animal rescue

by

Shelter – part 2

UntoldAnimalStories.org is pleased to present part two of a four-part tale by pioneering educator and author Karla McLaren.
© Karla McLaren 2014

continued from March 7 post…
We work to keep the dogs calm and quiet in their kennels, but it’s hard because so many new dogs come in regularly, and the cement-and metal kennels amplify their noise powerfully. Today, all the kennels are full – some with two or more dogs who came in together, so we’ve got more than eighty dogs here.  If even ten percent start barking, the noise can be deafening and very stressful for everyone (there’s a huge jar of free earplugs in the lobby; it’s that noisy). My greet-and-treat visits are a way to calm the dogs, and they’re a central part of kennel training and socialization, with a rhythm that’s so predictable that the kennel vets know it by heart.  On my first pass through the kennel, everyone gets a hello and a meaty treat no matter what they’re doing or not doing.  I want each dog to see people as fun, and to look forward to my next visit.  Some of the more savvy dogs predict the desired behavior – they sit calmly and meet my eyes – and I praise them clearly so that the other dogs can hear.

On the second round, the dogs have to perform in some way for their treat.  Any of these three behaviors – sitting, being calm, or being quiet – merits a treat.  And the dogs really can’t fail – even a terrier who leaps all over her kennel like a tiny tornado can at least calm down a little bit.  I help the hyper dogs by making a great show of hunkering down next to their kennel and using hand gestures while I ask “Can you get down?”  Most of the dogs will follow my lead, and the trick is to reward them as soon as they manage a desired behavior.  For some dogs, I have to wait until they stumble onto something – anything – desirable, but if I have patience, I can catch even the most chaotic dog in some form of a correct behavior.

The key is to ignore – completely – any bad behaviors, and reward good behaviors as soon as you see them.  Rewards don’t have to be food as they are at the shelter; petting, hugs, and praise are just as effective.  We use delicious desiccated liver treats at the shelter as a way to ease the general depression that plagues shelter dogs.  Food is not the best kind of love, but it gives the dogs something to look forward to and some bright spots in their stressful days.

On today’s second round, nearly everyone is figuring out which behaviors are required before the treat is given.  Some hyper dogs can’t stop barking, and some dogs clearly don’t know the “sit” command, but I catch everyone doing something right, and praise them all with a hearty “good dog.”  Today, something unusual pulls my eye to a small dog in one of the kennels near the entrance, which is where the cutest, smallest, and most adoptable dogs generally are.  This one is a sleek, sable-brown little girl named Peaches who squirms around joyfully in her kennel like a tiny harbor seal. She pushes herself nearer to me as I pass, so I kneel down and peer in as I pet her beautiful brown forehead, which she pushes up to the chain links of her kennel door.  She rolls over to show me her belly, and I see a lumpy umbilical hernia pushing up through her skin, and the strangest leg conformation in her hind quarters, but she won’t stop squirming long enough for me to figure out what’s going on.  Her kennel card doesn’t mention anything. I stoop down and kiss her on her nose, which is small enough for her to poke almost completely through a chain link, and I promise to come back.

I head down a T-leg of the kennel rows toward the home of the silly Nana.  She’s a gigantic Saint Bernard with a kidney condition that requires daily medication, and she’s been here a while.  Her owner couldn’t afford to take care of her, so she’s here waiting for someone with a big house, a big yard, and a big wallet for her meds.  Though some dogs become despondent after a long time in the kennel, Nana, who has been here for three months, is endlessly cheerful.  Nana thinks the greet-and-treat game is very funny, and she’s put her own spin on it.  Because she’s so huge, she can rise up and see over the cement walls of her kennel (they’re 6 feet tall).  When Nana sees me approaching, she likes to rile up the other dogs and get them barking.  When I arrive at her kennel, though, she makes a great show of sitting very prettily and being ever so quiet while the other dogs display their very bad manners.  I thank her loudly for being quiet, and I make “shush” gestures at the other dogs.  I usually treat Nana twice in each round – once on the way into her kennel row, and once on the way out.  She’s so big that my little cracker-sized treats are probably just a drop in a bucket!  On round three, I’m going to see if I can get her to stop riling everyone up, even though I do appreciate her excellent sense of humor.

