Since I was getting back into the swing of things it makes sense that it just the basic, how-this-all-started thing: a dog needed a lift from one end of the valley to the other--from the shelter to boarding, where she would have her layover before her transport to a rescue in Arizona.
I didn't get a picture, and in fact, only got a name, "Miley" before I emailed back asking what kind of dog she was (since I can't be driving Great Danes unless I install a moonroof in my truck). She was a medium-sized all white pit bull, who had been relinquished by her owners on August 13th. She had been taken off the euthanasia list twice, and the person coordinating her rescue didn't think she would make it off a third time. So, right before the holiday weekend she needed out, even if all the funds hadn't been raised for her surgery yet.
Miley needed surgery for her ACL. No, it wasn't an old basketball injury; in fact it might have just been genetics. With overbreeding and accidental breeding, pit bulls mixes and other breeds are prone to genetic defects such as blindness, deafness, bad hips, and bad knees.
I had never been to the Ventura County Animal Shelter, so I was looking forward to a new experience. Ventura was a quick sixty miles away, and I assumed I could get there in an hour. But alas, Google maps and Ms. Garmin (my GPS) disagreed on how I should get there, and by siding with the wrong one, the simple hour drive turned into an hour and forty minutes.
I checked the kennel number the rescue gave me, just so I knew what Miley looked like. The last thing I wanted to do was pick up the WRONG white pit bull...although at least one of them would be saved. I said hello to her, she acknowledged me with a head nod, and went back to staring at the wall in her kennel. I quickly went inside the office and was met with a surprise: a line.
People actually go to shelters? I mean for reasons other than to renew dog licenses and abandon their animals? Huh. I had no idea.
I stood at the back of the line, happy to do so since everyone in front of me was interested in an animal, adopting an animal, or picking up a lost pet. Half an hour later I made it to the front of the line.
The woman at the desk was very nice, but it was only the second time she had processed this sort of transaction and my first time here. So, it was slow-going, but after a half hour, all the paperwork was in order, I received pain meds for Miley's knee (another first for me!: LA Animal Services doesn't give out whatever meds the dog is on; you have to go to your own vet for that). Once it was all settled, someone got on a little intercom speaker to announce Miley's kennel number and I was told to wait outside...sort of like picking up my truck after it gets serviced at the dealership.
Another new procedure: the person who brought Miley to me had to escort us to the car. Granted it was a small parking lot, but I was quite surprised that we got door to door service. She wouldn't hand over the leash until I was ready to put Miley in the car.
I thanked our escort, waved goodbye, and then I allowed Miley a moment to pee if needed. She had only looked me in the eye once. She wasn't big on looking at me, but was happy to go along. She had stunning yellow eyes, and everyone said she was wicked sweet. Indeed she was.
I lifted her up into the truck and she collapsed on the seat, making it rather difficult for me to get my leash--and my hand--out from under her. I hoped she hadn't been beaten in her life. She did seem a bit freaked out. When I finally got her buckled in and the door closed I got in my side, and Miley sat up to greet me. In that one simple movement, it looked like a Nor'easter had hit the inside of my cab; white hairs covered everything--the dash, the console, my seat, and there she sat, her yellow eyes finally looking at me with her mouth half open in a smile.
Once I was seated, Miley lowered her head and coyly crawled over the center console. I told her she needed to stay in her seat, but she turned away from me again, and continued to slide onto my lap like a glacier. She weighed about as much. I tried to lift her, but she enforced her gravitational pull, and would not be moved.
It is not safe to drive with a dog on your lap--especially a sixty-pound pit bull that is the size of a toddler.
I explained this to her and she ignored me. If she was an owner surrender, it meant that she had just gone two weeks without human contact. Perhaps she needed it. Or perhaps like a child, she was claiming me as her own by sitting on me.
It appeared she wasn't moving, and I told her that she wasn't to move at all, or she might cause an accident. I made sure her back feet were neatly tucked into the cupholders and silently prayed that she wouldn't kick suddenly, sending my vehicle into reverse or neutral while on the highway.
Miley kept her back feet where they should be and used my arm as a headrest.
She occasionally looked out the window, but never looked at me. I was just a faceless lumpy dogbed to her. I couldn't tell if she wasn't feeling well. Her giant paws flexed into my thighs as we took curves in the road, but when she did this, I thought for sure she was going to barf:
A little while later I felt a gurgle in her throat but I couldn't tell if that was the first volcanic rumbling of a vomit, or just a snore. Since I couldn't see her, I picked up my camera, snapped a photo, and looked at it.
Yup, just snoring (and kind of angelic).
When I came to a stop in front of the boarding facility (this time listening to Google, it only took an hour), she still didn't move. When the kennel worker came out to get her, she still had her head down between the steering wheel and door. I sat in the driver's seat (not like I could move) and handed Miley's papers and meds through the window. When the woman went back inside to get a leash, I opened the door and Miley finally arose from my lap.
It's a strange thing to do just the transport. I don't get time to really connect and get to know them. When the kennel worker took Miley, I bent down to take a picture, and she still really wouldn't look me in the eye.
It wasn't until after I gave her a hug good-bye, and was walking back to the truck that I turned and saw her looking right at me. She took a step forward as the worker said, "Your lap is leaving, Miley. Come on inside." I smiled at her, but I saw a bit of surprise and hurt in those yellow eyes.
"You're leaving me too?" she seemed to say.
Miley is a sweetheart, and my heart felt a little stab in letting go. She was going into boarding. From one kennel to another, but at least this one didn't have a chance of ending in death. I didn't offer to overnight her, and no one asked me to, so my mission was complete.
It has been some time since I've been on the road, doing what I started out doing: transporting. Just dipping my toe in the water I suppose. But I have a feeling I'll be diving in soon--or someone's going to push me into the pool.
And I have no problem with that at all. Afterall, what better way to spend an hour of your life than driving on the open highway with a lovable canine on your lap, petting her the whole way? I think I needed it as much as she did.
Good luck, Miley. Whoever gets the honor of being your person is one lucky human. And they'll never fathom leaving you, even if you don't drape yourself across them, claiming them as yours (but I have a feeling you will).
Due to her needing surgery, she doesn't have a petfinder link yet. However, for other dogs at the rescue, and/or if you wish to donate to Miley's surgery, contact Helping Orphaned Hounds of Arizona:
http://www.helpingorphanedhounds.org/index.php
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