Let another blog speak for this; by Rose De Dan

From the author Rose De Dan; "New article "Dare to Care, the life you save may be someone's future pet"
After a long absence I have just published a new article "Dare to Care, the life you save may be someone's future pet." Today, February 24, is Spay Day USA, and when I got up this morning it was an article I just had to write, and hopefully one that will be read and passed along.

This one's in honor of all the shelter animals who did not find their forever homes."

Here is the referenced article:

"February 24 is officially Spay Day USA 2009, an annual campaign of The Humane Society of the United States to inspire people to save animals lives by spaying or neutering pets and feral cats.

Originally I thought that I might republish one of the very first articles I had ever written as a way to inspire people. In rereading it I realized that not only was it dated and too regionalized, having been published in The Laramie Sunday Boomerang, December 19, 1982, but that after all these years I finally wanted to follow the advice of a teacher, and write it differently. I guess with my increase in age and experience his wisdom finally had a chance to sink in!

At the time I was living in Laramie, Wyoming, and decided to take a class on how to get published. The teacher was Donald Murray, a Pulitzer-prize winning journalist. I was not really certain why I was taking the class other than the opportunity to be guided by someone who could write well enough to win such a prestigious award. In retrospect I think it was my writing blood yearning for an outlet.

My assignment for the class was to choose two topics on which to write, write them up as a query to a publisher, and submit the final for publication. Having no idea what to write about, I decided to write about what I did know, animals. Topic Number One was a story about my pet rats (which ultimately resulted in a cooking column for the University of WA student paper, a story for another time). For Topic Number Two, I approached the local animal shelter and asked if I could research an article about the shelter and the animals they tried to save. They agreed, and I spent a week tracking the animal residents, looking for the angle that would result in a good story. And I got it, but like so many stories there is always more under the surface to be unearthed.

But before the final choice of story was made there were others that did not get told. The Laramie Animal Shelter is a city shelter like so many others across the United States, small and underfunded. Staffed by dedicated and hardworking men and women who did their best to make the right choices and care lovingly for the many animals that came their way—an overwhelming tide of animals. At that time over 10 million animals were euthanized in shelters every year due to a lack of enough homes. The Laramie Animal Shelter was no exception, as of 1982 an average of 25 percent of its dogs and 12 percent of its cats had to be euthanized.

Most of the 24 cages and 35 kennels at the shelter are usually filled. The animals are well taken care of, but they lack one thing — a loving owner. Everywhere you go the paws reach out for you, and the eyes of the animals are filled with the hope that you might be the one they are looking for.

As I cruised the aisles, face after furry face stared back at me. The dogs would lunge joyfully toward me in hopes that I was the answer to their canine prayers. Number 4717, an eight-month old puppy, was no different. For every visitor she put on a tail-wagging exhibition guaranteed to soften the hardest heart.

My attention was caught by one large black dog who did not greet me eagerly, he huddled in the back of his cage, and his gaze spoke volumes to my heart, he wanted to trust but was no longer sure that he could.

I took notes of the numbers on each cage, and the occupant, and asked the shelter workers for what background stories they had. Most of the dogs had been found wandering, numbers increase dramatically during the summer. Tourists frequently left Fido behind by the side of the highway, apparently a dog was too much trouble to take care of while having fun on vacation. One story that stood out for its special lack of humanity was the dog surrendered because the owners had redecorated, and he did not match the new décor.

The cats were less effusive in their greetings, but nonetheless hopeful. My gaze was caught by one way up top who peered down at me and meowed. The size of his big apple head belied the information on the cage that he was female, and when I questioned a shelter worker his sex was double-checked, and it was discovered that she was a he. My question bought him another week of life, and the possibility that he might find a good, loving home.

I spent a great deal of time interviewing the shelter workers, asking about their lives and how they handled the difficult task they had chosen to do. Every week there are animals that have to be euthanized to make room for more, an unending cycle. One worker said, “You get used to it, but you never get to the point where you can accept it.” Another stated, “Sometimes I almost cry if I have too put an animal to sleep by myself. I look at it this way, I would rather put an animal to sleep than have it be pregnant or be a puppy out in the cold, be hit by a car, come down with disease, or be neglected.”

