It’s been said that it takes a village to raise a child. It takes
a just as much to save a dog. Now that I can leave a dog alone
in a house, I’m free to vary my efforts and contribute to other causes while
fostering.
On the literary and political front, I’ve joined C.R.O.P.S.
(Citizens for Rescue Only Pet Stores) in Burbank, and am contributing my
written brain spewings to various publications in order to get the word out
about our cause:
and again the following week:
And yesterday, I joined with other rescue volunteers to
assist in the Mass Canine Exodus of East Valley Animal Shelter.
S.T.A.R.T. (Shelter Transport Animal Rescue Team) -
no, I didn’t also volunteer at S.C.U.B.A. or any other acronyms this
week – does long haul transports to the Pacific Northwest. It’s much like the
run I did with Misty last year, except these guys go all the way to Tacoma,
Washington, the truck is appropriately designed, and the run begins at the
shelter not a Home Depot.
Eighty dogs were taken from death row, walked and cuddled by
strangers, put into crates, and twenty-four hour later began new lives in Oregon or Washington.
We strangers gathered to save as many dogs as we could
and help out in any way we could. It gave me joy to see even a kid there—a
kid who could have been home playing video games or going to a dance lesson.
She told me she wanted to do this because she loves all animals, not just her
cat, and really wanted to help.
There is hope for the future.
Humans, as a species, tend to have a propensity to avoid
conflict (unless it’s to their benefit.) No one wants to get involved. Take for
instance Wednesday night: as I walked along the Chandler bike path, I saw a man
and woman talking while two dogs ran to and fro in the street and across the
path.
“The little white one started chasing me while I was
running. I don’t know whose they are,” the man was saying.
The woman, seeing my vicious put bull, called out: “There’s
two loose dogs here!”
I calmly replied with a smile, “Okay, thank you.”
I then joined in the conversation as I watched the Maltese
bound down the hill onto the street, only inches from an oncoming car.
“Well, they’ll find heir way home, right?” the two people
seemed to convince themselves.
I was not so convinced.
“The dog ran up to you? Then she needs help finding her way home,”
I proposed.
I must have interpreted the dog’s meaning correctly, because
she ceased playing chicken with the cars and ran up and jumped into my arms.
Poor Marty just looked up at me and sniffed the Maltese’s butt.
The Maltese jumped out of my arms and took off toward her
long-haired Chihuahua cohort.
The two people walked away. Ummm....
And there I was left, Marty and me, with two dogs about to
get hit by cars. They might know exactly where they live, but they were in
mortal danger because they’re idiots and don’t know the dangers of vehicles.
I had to trust that they wouldn’t attack Marty. I went over
to the neighbor’s lawn they were currently on and bent down. The Maltese came to
me with ease. I knew I could get her any time. So I let her run around and
focused on the Chi. He came to me, I grabbed him, and he thrashed about,
sinking his teeth into my hand. I thought he’d stop, but I finally let go,
realizing he would break the skin if I didn’t. As he raced away, the Maltese
jumped on him, admonishing him for such treatment.
I couldn’t do this alone. I asked a woman running if she
knew these dogs. She said No and asked if I was trying to get them and what I
would do. I told her the shelter was closed for the night, but I could get them
and bring them home for the night. I’d check for a micro-chip in the morning.
They had collars, but no tags.
And so the good woman Jessica (whose name I didn’t learn
until our mission was completed), joined me in the chase of the canines.
We didn’t want them running back and forth across the
street, so we stuck to the north side, and had a feeling they lived on one of
the side streets. The Chi was proving to be a difficult boy. Jessica motioned
toward him half a block away and he let out a blood-curdling scream as if being
murdered. Then he took a sharp right at the corner and ran into the dark
neighborhood.
I knew he’d stick by the Maltese, so we needed her to lead
us to him. We had seen someone come out of their house during our pursuit and
call out something, but we didn’t know if it was the dogs she called for. We
returned to her and she said she didn’t know them, but offered us a leash to
borrow.
We put the Maltese on the leash and Jessica led her to find
the Chi. Meanwhile, my gentleman Marty was by my side, quietly complacent, just
along for whatever adventure I might be on, and probably secretly hoping this
wouldn’t eat into our normal walk time.
We found the Chi at the end of the block, and all of us went
to the ground to avoid scaring him. He was timid, and I wasn’t going to try to
get him since he bit me last time. Jessica was brave enough to take on that
task.
“I wish I had treat,” I said, and then remembered that as a
foster, as any respectable dog owner really, there is always poop bags in my
back pocket and treats (or remnants thereof) in my front pocket. Sexy, huh?
I pulled out the stale treat and broke it into the tiniest
bits possible for the teeny tiny dog. I threw a piece in his direction. The Chi
took the bait, and I continued to toss tiny bits to him as he got closer to us.
The Maltese and Marty wanted in on the deal, but I promised Marty way better
treats at home and asked the Maltese to get out of the way.
Sure enough, with a little patience, and me feeding the Chi
treats, Jessica began petting him, and eventually hooked her finger around his
collar. I unhooked the leash from the Maltese knowing I could just pick her up
later, and I carefully clipped it into the Chi’s collar.
Success! The Chi felt tricked, but was okay with it and out
of biting range on the ground. Jessica had driven to the bike path (I’m one of
the few lucky people who can walk to somewhere I can walk in LA.) Rather than
walking all the way back to my place she offered up her car to transport this
motley crew.