As I near Milton and Jake and the chain again, I wonder how Milton will view me this time – what his approach will be.  This second treat is supposed to act as a kind of exchange between me and the dogs; it’s a prelude to entering into a working relationship.  Some of the dogs already have this figured out – they’re in graduate school.  Some, like the wildly leaping terriers, haven’t even entered preschool, and they’re going to need a lot of work.  But with Milton, I wonder if there’s even a hope of getting him anywhere near the idea of a relationship.

When I reach Milton’s kennel, I approach him in the proper way: I kneel down to his level and present the side of my body to him – I don’t face him.  Many dogs see face-to-face approaches and largeness as a threat (if one dog faces another and tries to make himself appear larger, that’s often an invitation to a fight in dog language).  I also don’t bare my teeth, extend my hand, or poke my fingers into Milton’s kennel.  Those are also threats – they’re aggressive moves, and Milton requires politeness, space, and respect.

to be continued next week…

for part 1: https://untoldanimalstories.org/2014/03/07/shelter/
for part 3: https://untoldanimalstories.org/2014/03/21/shelter-part-3/

Karla McLaren is a pioneering educator and award-winning author whose empathic approach to emotions revalues even the most “negative” emotions, and opens startling new pathways into the depths of the soul. She is the author of The Art of Empathy: A Complete Guide to Life’s Most Essential Skill, the trailblazing book The Language of Emotion: What Your Feelings Are Trying to Tell You, and the interactive online course Emotional Flow. Karla has taught at such venues as the University of San Francisco, Naropa University, Kripalu, and the Association for Humanistic Psychology. She is currently developing new forms of empathy and social interaction curricula for neurologically diverse people.

The Art of Empathy

What if there were a single skill that could radically improve your relationships and your life? Empathy, teaches empathic pioneer Karla McLaren, is that skill. In The Art of Empathy: A Complete Guide to Life’s Most Essential Skill, McLaren presents her groundbreaking model of The Six Essential Aspects of Empathy to help you understand and nurture healthy empathy in every part of your life.  Informed by four decades of empathic experience, plus current insights from neuroscience, social science, the arts, and healing traditions, The Art of Empathy teaches you how to become a healthy and happy empathic presence in a world that needs you.

by

Shelter

A four-part story by pioneering educator and award-winning author Karla McLaren.
© Karla McLaren 2014

I don’t merely love animals; animals were my shelter and my sanctuary when I was little. The animals in my neighborhood helped me survive the overwhelming emotional realities of a childhood filled with abuse, and to be honest, they helped me learn how to love, how to trust, and how to endure. I don’t merely love animals; I respect them, I admire them, and I value them. I admire their intelligence, their empathy, their dignity, and their sense of humor. When people ask me jokingly, “Were you raised by wolves?” I proudly say “Yes: house wolves and housecats.”

So when my local animal shelter sent out a call for volunteers to help socialize the animals, of course I went, got trained, and began to work with hundreds of homeless dogs, cats, horses, birds, goats, rabbits, turtles, and pigs. This is the story of a few of the characters I met there.

He wasn’t merely not looking at me.  He was staring past me with an intensity that said, “You’re so not here that even the thought of you not being here fills me with disgust.”  I get that every now and then, and though it does hurt, I’ve learned not to crumble.

I gingerly push a meaty treat through his kennel door and onto the left side of his blanket, away from where he sits, but still within his field of view. “Well Mr. Crankypants, Mr. Dark Cloud of the Kennel, Mr. Hate, everyone gets a treat, no matter how rotten they are.” My friend in the next kennel, the silly brindle-colored hound dog Jake, waits patiently (as we’ve been trying to get all the dogs to do).  I move in front of Jake’s kennel, give him a treat from the pouch on my belt, and pet him and talk to him. I overplay our relationship a bit for the benefit of Hate Boy, whose kennel card identifies him as “Milton.”  Really, some people should not be allowed to name animals.

I shouldn’t be in this part of the kennel.  I’m just a volunteer, and I’m not supposed to go behind the sign that says “Staff Only,” but I nearly always ignore the rules and just shrug apologetically if anyone catches me.  This area is a chained-off part of the shelter, which is made up of rows of roomy kennel cages on either side of a cement walkway. My job this morning is to “greet and treat” all of the dogs so that they’ll associate the front of their kennels (and people peering at them) with positive things.  We want them looking eagerly at people – not sulking or shivering underneath their blankets, or sitting alone out in their private dog runs.  We want them to have the best chance of being adopted.