Much as I dreaded the thought, I finally asked the workers if I could be present when the next group of animals was euthanized. I felt as though I would be letting the animals down if I was too much of an emotional coward to witness the reality of what happens when lack of spaying, neutering and proper education results in overpopulation. The workers were concerned as to how I might respond, and were reluctant at first to agree to my presence. Ultimately they made me promise that I would not cry, a promise that I sincerely hoped that I could keep.

When I arrived that day I was understandably nervous, and as it turned out, I was about to get my story.

The cats were first, a paw was pulled out of the cage, and the injection was administered quickly. Next were five dogs, and Number 4717 was among them. Four dogs in turn were placed on the examination table, and given an injection to the heart. Each dropped instantly. It was all so quick, and so business-like, that I was able to hold strong emotionally as I had promised, although I imagined that I would pay for my current emotional distance later, in private.

And then it was Number 4717’s turn. And the injection missed the heart as sometimes happens. She did not drop instantly, it would take more time for the injection to take effect. So, they put her down on the floor so she could wander around freely, and everyone continued on with their morning chores.

The puppy was thrilled to be out, and ran from person to person, tail wagging happily. Her movements got slower and slower. Finally she went to the man who was washing up the food bowls, and with a quiet sigh she laid her head upon his foot, and died.

At that point I lost it, in order to honor my promise I had to go cry in the bathroom. Even now as I write this I am crying, even after all these years. I will never forget that moment as long as I live, a moment that spoke so eloquently of all the years of devotion and love that those shelter animals had to offer, lifetimes that now would never be.

When I emerged from the bathroom, somewhat under control, the bodies of all the dogs and cats euthanized had been laid out in neat rows in the garage in preparation for transport to the city dump. There their bodies would be tossed into an earthen pit, alongside any road-killed animals, and some dirt would be bulldozed over them.

Lest you think this heartless, the city did what they could with what budget they had. There was not enough money to cremate the animals, this method of disposal was quite common in rural areas. It was tough to stay, but I hung in there, feeling as though my presence at least bore witness to the lives of these animals, victims in a quiet war on overpopulation, and gave them some honor in their passing. They did not go unmourned, I cried for them, and for the countless others who had gone before, and the untold numbers yet to come.

Here is the original beginning to “The Animals Are Waiting At the Shelter,” and the epitaph that I wrote for the puppy:

“Number 4714 waited for her owner for five days.

“No one came.

“She waited another five days for someone to adopt her. Again, no one came. She was given a shot of Sleepaway, and at the age of eight months the black and white puppy went permanently to sleep with her head resting on the feet of the only person who cared, an officer of the Laramie Animal Shelter.”

At the time that article was submitted to my professor, Donald Murray, he thought it well written but suggested that there could be more emotional appeal in it. I disagreed, wanting to reach people with logic. In retrospect I realize that deep down I was scared to expose myself emotionally, I just was not brave enough.

Now, years later, I realize that someone else besides the shelter workers did care; I did, and I still do. I now have both the emotional chops and the courage as a writer to dare to share how I felt. This new article was written in hopes that my words will inspire others to care, and to take action.

In checking up on Professor Donald Murray I discovered that he passed away in 2006 at the age of 82, immersed in an internet project to mentor aspiring writers. Wherever you are now, Prof. Murray, I hope you are pleased that I finally took your advice to heart, and put mine out there in hopes of making a difference.

We have made progress in the intervening years, now only 4 million animals are euthanized each year, due in part to aggressive spaying and neutering programs, but that is still 4 million too many. The bad guys are not the shelters, but people who add animals to an already taxed population. The choice you make when you adopt a pet could take a home away from a shelter animal in need.

Here are some suggestions on how you can help.

Don’t buy from backyard breeders. Check with purebred rescue organizations before buying a puppy, there are many adults needing homes.

Encourage your neighbors to spay and neuter; while they may dearly love Fluffy, want kittens like her, and promise to find them good homes, the birth of those kittens means less homes for animals on death row.

Pass this article along to as many people you can think of, whether they have pets or not. They may be in a position to help educate someone else.

