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I sometimes wonder about where the compassionate
feelings many so-called humans seem to be lacking, disappeared to---now I know.
the beauty, the strengh, the love, the joy for animals did not just dissipate
into the air--they all found a home in Debbie.
blessed be all who rescue.
barbara
----- Original Message -----
Sent: Monday, April 18, 2005 1:07
AM
Subject: get out the tissues!
Jul <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote:
To:
[EMAIL PROTECTED]
From:
"Jul" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
Date:
Mon, 18 Apr 2005 04:27:39 -0000
Subject: [kittycityrescue] Fwd: |!| What
is a Rescuer? |!|
--- In [EMAIL PROTECTED],
Saigh <[EMAIL PROTECTED]...>
wrote:
In honor of two lost lives, and a tribute to rescuers
everywhere.
The Debbie mentioned in this essay is Debbie Dawn
Sage, of FRIENDS of
the ANIMALS, of Raytown, MO/Topeka, KS.
And
yes, I wrote it.
- Saigh
It was a sunny Saturday morning, bright but not hot, breezy but
neither
cold nor harsh. Even if the three of us were in varying
states of
displeasure about being awake and moving at this hour on a
weekend, it
was a perfect day for transporting animals. Blaidd was a
smoldering presence in the seat next to me, still understandably
upset that we'd had to leave Piper at home and likely to be for the
rest of the day, as well as still in the dangerous condition of not
having had any Coke since waking; Caer was still giggly and tired in
the back seat from lack of sleep, though trying not to let it show by
making harmless, random comments to which neither person in the front
seat was really responding. And me? I wasn't really caring
either
way at that point - all I was concentrating on was getting to the
meeting point on time, which doesn't sound like such a difficult task
unless you know me and the way that for some reason logic warps
around me. I can start out thirty minutes
early and still be
ten minutes late. A unique talent, I
guess.
Approximately an hour later, we had
met our charges for the day,
exchanged quite a bit of interaction with
the handing off driver who
also happened to be the coordinator of this
run, gassed up Spud (the
rescue mobile - a '93 Oldsmobile; anyone see
the difficulty yet?),
gotten Blaidd some Coke, watered all three dogs,
exchanged parting
hugs and wishes with our contact, and settled everyone
in the car.
The Golden brothers quickly appropriated the back
seat, one
stretching across the entirety of it with his head in Caer's
lap, the
other still too excited about new surroundings and new people
to even
care or really notice that he was thereby forced to stand up;
the
Pointer occupied the space Piper normally would, first standing then
sitting and eventually laying on the bench seat between myself and
Blaidd in the front. We rolled down the windows, cranked the
AC,
and departed the service station for the three hour drive ahead of
us
in much better spirits. After all - everyone
fit, and that's
all we could really ask or hope for.
I merged onto the highway, and settled into a good driving
speed.
The mood in the car was high - we'd just witnessed a three-
legged, skin
and bones beagle being delivered into the hands of his
new foster or
adoptive home (I think adoptive, though that wasn't
made abundantly
clear), and the skeleton of a pointer next to us was
going to have a
chance at life outside the Animal Control shelter
where none of the
animals were fed and barely watered as they simply
waited for their turn
to die. I knew we were behind, but it was well
worth it; I was
calculating how late we would be by the time we got
to our own drop off
point, and how many miles we would have on the
tank before needing to
fill up again, when I glanced up to the road
and felt my heart
sink. I'd seen the body lying on the side of the
road... the dog
lover in me immediately whispered beagle... just as
the logic told me
dead... I felt the familiar numbness lock up my
chest as happens
every time I see an animal on the
side of the road, but magnified as the
question was begged What were
you doing out here? of an obvious pet
lying by a busy four lane
highway, 20 minutes by car from any of the
nearest cities or houses
that could be seen... Before I could
notice the other critical
detail I heard Blaidd beside me, voice tense:
"That was Debbie...
Stop. Stop... it's Debbie." My numb
heart sank lower, and I hit the
brakes.
We
backed down the shoulder of the highway, I surprisingly not
even
flinching at how close and how fast the cars that didn't move
over for
us shuddered past; all that mattered was getting closer to
that red
Chevy pulled over off the highway, its back door open and
its driver
walking a weaving path back towards the beagle. What'd
happened? Why had Debbie stopped for the beagle? A brief,
wild
guess flashed through my mind Oh shit... Cassidy... but I hadn't
seen
it well enough to determine whether it had only three legs, and if
it
was, where was the man we had just seen, thrilled to be taking the
poor creature home? No one else had stopped. No one else
even
noticed. No one else cared. I tried to wrack my brain
and think if
Debbie had had any other beagles in her truck back at the
service
station; had a door not been fully closed, maybe? But it
didn't
strike me that Debbie would be that careless, and I was certain
the
only things left in the back of Debbie's truck were
several empty
dog crates, and one obsessive fluff ball that never
stopped digging at
the corner of her crate while we were standing
there. Then
what?
We were all three out of the car as
quickly as we could, while
making sure our own three charges stayed
inside, and all but running
down the shoulder to meet Debbie. When
we came around the truck, it
was to the sight of Debbie spreading out a
towel or a sheet, and
lifting the poor dog's body onto it. She was
moving unsteadily but
quickly and before we could quite get there she
had the dog wrapped
up and was carrying it back to her truck, head
down. Blaidd and Caer
were ahead of me, and as she stumbled by us,
she sobbed. "There were
two of them... someone threw them out of a car,
you guys. They
didn't have a chance." My own stride faltered
and came to a halt,
unable to immediately process what I'd just been
told. Blaidd, Caer,
and I exchanged a look, and then
separated. They continued to the
spot where the dog had
been. I turned and followed Debbie.