Milton, Jake, and the other dogs in the chained-off area are isolated from the public for some reason, and I’m not supposed to interact with them.  I used to stop at the chain that separated them from the rest of the kennel, but their crestfallen looks were just too hard to ignore. All of these dogs’ kennel cards explain why they’re behind the chain and separated from the other dogs.  Sometimes, they’re recuperating from surgery (all animals at our shelter are spayed and neutered, thank goodness).  For instance, my goofy friend Jake had a twisted leg that required surgery, and he’ll be in this isolation area until his cast comes off.  Sometimes, these dogs are waiting to be temperament tested (denoted by a blue “T” on their cards).  Sometimes, they’ve been temperament tested and found wanting (the blue “T” will have a red line through it), and they’re awaiting a decision about their fate.  Milton’s T was red-lined; he was a fate boy.  But this didn’t mean he couldn’t have a treat while he was waiting – at least that’s what I think.

Temperament testing is different than training testing – where we find out if a dog knows basic commands.  All of the staff and volunteers are taught how to train and resocialize animals, because no matter what their previous owners write on their surrender sheets, many animals end up at the shelter because they’re poorly trained.  They’ve been rewarded for rotten behaviors, and ignored when they’re being good, so they become what their owners inadvertently ask them to become.  We expect that, but what’s really frustrating is that we can usually get a dog turned around behaviorally in just a few training sessions.  If people would just swallow their pride and pay for some training, they’d have happy and well-adjusted animals that they wouldn’t need to bring to the shelter.  Habits can be changed.  What I’ve learned is that most animals are very reachable, and they’ll do whatever their human wishes if they’re just asked in the right way.  However, if a dog (like Milton) is temperament tested and found to be unreachable, he’ll most likely be euthanized.  At this shelter, we get basketsful of puppies and kittens, crippled animals and sick animals that owners can’t afford to treat, older pets whose owners have died, stray animals from all over the county, and renters’ pets whose presence actually stops their owners from finding a place to live.  No matter how many adoptions we manage in a day or a week, more animals come pouring in and the kennel is nearly always full to capacity.  There’s just not enough shelter space for animals like Milton who have decided that people are the enemy.  We can only do so much.

When people learn that I work at the shelter, they imagine that I’m overwhelmed by the need and sadness of the animals, but really, that’s not how it works. The trick is to just love everyone and not get too attached to specific personalities. A little bit of love can go a long way, and the more love the animals experience, the more likely they are to feel welcoming toward people and end up being adopted. No matter what, the names on the kennel cards will change, and life will move forward. Adoptions happen regularly, foster parents step forward, and many of the animals find homes.  There is hope, and whatever sadness I might feel is actually reduced by being here, by helping, and by loving the animals.

I finish giving treats to the dogs in the chained-off area, and as I head back into the regular kennel, I throw Milton a kiss, just to be funny – but he steadfastly refuses to look at me, and he hasn’t touched the treat I gave him.  Oh well. It’s time for my second round through the kennels.

to be continued next week…
for part 2: https://untoldanimalstories.org/2014/03/14/shelter-part-2/
for part 3: https://untoldanimalstories.org/2014/03/21/shelter-part-3/

Karla McLaren is a pioneering educator and award-winning author whose empathic approach to emotions revalues even the most “negative” emotions, and opens startling new pathways into the depths of the soul. She is the author of The Art of Empathy: A Complete Guide to Life’s Most Essential Skill, the trailblazing book The Language of Emotion: What Your Feelings Are Trying to Tell You, and the interactive online course Emotional Flow. Karla has taught at such venues as the University of San Francisco, Naropa University, Kripalu, and the Association for Humanistic Psychology. She is currently developing new forms of empathy and social interaction curricula for neurologically diverse people.

The Art of Empathy

What if there were a single skill that could radically improve your relationships and your life? Empathy, teaches empathic pioneer Karla McLaren, is that skill. In The Art of Empathy: A Complete Guide to Life’s Most Essential Skill, McLaren presents her groundbreaking model of The Six Essential Aspects of Empathy to help you understand and nurture healthy empathy in every part of your life.  Informed by four decades of empathic experience, plus current insights from neuroscience, social science, the arts, and healing traditions, The Art of Empathy teaches you how to become a healthy and happy empathic presence in a world that needs you.

by

Wink

as told by Kim Kemple Cott

winkWink came into our lives one day when my mom, Helen, was attempting to adopt a different dog than Wink.  Six months after her rescue dog, Zac the Vizsla, passed on, my mom starting looking with very specific criteria: the dog had to be a small, manageable size and had to be a rescue.