Got feral cats in your neighborhood? There are organizations that can help you get them spayed or neutered. Check out the Animal Shelters and Rescue Groups in the Resources section on my website for some suggestions.

Dare to care, and to show that you care—the life you save could be someone’s future pet.

Postscript: After he ran out of time for the second time, I adopted the male cat mistakenly identified as a female. He was a big, loving mush-bucket of a tiger cat, and we named him O’Malley. Goes to show you the power of a single glance!"

Rose De Dan©2008



My Answer:

Hello Rose,
I read your article, and I have to say albeit I am myself just an amateur writer, you are a wonderful writer!

When I was in college (BA English) every opportunity was devoted to something to help the animals. In Speech 1A the assignments got gradually more challenging to conclude with the Final being a Persuasive speech. I had made up my mind at the beginning of the semester that it was to be devoted to educating my audience of animal over population in the US. I quickly got busy on the visuals to be used early on. Since my first job at the tender age of 14 was at the Santa Clara County Humane Society (North. CA), I had an image in my mind that had stuck since I saw for the first time back then the, "Dead Bin." Back then (early 70s) they still used decompression chambers (later the SCCHS was investigated and fined heavily for its use), which as you may know slowly suffocated to death the animals stuffed inside. At the conclusion of their deaths (I was told it took about 20 minutes) the bodies were removed and unceremoniously tossed into a room-sized, commercial dump-bin, until it was full enough to see the pile of bodies high up over the rim. One day I saw this very full bin just before it was to be picked up by the waste company. I'll never forget that sight as long as I live. For my speech-visual (in 1990) I painted that image in a very large size. During my speech I kept it covered with a curtain until a certain point. Then I dramatically swept the curtain off. I don't mind saying the entire classroom gasped at what they saw.

I do want to point out however, that I used statistics from the Humane Society of the United States for my facts presented during my speech, and the numbers of animals put to death were way lower in 1990 than in 1982, and also way lower than today. I feel today that we are not actually making good progress as a society in detering the problem. We are not for example clamping down on back yard breeders, puppymills, and especially on organizations such as the AKC. I still meet people today who believe that if a dog is, "AKC registered," then it is perceived to be almost a duty for them to breed, "At least a couple of litters" out of it. Please don't take this as a criticism, as I'm sure your numbers are right. However, one may only take note of the dramatic rise in congenital defects in purebred animals across the board to see how breeding practices have changed...and not for the greater good.

Rose's answer:
"Hi Cindy, thank you for taking the time to share. Many people do not know that "no-kill" does not mean what they want it to. And I do not know that my numebrs are right, apparently there is great debate that many animals simply are not reported as they are euthanized at private vets, I just took the number that HSUS had. Whatever the numbers, there is no doubt that we need to change how we interact with animals as a society, and we have a long way to go, unfortunately.

I am asking people to write their thoughts as comments where this article is posted on my blog as a way to gather the information together for everyone. I am thinking that bringing together all the different stories may help further the education process.

If you are open to the idea, would you share what you have written here, or even expand on it, on my blog site? The address for the article is: http://wildreiki.wordpress.com/2009/02/24/dare-to-care-the-life-you-save-may-be-someones-future-pet/

Thanks, and keep up the wonderful work that you do, the animals need every one of us!"

Rose

I did do that, and here is my response;
This comment was posted elsewhere a few days ago, and I received an answer from Rose. As a follow-up I would like to add that yes; the numbers in the shelter-world are very much skewed. For example we have several "no-kill" shelters here that won't count those deemed "unadoptable." However, the standards used to determine adoptable criteria are so varied, and subjective that it can equate to in plain language; falsified documents.

I would also like to say in reference to my painting; I still have it (of course!), and recently I had a professional photographer take a picture of it, so that I might make prints of it for any animal rescue organization who might be able to use them. There are currently notecards with the prints inside on display (and for sale) at the gallery of Wild Horse Ranch Rescue in Gilbert, AZ.
If it is possible I would like to upload it here if anyone would feel it would be beneficial to do so. If not may I suggest going to my own blog to see it at the top of the post.

