and Christie that I had to leave in an hour or two, and Katya recommended I leave in an hour, just to be sure I got there an hour before closing. They had some hand-outs for the guests, and I was happy to see one of the listed the addresses and phone numbers of all the LA shelters. Address acquired, I just needed the dog's ID.
There were three dogs in attendance to this meet-up. One was Christie's dog Holly, a brindle mix, and the other medium-sized sweetheart was a black and tan dog foster dog named Lisa. The third dog I met when I entered the living room. As I sat down on the couch, a blonde, short-legged, deep-barked dog verbally assaulted me from the end of a leash that Katya struggled to hang onto. I looked down and I had no doubt at all: "Part dachshund?" I asked Katya.
"Yeah, how'd you know?" Katya asked.
Aside from the long body, classic triangle ears, and long snout, it was the attitude that I recognized. I grew up with them and that deep bark that attempts to make up for their short legs and sweet long face is something that has lingered in my ears and heart for decades. Murphy was this doxie-mix's name, and he had been with a foster for two weeks, but it wasn't working out anymore. The foster was an older woman, and this spunky foot-tall sausage was a bit of a handful. So, Katya had picked him up and was looking for a new foster. While doing that, she was hoping her husband wouldn't be too upset if she failed to find one immediately and she came home with yet another couch-surfing canine.
I thought of my friend Lavinia, also a doxie lover, who wanted to do some fostering. She has two dachshunds of her own, but when she left the country on a job last fall, she sent them to their grandparents house, also out of country. They've been living the good life down in Central America, and she doesn't want to uproot them again by bringing them back until she's settled into a new place. So for now, she's wants to open up her transient home to some likewise transient canines.
After the meeting came to a close and I rushed out to make it to the shelter on time, I called Lavinia and briefed her about Murphy. She seemed excited to do it, so I called Katya, left her a message with Lavinia's phone number, and then focused on Dog #2 of the day.
I had seen no picture of Jasmine (and in fact did not know her name since I had only asked Patti for her ID number). I knew she was a Dalmatian and would be getting on a transport in the morning to a rescue in Vancouver. I perused the paperwork while Veronica went to get her in her kennel, and I was a little surprised by it all. One sheet of some basic lab work, maybe a line for kennel cough, was the usual rundown, but this dog had a lot of writing about her. I didn't get to decipher it all before the evidence was in front me.
This sweet dog, listed as 10 years old, was all middle--she had scrawny legs, a tiny head, but her abdomen and rib cage were enormous in comparison. Her tail wagged and I could see the light in her eyes, despite her appearance. She let out a hacking cough, and although just about every dog I've met from the shelter has kennel cough diagnosed on the paperwork, this was the first time I heard and saw any evidence of it.
Veronica told me to remind the rescue to fax over the medical records. Clearly Jasmine needed help. I didn’t ask, but I knew just by looking at her, she was probably at the top of the euthanasia list. She was old and she was ill. But that light in her eyes, that perk of the ears when she heard something, that curiosity and spunk shown through the ragged skin that was riddled with dirt splotches and fatty growths. She did deserve to live. She wanted to live.
As Jasmine and I walked out the front door a young couple saw us and asked if I just adopted her, telling me how cute she was. I was surprised that they thought she was cute. She is, certainly, but she also needs a bath, and some medical attention. I suppose my worry for her health clouded my cuteness judgement.
Jasmine rode well in the car, as if she'd done it before. She was listed as a stray, and she certainly walked on a leash like one. But she was pretty good at the car ride. Once out of the car, she took to what I call the Stray Trot. It's a confident saunter, tail up, nose to the ground sniffing, and occasionally stopping to graffiti here or there. She's the first female dog I've met that marks like a boy dog. As we walked along, she would pause for a half second to let out a little and keep walking. In fact, she never really stopped moving. She even walked when she pooped. It was like if she stopped moving, she might die. And I imagine a life on the street might seem just like that.
It took some time for her to realize she could indeed relax and stop moving once we got inside the apartment. I sat on the floor with her and she stood for a time, and finally, after a long while she lay down next to me, letting me pet her. She couldn't get comfortable, and looking at her boney legs, I wondered if it wasn't soft enough for her.
I quickly grabbed a couple of towels and placed them on the couch, to invite her to come up. Sure enough, street-living or house-trained, no dog can turn down a comfy couch.
She relaxed even more as I sat beside her reading a book. Every time she adjusted herself, she let out a deep groan, that old-person groan of creaky bones and stiff muscles. Her coat was so soft I had a hard time believing she really was a decade old; but that groan expressed a good many years behind her.
Despite the old girl's grunts, when someone passed by the window she bolted to her feet, sprung off the couch, headed for the door, and with all her might began to bark. In this case, kennel cough proved to be an advantage to me. It was still loud mind you, but the raspy vocals took it down a few notches. She did not heed my "No!" or 'Stop it!", but I suppose at her age, she feels she has the right to say whatever she wants.
I only had a couple of hours with Jasmine. All told, my mission to get Jasmine and then hand her over to Patti lasted not even four hours. That's nothing in the grand scheme of things. But had I not spent those four hours she might never have made it to her transport and on her way to the rescue.
When Patti arrived and saw Jasmine, she frowned in empathy at the sickly pup. Jasmine was indeed a pup you just wanted to help. Patti urged Jasmine into the car, but Jasmine couldn't get her back legs up the first time around and didn't want to try again. Patti helped her up the second time so she could get in through the driver's side, and I opened up the passenger door to call her across. As soon as her butt hit the passenger seat, her nose went to the floor.
"Um, you don't have any pot roasts down here this time, do you?' I asked Patti.
She laughed and said no, she didn't. I closed the passenger door and Patti and I chatted for a bit while she sat in the driver's seat.
"You sure you don't have anything over there?" I asked as I watched Jasmine mouth some plastic wrap.
"I had to stop at Tommy's Burger because I had to pee, then remembered I hadn't eaten in a while either, so I grabbed some food. It's just some wrappers. She'll be fine."
I looked over and saw Jasmine dive hurriedly downward and arise with a bread-like product in her mouth. She chomped furiously and I pointed it out to Patti.
"Oh, I guess I didn't finish eating the burger. Okay, then."
Not only does Patti provide a relaxed ride for her canines, but she also gives out in-flight snacks.
I said goodbye to Patti and let her on her way, as she had to return to her numerous fosters and own dogs back home, and get this well-fed Dalmatian situated for the night, all before getting up before the crack of dawn to see her on her way.
I didn't ask, but I'm quite sure timing and opportunity worked out for Jasmine and she made it to her transport Monday morning. And as for Murphy, timing and opportunity worked out quite well for him too. Lavinia picked up Murphy from Katya's tonight after work, and at 9pm, I received this picture from her, letting me know that Murphy was already fast asleep.
Timing + Opportunity = Luck. These dogs hit the jackpot. And I wish them even more Luck in the future. Don't underestimate anything you do. A simple walk in the park, or running out to the store at midnight to buy toilet paper, or taking a moment to watch a balloon drift out into the sky: all these moments add up to timing, and being in the right place at the right time can change lives--and I don’t just mean your own.
Happy St. Patty's Day! May Lady Luck with her many guises smile down upon you, and may she walk the animal shelters in every town, giving a little bit of time, a little bit of opportunity, and a lot of love to all those homeless souls.
well written, and well done m'lady.
ReplyDelete