I’d been helping her search for a month by contacting local SPCAs and humane societies and by checking on www.petfinder.com (as of this writing, petfinder.com is featuring 332,076 adoptable pets from 13,476 adoption groups nationwide).  The right dog hadn’t shown up yet.

A friend suggested we try a particular rescue organization in the next county over.  I called my mom, picked her up, and we headed out there.  We got lost en route, stopped to ask for directions, were given directions to a different rescue, and got lost again.  After getting lost a third, time, we asked a police officer.  He wasn’t sure where the rescue was but said that he’d find out.  He pointed us the right way and we arrived after having wandered through much of the county.

We walked up and down the aisles, drawn by so many sweet animals.  We settled on a little brown dog and went to the front desk to provide them with the kennel cage number.  While we were waiting in line, my mom noticed a small black dog sitting in the office of one of the shelter workers.  My mom and I looked at each other, both somehow knowing: this was the dog.  My mom asked about him and was told he was up for adoption; he’d just had his eye removed the day before (kids had beaten him  and he was found lying under a front porch).  One of the shelter workers had taken a particular interest in this Pomeranian/Chihuahua mix, named him Eduardo, and cared for him personally.

As part of the shelter’s adoption process, my mom’s landlord had to be called to verify that he allowed pets.  He was unreachable.  This was a problem, because we really, really wanted to take the dog home that day.  We explained to the shelter worker that the landlord had already given verbal permission, that my mom had a previous rescue dog living there, etc.  The worker looked into my mom’s eyes, then into mine and said she’d be back shortly.  We waited anxiously.wink black and white

She came back, stacking the adoption papers into a tidy pile, saying, “Everything is in order,” and winking at us.  We smiled conspiratorially, signed the papers, picked up the pup, and headed home.

He was tentative and scared at first, but well behaved, and he bonded quickly with my mom and me.  Mom named this sweet creature Wink.  She took him everywhere to help him socialize with people and dogs.  So many people were kind to him.

One day my mom took him into a consignment shop.  The shopkeeper said, “We don’t allow animals in our store.”  Mom smiled warmly, leaned in, and said, “I know, and isn’t it so nice that you let me bring him in here.”

•   With so many good, adoptable pets available—and with an average of 1 in 4 pets in humane societies nationwide being purebreds—why not consider adoption rather than supporting the supply-demand cycle of pet breeding.

•   From the American Humane Society: It is a common myth that pet overpopulation means there are “not enough” homes for all the shelter animals. In reality, there are more than enough homes, but not enough people are choosing to adopt from a shelter. Seventeen million Americans acquire a new pet each year—more than double the number of shelter animals. Only 3.5 million people, or about 20 percent, choose to adopt their new pet. The rest choose to buy their pets from pet stores or breeders, or they choose a variety of other cheap or free sources. 

Despite increased public awareness over the past 40 years about the need to spay and neuter pets, 35 percent of pet owners in the U.S. still choose not to do so. Many among this group intentionally choose to breed their pets, either for profit or for what they mistakenly believe to be a “fun” experience. Others choose not to spay or neuter out of ignorance, believing that their pets won’t breed accidentally.

by

Carlos de Mockingbird

baby mockingbirdI saw the dog coming toward me.  My impulse was to move but I couldn’t.  As the dog bounded toward me, I looked up at the nest in the oak tree from which I’d fallen, fervently wishing I were there.

The woman yelled just as the dog’s mouth closed around me, but then something unexpected happened.  The dog held me gently in his mouth and walked to the woman, who by then had quit yelling.  The dog lowered me to the ground.  I blinked at the dog and the woman, then squeaked so hard that I lifted off the ground slightly.  The woman laughed, cradled her hands around me, and took me home.

I spent my early life inside the house with my people until my downy feathers turned into full-fledged feathers.  Then they started putting me on the rail of the deck—to acclimate me.  I lived in and liked both worlds, the wild one and the domesticated one.

Gradually I came into the house less and less often, although I did occasionally peer in the window to see what was happening.  I became friends with other birds, learned their songs, and started a family of my own.