And Rose; may I say as well, "Keep up the good work" !

Enough is Enough--Do not Declaw cats!!

Over the last year or so I've heard more and more negative things coming from strangers, clients and pet professionals alike about the daunting dangers and behavior problems associated with declawing cats.

Apart from the obvious painful procedure to get cats declawed, the immoral injustice of it all, and the awful way their feet look afterward, I never really thought anything else about declawing until this year. Slowly but surely I started to hear little whispers about declawed cats peeing on beds, sofas, and cushy chairs.

It took shelters saying that declawed cats are now labeled "unadoptable," and it would be better to put a cat down than to declaw them. People are simply not ready for the consequences of declawing cats. So, here are some reasons why you SHOULD NOT declaw cats!

1) Imagine your fingers being cut off from the first knuckle down. That's the "procedure" of declawing cats.

2) Imagine during your healing time you need to use the cat box. And there's all this harsh, gritty sand rubbing painfully against your raw knuckles as you paw at the sand, covering your waste. Makes you never wanna use that thing again doesn't it?

3) You don't NEED to declaw your cat. Period. It is completely unnecessary.

Instead of paying hundreds of dollars to mutilate your poor cat, why don't you go to a pet store and buy lots of cat scratching posts, scratching balls, scratching door hang-y jingle bell things, sprinkle lots of catnip all over it and take some cute pictures of your cat going mind-numbingly happy over what you just bought for them.

It'll be the best investment you ever made and it'll spare you the pain of having shelters say to you, "Your cat would be better off dead then you declawing it."

One last thing: If you're going to not believe me and go ahead with this procedure, for whatever reason, and my predictions come true about the behavior problems (which they will)--there are no products you can buy. There are no more surgeries you can get for your cat. There is nothing you can do once things have been set into motion and your cat starts to hate using the litter box and finds other means of relieving itself.

End of the Year

It's the end of the year and I wanted to make a post that said something meaningful about life and how the years pass by, etc.

Thinking about this past year and all the changes that have gone on in my life and where I'm going, I'm realizing more and more that animal rescue, animal care and the equality of animals will always be something that is close to my heart.

Being the kind of person I am, growing up surrounded by all types of animals and learning from an early age that they have feelings, souls, personalities and special quirks--I can't imagine my life absent of any kind of animal.

The animal rescue world is a tight knit group that is slowly but surely gaining momentum in a world where some people feel that a human life is worth more than an animal one; or that with all the problems going on in today's society maybe saving one furry friend really doesn't matter in the great scheme of things.

It's simply not true. Every life matters whether it's a human life, an animal life or plant life. Once society as a whole starts to realize that cherishing all forms a life can help all aspects of society then I feel that we will be better off for it.

Why?

Because we truly are all connected in ways that no scientist or politician could ever define. Once we all realize this we can make small changes for the better that will not just affect the life you helped, but will affect every life after that.

So what did I do this year to help life? Well...I stayed true to myself and always spread the word of animal equality. I rescued my Charlie, which was probably the best decision I've ever made. I sent the word on about LostOurHome which in turn helped save a life. And I'm considering adopting another cat from Wildhorse Ranch Rescue.

If I could I would take in every animal that needs a home, but alas this is not possible. And being someone who goes to school full time and works and is living in the same down-hill economy as everyone else I can't always afford to give money either. But I can always give my time.

Just like you can always give your time.

So, for this upcoming New Years, when you're pondering your resolutions and goals you want to meet for the year--ask yourself:

What will you do to contribute to life?

Update to last post; Youtube video to Oprah

Click on the title to watch the video to Oprah. Maybe she'll do a show on the FDA.

Rescuing Animals Takes Many Forms

Hello All,

I thought I would wrap up the end of this wild year to thank those who have worked hard to spread the "rescue word."

Of course rescuing comes in many forms: We have the folks at www.lostourhome.org here in Arizona who are a bunch of Real Estate pros, but indirectly because of this blog saved an abandoned dog a couple of months ago. This dog was a neighbor to one of our pet sitting clients, and found itself in need of rescue when his people went through foreclosure and abandoned him at the property. Our client didn't know who to call, but remembered that we had started this blog, and contacted us.
Thank you LostOurHome folks for the work you've done this year.