She had a compact hatchback. She opened the door and
retracted the seat. She motioned for the Chi to hop into the back seat, but
wasn’t having any of it. I, holding the Maltese like a football and still
hanging onto Marty’s leash, offered to go in first. I clamored in with my usual
amount of grace, landed in the middle of the backseat, and asked Marty to join
me. Such a great kid he is! He’s never been in a backseat, but he followed me
there now, and when he was blocking the Chi’s way to the floor, I asked him to
come up on the seat next to me, and he obliged without incident.
Finally the Chi jumped in, Jessica handed me the leash,
closed the door, and I, three dogs, and this good Samaritan drove toward my
house seven blocks away.
As I sat in the woman’s car (we still hadn’t even gotten
each other’s names yet), my hope in humanity was renewed. The thing is, when
you’re helping animals, people tend to assume you’re not a psycho-killer and
will gladly assist you--even drive you where you need to go.
I got to the house, put Marty inside, and then went to the
garage where I had been storing Marty’s crate since he graduated from that to
the couch. I used Marty’s leash on the Maltese and set up the crate. I then
went back out front where Jessica stood with the belligerent little devil and
took him from her.
“Are you going to take them to the shelter?” she asked.
“I’m going to try not to,” I told her. “I’ll put out a Found
ad, let the shelter know I found them, and see if I can check them for a
micro-chip in the morning.”
I thanked her, and it was only then that we got each other’s
names.
I let the two tiny dogs stay in the crate while I asked the
universe for some assistance in getting me to be in the right place at the
right time. I grabbed Marty from inside and headed back out to Chandler Blvd to
return the leash to the kind neighbor and hopefully hear somebody calling out
dog names in the dark.
After leaving the leash hooked on the inside of the woman’s
gate, Marty and I walked along in silence. I tried to open myself up again to
be guided appropriately. I wasn’t getting any signs (except to not go down one
dark alley.) I walked out of the alley and took to the sidewalk.
I was about to give up hope when I saw an older Korean
gentleman standing in his gated front yard, looking perplexed. “Excuse me,
sir,” I said and he turned to me. “Do you know anyone who has a poodle-like dog
and a Chihuahua?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. Me!” he said.
“Oh good!” I said, thanking the universe for leading me here
at the right time. “I have them back at my house; they were running around the
street and I didn’t want them to get hit by a car.”
“Oh my goodness, thank you, thank you. It seemed quiet out
here, so I came to check on them and I couldn’t find them. I think one of the
kids must have gone out the gate and not latched it properly. I’ve been looking
for them for half an hour.”
“Do you mind walking back to my place? I have them there.”
“Of course, of course,” he said.
He brought his leashes and together we walked back to my
place. He told me their names: Zoë was the Maltese and Panda was the Chihuahua.
He’d only had them for a month and a half. He hadn’t even taken them out for a
walk because his children wanted to take them, but he didn’t trust them with
the leashes.
Here’s a little bit of wisdom for you: If you don’t take a
dog for a walk, eventually the dog will take himself for a walk.
He thanked me profusely and told me he wanted to give me
gifts for Marty for taking the trouble to help. I said it wasn’t necessary, and
was glad they were safe. I was even more glad that I didn’t have to take them
to the shelter.
This afternoon, between Marty-publicity events, I got a
knock on my door: the man and his three young children (all under the age of
10), were standing there with a bag of biscuits for Marty. I wish I had had
time to let them in, but I was running out to get Marty to an adoption event.
It took three people—and the right timing--to get those two
dogs home safely.
The transport took a dozen or so people on the day of
transport, but many more who contributed financially to the cause, and the
people who chose the animals and made way for them up north.
On a grander scale, for all the lost and homeless animals,
it takes thousands of people and coming at the problem from all angles. There
is no one single solution to clear out America’s animal shelters. There’s
shifting of inventories as this transport was. (I later learned that while this
was going on, over 300 dogs took flight from Van Nuys airport to various
rescues across the western states through an airplane transport group called
Wings of Rescue.) There’s the legislation to stop pet stores from selling puppy
mill animals and instead require them to acquire their “inventory” from
shelters and rescues. There’s spay and neuter education; volunteers holding
clinics and pushing education to teach people why they should get their dog or
cat fixed. There’s fosters and volunteers, people who pull animals before
they’re euthanized, drive them to safety, network them across the internet, do
home checks and process adoption applications and hold events to raise money or
adopt out animals.
Never underestimate your own value. Just one person isn’t
“just.”
Join an effort, be part of a team, give a dollar to a needy shelter, provide
some love and a walk to a terrified shelter dog, foster a kitten, or give the
greatest gift of all: your heart and home to a homeless pet in need.
You’re not
“just” one person; you are the world to that one animal who needs you, and you
can make a world of a difference when you join forces with others. Every soul
matters: yours, along with every single one behind animal shelter bars. Please
remember them all this holiday season, and throughout the year.
Epilogue:
Be warned that when you are the world to one dog and you leave to have adventures without him, he might just act like a jilted lover and go through your purse like Marty did to me.
As retaliation, he had to wear the reindeer antlers for five minutes.
He agreed if that's what I was doing with other dogs, then he would happily stay at home and patiently await my return.
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