The woman walks to her mailbox daily.  I swoop down and perch on the top of it, arriving just before she does.  She calls me by name and I sing a song for her.  Sometimes it’s a sparrow’s song, sometimes a wood thrush’s, sometimes a meadowlark’s.  She listens appreciatively, says a few kind words, then walks back to the house, sifting through her mail.  I watch her go, spread my wings, and fly.

Do you have a rescue story to share? Please email untoldanimalstories@gmail.com

by

It Only Takes a Moment to Feel

It only takes a moment to feel.  Just drop inside your body, and from there, perceive.  This cuts through the clutter and diversion of mind chatter and justifications, and for just those few moments, you can perceive what is without much of a filter.

What if everyone practiced this heart-based seeing to a greater or lesser extent?   Probably the world—and our treatment of people and animals—would be much kinder.  ID-100222200

Here’s one example.  The man waited in line at his favorite lunch stand on a busy city street in Philadelphia.  He noticed the stray dog, again.  He’d seen him on other days but hadn’t given the dog much thought beyond: oh well, survival of the fittest.  The rumpled-looking dog sidled up to the lunch cart, sniffing the fragrant food and looking up at the people in line, hopeful.  Like all the other passersby and people in line, the man ignored the dog.  It’s easier not to pay heed.

On this particular day, however, the man looked into the eyes of this creature and recognized something.  He broke off a corner of his sandwich and held it out for the dog, who took it gingerly from his hand.  Then he pulled out his cell phone, called directory service, and dialed the number of the local humane society.

The man sat on a nearby bench, the dog following a few respectful steps behind.  He held out another piece of his sandwich to the dog, who swallowed it without chewing then looked up at the man, expectantly.  Over the next half-hour the man gave the dog the rest of his sandwich in small pieces while checking his phone for the time and peering up and down the street.  Finally, a small white truck pulled up and parked, and a uniformed woman climbed out.  She glanced at the man, nodded to him, then crouched down and extended a treat to the dog.  As the dog took the food, the woman spoke softly to him and slipped a leash over his head.  The dog sat down at her side and looked up at her as if to say, what’s next?  The woman asked the man if he’d seen the dog there before, and thanked him for caring enough to make the phone call.  She opened the back of the truck, and the dog jumped in, happily.  Off they drove.

The man bought another sandwich, this one for himself, and as he walked away, chewing thoughtfully, he felt good.

To find the phone number of your local shelter, add in your zipcode:  http://theshelterpetproject.org/shelters

Brown stray dog courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net – tiverylucky.

by

Angela Bassett Hound

by Cherie Damron (co-founder of Untold Animal Stories)

718848917_c1ad164ee0A few years ago I moved back to the small town in rural NC where I grew up.  I started volunteering at the local animal shelter, photographing adoptable dogs and cats for the shelter’s Petfinder.com site and the “Pet of the Week” feature in the local paper.  I’ve always had a soft spot for seniors and animals with special needs, shy pets, and animals needing assistance.  I started a small rescue service, taking as many of the dogs as I could that weren’t likely to be put up for adoption, finding foster homes for them or working with other rescues outside of the area (usually in the northeast).

One day in May 2007, Animal Control was called to come and pick up Angela, a 6-year old female basset hound, and take her to be put down.  Her back legs had become paralyzed and she was unable to walk or urinate on her own.  Had Angela gone to the shelter, she would have been immediately euthanized (there is no “hold period” for owner surrenders of high-needs/unadoptable pets).

The Animal Control officer knew I loved hounds and called me as she was leaving Angela’s house to see if I were willing to take her.  I met the truck before it arrived at the shelter and took Angela directly to our veterinarian.  He explained the surgery that was needed, which had to be done at a specialty hospital, and left it up to me and my partner, John, to make our decision.  There was no decision to make for me, and when John looked into those big, sad basset eyes as Angela sat crumpled in the corner of the exam room, he knew we were about to embark on a very expensive, difficult mission.

Off we went to the Veterinary Specialty Hospital in Cary, NC.  Doc called ahead to schedule surgery to correct the two ruptured disk in her spine.  The surgery had to take place within 24 hours of injury or the likelihood of her walking again would be slim.  Angela was taken in to surgery that night.

Angela came through the surgery very well, although bloodwork revealed that she is Heartworm Positive and has antibodies for both Erlichiosis and Rocky Mtn. Spotted Fever, 2 tick-borne diseases.  I brought her home from the hospital two days later.  Angela was still unable to walk or urinate on her own at that time; however, she had no problem wagging her tail!