We have the folks at www.thepetfoodlist.com who alert us whenever there is a new pet food recall in the works. Since Creature Feature Pet Sitting has many clients using all manner of brands of foods, this list is vitally important in my ability to inform our clients if they are feeding a dangerous food to their loved ones. I was alarmed when I received an alert from them the other day regarding a food I use personally for my own loved animals. After a diligent search online for the full story within 48 hours I found that the fault actually fell on the shoulders of the Australian government. They had decided that shipments of Orijen food need "super" irradiation before it could enter their country. In doing so they have rendered the food deadly to cats! By destroying 77% of vitamin A in that process, the food becomes deleterious. I'm still in shock that they choose to treat one of the top (in a handful of choices) commercial pet foods that way. Not to mention that this proves again the irradiation process is a bad idea. Well they shot themselves in the feet, because now they get no more Orijen. Sorry, Australia.
Thank you ThePetFoodList folks for the work you've done this year.

We have the folks at Wildhorse Ranch Rescue; www.mudpony.com who in spite of space and supply constraints tirelessly care for both old and new lifelong residents such as Grandpa's Charlee, a former racehorse who is trying hard to recover from a bacterial skin infection (pictured top right), and the newest lifelong resident; Jenny, a BLM rescue (pictured left) who went to live there just a month ago. These equines (among many more...see the herd on the website) are not going anywhere else...this is their last stop. Good thing too. While others give up on them, WHRR never will.
Thank you WHRR folks for the work you've done this year.

Finally, I'd like to introduce the newest link to the Creature Featurette Rescue Blog; the folks at www.truthaboutpetfood.com. It was through this organization that I got the final disposition on the Orijen-Australian food connection. This group is trying it seems in vain to bring to the forefront the fact that our own FDA is in violation of the very laws it charges others with. We have a serious problem with 4-D meat (Down, Diseased, Dying and Dead) in pet food, rather than slaughtered, which is the lawfully, required method for meat to be used in food (including pet food). The FDA has proven in it's own study that there is phenobarbital in pet food, which shows that 4-D meat is there. What that means is that euthanized animals are in pet food. You with me so far? OK....does the FDA acknowledge the violation? No. Do our Representatives in government know about it? Yes. Are they going to do anything about it? No. Not so far. Click on the title of this post to get to an expose' article about this issue. Our Representatives may never do anything about it. I believe the only way real attention will be called to this issue is through a class-action suit (we need a Sierra-Club-advocate-for-pets-type of group to do this)...or a heck of a lot of media attention. We can all work at both these options at the same time. Use the information in the article to write letters....to anyone you can think of who could possibly help. In the meantime don't use any foods that have anything void of actual description in the ingredients such as "Meat and Bonemeal," or "Meat Digest," or anything-byproducts. This indicates these ingredients come from 4-D meat. These kinds of terms indicate no real food that you can actually identify in the food. Go to www.truthaboutpetfood.com to get a lowdown on what the pet food industry terms actually are. Then get that stuff out of your animals' diets!
Thank you TruthAboutPetFood folks for the work you've done this year.

We at Creature Feature's wish all of you, and all of your loved-animals the best, and furthermore are hopeful that next year will be better for all.

New addition to the family

No, I didn't bring a new doggy back from California!

Actually, my sister who lives there adopted this cute, adorable, sweet, lovely, precious.........sigh....., anyway...she adopted this baby Chihuahua while we were there visiting. Her name is Sofia, and she is so small that she fits in one hand.

This little one was passed around as a last leftover from a backyard breeder's litter to first one person who didn't want her, then to his friend who didn't want her, then to a friend of his who gave her to his grandmother who also didn't want her. My sister knows the grandmother's family, so that's how my sister got her. And get this; the backyard breeder is expecting another litter! OMG...it's enough to make our heads explode!