I
helped drop the tailgate of Debbie's truck, and stepped back
while
she arranged the dog she had on top of the other sheet; I could
see the
other dog's head where the sheet didn't cover it, and saw
that it had a
collar. There were two of them: a male and a female,
both with
collars and tags. Debbie said she'd seen them, and stopped
as
quickly as she could; she'd run back to get the dog out of the
middle of
the highway but had not been quick enough. She had
retrieved the
body and almost been hit herself in the process. I
listened, but
from a distance that was more mental than physical.
From eyes
barely focused behind my sunglasses I finally looked away
from the two
sheets with slowly spreading red stains, to where Debbie
was trying to
rub the blood off her shaking hands, to Blaidd's blank
features and Caer
helping hold Debbie up; it was hard. In my mind I
kept seeing that
flash of the dog laying on the shoulder of the
highway, and then Debbie
staggering by, holding the
poor beagle tightly to her as if it were a
child, or as if someone
might try to take it from her. Protecting
it, even though the damage
was already done, ready to defend it against
anything else that might
try to harm it. And as we parted ( Debbie
to take the bodies to the
vet's and call the number on the tags so the
owners would know what
happened, and us to pile back into the car and
continue our
transport), as we each hugged Debbie tightly in hopes of
giving her
the strength to see this tragedy through, and each returned
to our
vehicles, Debbie said something that remained with me for the
rest of
the day, into the night, to this morning. This, as anyone
who knows
me will tell you, is unusual... but I still remember very
clearly:
"Tell those three how lucky they are. Let them know
that they're
going to be
okay."
------------------------
What
is a rescuer? Newspaper articles and television programs
show very
different images. Sometimes they are overworked county
employees
with sad eyes and hard faces, who don't get excited about
anything
because they know what faces them at the shelter tomorrow,
and the day
after. Sometimes they are eccentric, crazy old women who
steal
dogs in the night and pass them on an underground railroad
while
watching the owner's reaction with a network of spies.
Sometimes
they're selfless, caring people who take in other people's
rejects and
do their best for them, whatever that may be. But there
is one
common trait that every true rescue worker will exhibit, one
responsibility and cry that we all answer to above and beyond all
else, each and every time: We let these animals know that they're
going to be okay, whatever that entails... and then we make it
so.
We accept what other people have abused,
neglected, overlooked,
or surrendered, and we make room for them because
it's what we have
to do. We soothe them while evaluating them for
their files, we
comfort them while trying to get them to hold still for
pictures, we
pity them as they wait in their kennels for someone who can
and does
care only for them; rescue workers have hundreds of
charges. We comb
the negative funds for any loopholes to find them
medical aide when
they need it, and we bombard every resource we can
think of to get
them noticed, to get them home. We beg, and plead,
and bargain, and
network, and work into the late hours of the night to
find them a
place; we bend over backwards to get them transport there,
and
security. We pass from their sight with a pat on the head, and
a
whispered promise... You're going to be
okay.
It is our task to make sure that no
one ever hurts them again.
They may have come from an abuse or
neglect situation, but now they
are ours, and we will never raise a hand
against them, never forget
or intentionally overlook them even for human
comforts. Now they are
ours, and we have control over who can take
them home and call them
theirs; we question, and screen, and scrutinize,
and in the end hope
we have made the right decision to let them go with
these new
strangers or to keep them with us. They are ours, and we
do our best
to get them into homes that will protect them as fiercely as
we do.
And if no suitable home can be
found... if their suffering has
rendered them faithless in the human
race, or if they have been
driven beyond our ability to heal, then it is
in our hands to make
certain that they will reach a safe haven as
painlessly as possible.
We collect them from their cages and
escort them gently down the
aisles, and hold their heads, and promise
one last time in their ears
that everything's going to be alright.
And when they are gone, safe
from pain, fear, abuse, and neglect, we
move to the next one.
We question neglectful
owners and scorn owners who would
surrender this animal that trusts them
so completely; this animal
that will wait in its kennel until the day it
dies for them to return
and take it home again, not knowing or
understanding that they never
will. But it's what we're given to
work with; it's the situation we
have to make alright for them, so we
set to the task. We try to help
them understand what is acceptable
in this confusing society of
humans, and what they will need to earn
their way into the hearts of
those who keep walking (as if their
existence weren't deserving
enough of endearment, they have to learn
tricks and behaviors and how
to make themselves seem appealing though
their bodies may not be the
definition of beauty). We love these
animals that we have never
known before, and may only know for a short
time. Hell, we love
animals we've never even met - we love them
because they need us to
love them, and they need our help to be
okay. They need
us never to quit, never to surrender, and to never
stop protecting
them. And we never
will.
Debbie is a rescuer. She
was too late to save those beagles,
but she heard the call anyway and
turned back. She collected the
body from the road to spare it more
abuse, she wrapped it in the only
shroud she had, and she carried it
with protective, loving arms to
the safety of her truck and the closure
of the vet's office. When no
one else would stop, she very
actually risked her life to protect
those beagles, and to bring them
home. To let them know... it's
alright. You're okay.
No one will hurt you now. To me, there is
nothing more admirable
on this earth.
Just a thought.
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