By Day 4 Angela was going to the bathroom on her own and there was very slight movement in each of her back legs. By Day 9 she was still unable to support her weight or walk without a sling, but there was a great deal of movement in her legs and she “pedalled” in the air as if she were walking.567079651_8e08b6735f

Exactly three weeks after surgery, Angela took a few steps on her own without the assistance of the sling.  Five days later, she was walking completely unassisted by a sling, and although slightly wobbly, she was able to stand still and support herself without swaying from side to side.

A week later Angela had a setback—she became depressed, lethargic, and stopped eating entirely.  She had a temperature of 105.5, and a full-blown case of Erlichiosis.  Four days of hospitalization, IV fluids, and antibiotics later, she was on the mend but fragile.

567089635_de0fba56ecShe came through that, completed her Heartworm treatment, and just prior to her spay surgery, Angela’s teats started growing and she began “nesting” type behavior. There was no possibility of pregnancy, as she hadn’t been in contact with any except my pets, and mine were all neutered.  Our vet suspected a “pseudo-pregnancy,” which I had never even heard of.  We went ahead with the spay surgery and the pseudo-pregnancy was confirmed.

Finally the medical procedures were done and Angela could start being a dog.  Throughout her recovery her personality blossomed.  Angela Bassett Hound has become a fun, happy lady with a huge voice and a very, very big heart.  She loves everyone she meets.  Now, 6 1/2 years after her surgery, at almost 13 years old, Angela has moved across country twice, attended Basset Tea Parties” with founders, and although she is slowing down a bit, she now loves to run and play on the beaches of Cape Cod.  I am so very grateful that I’ve had the chance to have this wonderful being in my life.2011 11 26_0270

2011 11 26_0257

by

Bring Comfort to a Cold Dog … &… Bring a Soldier’s Rescued Dog Home from War … Two gift ideas

Two gift ideas for people in your life who love animals and want to make an impact.

Bring Comfort to a Cold Dog

Image Text
Dogs left outside without protection suffer terribly during the winter.

You can change the life of a chained dog who doesn’t have shelter from winter weather. Become an “Angel for Animals” sponsor, or contribute whatever amount you wish, and a sturdy doghouse will be delivered by People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals to a “backyard dog” to help her/her survive frigid weather.

Each sturdy doghouse has an entrance covered by a flap to keep the interior dry.   For many of these lonely animals this will be the first real shelter that they’d ever had.   http://bit.ly/17Xxsfp

Bring a Soldier’s Rescued Dog Home from Iraq or Afghanistan

“My best friend, Iram, is alive and here at my side because of you.  SPCA International sent their Operation Baghdad Pups (OBP) rescue team to Iraq to save the puppy my soldiers rescued one day from a burning, abandoned car.  Iram was my comfort, my strength, my joy during my third long and lonely 15 month deployment in Iraq.  He saved me – and SPCA International made it possible for me to save him.”
Sergeant Major David Dantzler, USA Ret

Operation Baghdad Pups

“U.S. troops in Iraq and Afghanistan befriend local animals as a way to help cope with the emotional hardships they endure every day while deployed in a war zone.  The Operation Baghdad Pups program provides veterinary care and coordinates complicated logistics and transportation requirements in order to reunite these beloved pets with their service men and women back in the U.S. These important animals not only help our heroes in the war zone, but they also help them readjust to life back home after combat.”

Please consider a gift/donation to SPCA International – Operation Baghdad Pups    http://bit.ly/17XIWPZ


Photos and illustrations from PETA and SPCA International

by

I Have This Dream…

All animals illustration ID-10040124For most of my life I’ve had a pact with myself:  if I see an animal in distress, I will do whatever is within my realm of possibility to help.  It’s how I can live with myself.  Sometimes what I’m able to do seems woefully inadequate.  Sometimes I have to remind myself that even a small victory—restoring just one animal’s life from bare, sketchy survival to plentiful food, water, and shelter (and if it’s fortunate, love) has to be enough.

Sometimes at night I look out the window to the blue moonlight and think of all the creatures with whom I share this night, this land.  It isn’t my job to take on everything, but I can make peace with myself by redefining what it is I can do, and by doing those things.

I can’t save every animal, but I have this dream:  Many, many people choosing to take it upon themselves not to look away from an animal in need and being willing to inconvenience themselves for a few minutes to do what can be done.  So much could be accomplished.