But, let me tell you this little one is now very much wanted! The day after she came to live with my sister, we went to a nice little family-owned pet supply shop in San Jose and bought the best food, chewies, a crate, a baby-gate, harness, lead, collar...you name it, and she bought it. Of course I was there supervisng the whole time; "No, don't get that food...it's made by a company who doesn't care where the ingredients come from," or, "Get this shampoo, it doesn't have any nasty chemicals in it." Yes, she got the full benefit of my experience ;>

Anyway, we are just happy this little one is now safe and happy.

We had a wonderful time there as well. Nice, cool weather as usual. We rode horses on Salinas State Beach one day, which I had been looking forward to. There were 3 dead California Sea Lions washed up on the beach, which was not expected, but nevertheless I see similar things like that whenever I go to CA, and I am always surprised when I do. However, we also saw a wild deer running through the dunes, which was very cool. And we also saw a live Sea Lion swimmiing in the waves.

Of course at Fisherman's Wharf in Monterey there are rafts that float about in the Bay that are there for the purpose of allowing the resident Sea Lions to take refuge on them while they are swimming in and out of the marina. They help them to get out of the way of the incoming and outgoing boats. Plus, it provides plenty of entertainment to those of us who stand on the piers oooing and ahhhing at them for hours upon hours. Also, there are always plenty of tourists from other countries standing about asking, "Do they always do that"?

The answer is always, "Yes, and be sure to go up to San Francisco's Pier 49 to see hundreds more of them, and don't forget to donate to the Marine Mammal Center while you're there"!

We left CA eight years ago to come live here in Arizona, and the Monterey area is the only place I had ever really liked then and now. I had lived in Northern CA for 31 long years. I always felt that there was something real about the Monterey area that can't and won't get "californiaized." However, it's not for lack of trying on the state's part!

So be sure and visit, and don't forget to donate to the Marine Mammal Center while you're there, and to any Chihuahua Rescue you see along the way!

Holly's Story by Cindy Nevarez

Let's take a break from Process & Procedure. I'll be gone for the next two weeks, and I wanted to leave you with a reminder of why we rescue, and also to share with you a story of a most incredible animal-human relationship.

I wrote this story in dedication to my "Holly Goil," back in Dec. 06' when she was still with us and I could clearly focus on the best of her. It was originally published in the Creature Featurette newsletter:


Holly has been the best dog we have ever been owned by. She is three-quarters black Labrador, and one-quarter black Chow. She also has the largest dark brown cow-eyes ever observed in any dog anywhere. Obviously we are biased.

Holly’s story begins back in mid November of 1992 when I was driving to my home on an ordinary foggy, cold afternoon in Stockton, California. Soon after I turned on my street, I saw sitting on the side of the road a fluffy black pup watching my car approach. Actually it was not so unusual to see that. Seeing animals on my road was a common thing as they were often dumped there. The local shelter was less than one block away and is often full year-round. They are a no-kill shelter after all, and have to turn away many people trying to surrender animals. So those same people drive down the road a bit, and dump the animals. What was uncommon about this particular pup was the fact that she was just sitting there, not darting around, not running away, but was waiting. As I mentioned before she was watching my car approach, as though she was expecting me. As I got closer, her blue-black fluffy coat struck me right off. But when I got even closer I saw those eyes, those incredible deep brown, large, soft cow-eyes. I pulled over. I got out of the car quickly as I assumed she would be immediately afraid, and try to run. But she never moved. She just waited until I gently picked her up and put her in the car. I took her home. Now that I had her safely in the house I was able to assess her condition. She seemed to be in fair health, a little thin perhaps, but pretty muddied as if she lived in it. She was about three to four months old…but still had all her baby teeth.

During the next week we observed that she was very calm for a young pup. She always waited politely for her meals, and never tried to steal anyone else’s food. She was naturally house-broken, and never once had an accident in the house. She had also taken to carrying fuzzy-type toys around in her mouth every time she walked anywhere. For example; if she greeted us at the door she had a toy in her mouth. If we called to her to come to us she would immediately pick up a toy and come over. If she wanted to go outside, or followed us outside she would first pick up her toy before going.

One day at the end of that week a man came to the house, and asked us if we had picked up a certain pup. He then described her, and the location where I had picked her up. Obviously he had seen me pick her up, or someone else did and told him about it, because I didn’t tell anyone about the event. He said he owned the property at the spot where I picked her up, but no one lived there. He said he used the land to store Porta-potties. I looked at the man before me. He was of retirement age. He was dressed in work clothes, and was wearing knee-high, black rubber, Wellington-type boots…covered in mud. I asked him why if no one lived at the property a puppy was there all alone.
He said, “Oh, she’s not all alone…she’s there with her mother and all the other puppies.” I said, “What other puppies?”
“Her brothers and sisters.”
“How many are there?”
“Thirteen all together.” I stared at him.
“Thirteen?” I said. “Plus their mother?”
“Yeah. Do you want to buy this one? I’m selling all of them except one” Then he said with conviction, as if he knew it would clinch the deal, and all he would have to do is say it, “This one’s name is Cindy.” I searched his face for any signs of pure cleverness. I didn’t have a personalized license plate at the time. I was certain he didn’t look up my car at the DMV, and find out who I was, where I lived, but more importantly what my first name is, so he could use it as a divisive sales technique. No, there was no cleverness in that face, just the rapid blinking of an impatient man wanting to make a quick sale. I didn’t ask but he said quickly, “For fifty dollars you can have her.”
I glanced at my husband standing nearby who was silently but intently glaring at the man the whole time. At that moment thoughts of past purchases of dogs from years gone by flew though my head. I had extensive knowledge of puppy-mills, backyard breeders, and people who sold puppies at flea markets and parking lots. I knew that each time one bought from such a person one perpetuated the problem even more. It was in fact equivalent to an agreement on the part of the purchaser that this method of breeding and selling dogs was okay. I looked at “Cindy” at my feet, swallowed hard and said firmly, “No, we don’t want to buy her, but we’ll take her off your hands for you.”
The man shut his mouth hard, scooped up the pup under his arm like a football, turned on his heels and started for his truck. He called back to me as he got inside, “Let me know if you change your mind. All these puppies are like their mother. She’s a real good dog…half Chow and half Lab. The father’s a full Lab. Her other litter turned out real good too. We didn’t have any trouble selling them. She had eleven that time.” He hesitated a moment hoping this last bit of information would change our minds. I shook my head at him and turned back towards my house. My husband was already inside the door. Then the tears came. Mine. My heart was breaking. I believed then I couldn’t do anything as wrong ever again as I did at that moment. I stepped inside my front door and immediately saw her toy dropped on the floor where she had left it.
The days that followed were difficult to say the least. We missed her. However, now that I knew that property by the side of the road contained thirteen puppies and one mother-dog, I couldn’t keep from slowing down to a crawl every time I drove by, and looking in. I noticed first that the entire acreage was a slough of mud. That explained the Wellington boots…and the mud on Cindy. Every once in a while I caught a glimpse of the mother-dog as I went by. She was a little more furry….being more Chow and the size of a Lab, but always, always caked with mud. I never saw the pups though. Perhaps the man was being more careful now, and not wanting any of them to escape again, I thought.
Pretty soon it was December. We had had a lot more rain, and a lot more fog. I began to wonder if the pups and the mother-dog had enough opportunities to get dry. I tried to push the thoughts of that family out of my mind. After all Christmas was coming. I had things to do, and obligations to meet. I told myself that by now all the puppies probably were sold. I tried not to think of the kinds of homes a man who wears muddy Wellingtons day in and day out would attract for his pups. It was hopeless. I couldn’t get them out of my mind.
On December thirteenth, it was a very cold and foggy day. I turned down my street as usual and looked at my now usual favorite spot at the side of the road. I did a double take this time though, as there in the grey-blue mist I saw a black, fluffy pup sitting almost exactly as before. Only this time having about four weeks to grow a bit she looked more defined. Her head was more wedge-like, like the Chow part of her. The hair on her back was lying more flat now. Her chest was more filled out. But it was definitely Cindy, and not any of her siblings.