Three days ago I saw a black adolescent cat at the edge of our property.  He watched me and angled his head in interest.  When I took a tentative step toward him, he ran off.  Daily I place bowls of food and a fresh water where I last saw him.  Soon I will set the humane trap, and one of these days, I’ll trap him and take the long drive to the SPCA.  It’s not convenient, but I’ll do it because, for me, I have no other choice.

And when the winter wind blows icy and the snow drifts, I will not have to think of him out there, hungry and cold.  I will not have done much, but I will have helped that one small creature.  For now, it will have to be enough.
Carolyn

“Saving just one animal won’t change the world…but surely the world will change for that one animal.”  Author unknown

Illustration by Vlado courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net

by

The Starry Night Was My Blanket

My path here was roundabout, here being a place with space to roam and explore within a context of belonging.  Here I’ve come to know something I’d not known before: trust.  Sometimes it feels foreign, and I retreat back to my native high alertness.

I had lived on a ranch where I had a job to do: tending the livestock.  I took my job seriously and performed it with singular focus, but the time came when the cattle were moved and the people left.  I ran after their truck, sure there had been some mistake, until I could run no longer.  I returned to the empty place; knowing no other place else since puppyhood, I stayed.

There was a trickle of water at the edge of the property from which I drank.  I passed my days foraging for food.  The starry night was my blanket, the warm sun my companion, the rain my welcome, thirst-quenching friend.  And so I passed my time.

One day I saw a car coming from a distance, a cloud of dust trailing behind it.  People I didn’t know emerged from the car.  It was the woman who saw me first, pointing me out to the others then calling to me.  I approached her cautiously.

She stooped down, holding her hand out to me.  I looked into her eyes then walked to her.  She touched my forehead, my ears, my neck and spoke to me quietly.  I didn’t understand her words, but I understood her.  She placed her hand on my spiny back, each finger resting in an indent between my ribs.

They took me to their house.  I hung behind as we walked in, as I’d never before been inside a house.  A cat at the far side of the room arched his back and widened his eyes.  I looked toward the woman for reassurance, who nodded.  I moved slowly toward the cat, my head hung low to show respect.  I reached my neck forward and touched his nose with my nose.  The cat sat down and began bathing his paw.  I went back and stood beside the woman, glancing up to her to make sure I’d done the right thing.  She placed her hand gently on my head.  I closed my eyes.

These days, there is a cedar-smelling bed near the woodstove and bowls of fresh food and water for me, always.  Sometimes I walk to the far edge of the property and sit on the bluff.  From there I gaze out toward the place I used to live and back toward the place I now call home.  I almost always lay my head on my paws and, under the big sky, doze.  Later, I rise, shake myself off, and follow the familiar path home.  There, I am greeted with love, always.

•photo by untoldanimalstories.org co-founder Cherie Damron, http://cdamron.exposuremanager.com/

by

Part II – I Was Born on an Amish Farm in the Middle of Winter

DSC_0131For part 1:   https://untoldanimalstories.org/2013/09/13/i-was-born-in-the-middle-of-winter/

The man and woman said thank you to the people, talked to me kindly, and we left.  As we moved along, I saw a flash of gray fur streak across the field and into the barn.  My brother.

They took me to a family who adopted me.  There were new smells and places to investigate, and two kids who cooed, named me Mr. Bean, and almost never put me down.  Best of all, there was another cat, Gracie.  She looked like a paler version of my mother.  I walked over to her, excited to have her company.  She pulled herself up to her full height, narrowed her eyes at me, and took a few aimless swipes.  The people scolded her, scooped me up, and held me.  They commented on how sweet and docile I was.mr. bean 1-27-13

I divided my time between being held, trying to make friends with DSC_0174Gracie, eating, and sleeping.  I slept a lot because even though I was happy and warm, I didn’t feel all that well.

The vet came to the house and sat on the floor with me, prodding and poking me, which I did not appreciate.  She told my people I had worms and gave me foul-tasting pills.

One morning I woke up and felt different.  The sun came blazing in the window and my body felt alive, so I tore around the house like a maniac.  Gracie took to high ground.  I paused, mid-stride.  It occurred to me that she was a wonderful, large target….DSCN2609

to be continued
For Part III: https://untoldanimalstories.org/2013/09/27/part-iii-i-was-born-on-an-amish-farm-in-the-middle-of-winter/