Because of the weather there was absolutely no one on the street. I looked around this time though still bothered by how her owner figured out who I was. I quickly got her into my car and drove home. I was fairly beaming as I walked into the house with her in my arms. My husband had a look on his face indicating that he knew he would again see this scene. Cindy ate some lunch, ran over to where her old toy lay, picked it up and carried it to where I sat. She then laid down at my feet, dropped the toy and went to sleep as if she had been doing that every day for the last four weeks.
We waited. Two days went by. One week. Christmas came and went. By then we had given her a new name. After a few wry jokes about “Which one of you is going to answer to Cindy?” Her name was now Holly. Not just because of the season, but because her name was Holly. We just knew.
By Valentine’s Day, we allowed ourselves a few treasured thoughts of entitlement about Holly. The man never came by. We saw him though, several times. Usually he was on or near his property, or getting in or out of his truck. He never acknowledged that he saw us drive by. He never came back to our house. I tried not to dwell on possible reasons why. It didn’t matter anymore anyway. By June we had Holly spayed, vaccinated and tagged. She was ours.
By fall of 1993 when the rains came, and then more, and came even more. I bought myself some rubber boots as I had chores to do outside. It was so wet anywhere one walked one sunk to their ankles in mud. I actually bought two pairs of boots that year; a pair of knee-high black leather for dress, and a pair of knee-high rubber ones for chores. My husband also bought himself a pair of black waterproof hiking boots. We then discovered an interesting thing. Anytime we walked anywhere near Holly wearing any of those pairs of boots, she cowered, ran away and either hid under or behind something. This reaction lasted for the first five years of her life. The man had come back after all.
By late 1998 Holly was the alpha of our dog pack as the previous two in the pecking order had deceased. She knew she was not the head of the household though. Whenever we went through the door either to go out or to go in she waited until we went through first. We never told her to do this…she just knew. When it was feeding time though and any other dog wanted her food they stopped in their tracks with just a look by her. They just knew.
By July of that year we had Duke, our Labra-Dobe. He thought he was all that and a bag of Beggin Strips. He still thinks that. Anyway, he wanted to dominate Holly in the worst way. Sometimes he would play at it. Sometimes he would get really aggressive about it. Not only did she always outsmart him, but he couldn’t hold onto her long enough. Her coat was so thick, and her skin so loose around her neck that it would always just slip out of his mouth. It didn’t matter that he outweighed her by thirty pounds. They would tumble and tousle over and over and over. Each time in the end Holly would be standing several inches away from Duke, and he would be standing there with the most puzzled look on his face. To this day he has never got the better of her.
At some point Holly earned the nickname of “Bucking Bronco.” You see she never barked like an ordinary dog, or even like an annoying one, since she did it maybe once or twice a month. If any strangers got too close to the house she did this uni-bark, not in rapid succession like dogs do, but she would do a bark, then a buck of her front end up in the air, then a bark and then another buck. Plus, she would somehow grow a bit. Her fur around her neck from just behind her ears to her shoulder tops would actually expand. Visualize a black Chow-like dog with a ruff the size of a car tire encircling her head bucking her whole front end off the ground about a foot while barking a single deep bark at you in between each lift-off. We thought it was cute, but like I said before, we’re biased. Most people steered clear of her.
Now Holly is very, very gray. That enormous ruff has laid down quite a bit now. Her beautiful face has white lips, white eyeliner, lashes and brows, and white accented ears. She has salt and pepper toes, hocks and belly. Many of her teeth are missing, or worn down. She also has cataracts, and limited hearing.
Last year she was unable to come up the stairs anymore to sleep in our room as she had done every night since she came to live with us. That was very difficult for her to accept. She fought that for more than a year. Until she could accept that as fact, we had to boost her rear so she could go up every night, and in the morning grab her ruff to keep her from sliding all the way down. Finally she realized that we are still here with her in the house regardless if we are separated by stairs or not. As a matter of fact lately just in the last couple of weeks when I come down in the mornings she’s so excited to see me that I get a few Bucking-Bronco barks and jumps for my effort. It’s as if she’s saying to me, “So you won’t forget it’s still me.”

We lost Holly in Nov. 07' when she could not move on her own any longer. She had let us know it was time. But she was right after all, we never forget; I still see her in the blink of an eye when I come down the stairs. Or when I come in the house and the pack of dogs are there in greeting...she's still there.