Chloe

It was a spring day in 2008 when I decided to stop by my local animal shelter. I don’t know why I allowed myself to do so, but I did.

I’m an animal lover, I always have been. I remember crying as a young child when my dad would watch the discovery channel and I would happen to walk in the room and see a lion hunting a zebra, or something of that sort. It’s a hard love to deal with, the love of animals, but it’s the purest form of love I’ve ever known.

During my walk around the shelter’s corridors, I saw the usual; some dogs hiding, some dogs barking, but all in all, it was an unsettling feeling of fear that was peering back at me through countless pairs of puppy eyes.

After a few laps around the shelter, I realized I had missed the medical unit of the shelter-a small room in which the sick animals are kept so that they can be treated for their medical issues while leaving the rest of the shelter animals unexposed to whatever illness they might be dealing with. I walked in, guarding my heart, and what I saw next I will never forget. Sitting before me was an 8 week old black and white pit bull puppy with mutilated ears. They were bleeding. Bloody. Scabs were forming on two little nubs on top of the puppy’s head. I felt a lump rise in my throat, but by some act of God, I was able to hold back the tears that were welling up in my eyes. I took a few steps closer to the small cage she was being kept in, and she leaned forward and licked my finger.

Puppy kisses, there’s nothing like them. I was immediately in love. No love has ever been so instant, so unreal and so unconditional for me.

A few minutes later, after simply staring at the sweet puppy and enjoying her nibbles and kisses, two men joined us in the medical unit. They nod “hello” to me, and I smile back. They speak to each other in Spanish, not knowing or caring that I can understand. I start to get angry, as they are mentioning many features of the puppy that would make a good mother for a litter of puppies: her white chest, her large head, her petite frame…

WHAT? This is a puppy who has gone through extreme abuse in her life, and all these people can think about is breeding her and making money off of her puppies? NO, I won’t let it happen.

They turn to me and ask me if I’m going to adopt her, and I respond with the first thing that came out of my lips…”They’ll never let you take an animal out of the shelter doors without it being spayed or neutered.”

“Seriously?” one responded.

“Yes, those are the rules of animal shelters.” I respond, clearly irritated.

“Not even under special circumstances?” the other chimes in.

“I don’t really think breeding is considered a special circumstance, sir.”

They both looked at me, shocked.

“I’m not trying to be rude, but I do feel the need to point out that the reason why we have such a large pet overpopulation in our society is because of people who breed their animals. The reason why this very place exists is because of people who breed animals and then dump them on the side of the road, or beat, torture and mutilate them, like this puppy.” Wow, I was surprised I said it, but glad I did, nonetheless.

And then to follow, “Yes, I’m going to adopt her.”

The two men looked at me, looked at each other, and then politely said, “Have a good day” and walked out of the medical unit.

Georgie Part 2

To read Georgie’s story from the beginning, click here.

Georgie

My alarm sounds off…. waking me from a deep sleep…. First thought, “Who the hell set my alarm so early!” In another minute I remember…. my stomach does a flip-flop.

With my mapquest directions in hand, I’m off. The sun is shining brightly. It’s a cool morning. I get a little nervous when my exit comes up…. Crenshaw Blvd. I turn down the ramp. The street doesn’t look scary. My hands start to sweat. “What if I get shot while I’m down here? Did I tell Darrell exactly where the shelter was? “ I pull out my cell phone, positive that if I don’t call someone and tell them where I’m headed, I’ll wind up a Jane Doe at the LA county morgue. I think I watch too much Law and Order…. I dial Jill.

“Hey! You’ll never guess where I am…. I’m in South Central going to rescue a dog. He was found roaming the streets with graffiti spray painted all over him. Just wanted to let you know…. in case…you know, in case I get shot while I’m down here.” She laughs. We chat a minute and then I hang up…

I continue driving. All of a sudden panic strikes. I read the next street sign. “Shit! I’m lost!” Silently I curse my inherited sense of direction. My hands really start to sweat now…I’m LOST in South Central LA…. Gangland! Me in my shiny new PT Cruiser. Blonde hair, trunk full of dog treats and bones…. I keep my self together, long enough to read the directions again…

Ten minutes later, I pull up to the shelter. It’s not open yet and I ask the woman in front where I can park. She gives me a look…”Anywhere you want….” I imagine she mutters “idiot” under her breath. I pull up the long driveway to the top of the building. Should I wait in the car? Go to the front? Rande said I need to be there first. (Bad. Men) I jump out of my car and walk as fast as I can to the front door.

I don’t want to look like I’m being inpatient, so I read every lost dog notice on the bulletin board. I see a man across the street…he looks like he trying to break into the car. I look away. If he sees me he might shoot me. Then I’ll end up a Jane Doe at the LA County morge. Wait…didn’t I just…Finally, it’s eight and the door opens.

I don’t’ know what I was expecting…a huge crowd there to adopt abandoned dogs and cats. Turns out I was the only one there. The only one. I felt sad about that. I can hear the dogs…in the distance…barking non stop. ‘I’m the only one here…the only one.’ I get a lump in my throat.

A very nice man asks if he can help. I blurt out, “I’m here to bail out a dog, impound number (I consult my paper) A243938, white, pit bull, 1 year old, not neutered. This is the first time I’ve done this, I’m with Karma Rescue, He’s going to Animal Birth Control…Do I have to see where they keep the dogs?….” I don’t think I took a breath! He smiles, stands up and points at the door. “The dogs are this way….

“I DON’T want to go in there!”

He laughs, “I was just kidding. I would never make you go in there. Some sad sights there. Sad.“ For a moment he looks like he might cry and then his face breaks into a smile. His smile is huge and I feel a little silly for practically screaming in his face. He pulls up the dog on his computer and tells me to take a seat. Then he winks at me. ‘He’s a beauty!’ I smile.

I sit in the deserted lobby for what seems like forever. Finally the man comes back, and hands me a stack of paperwork. He is so nice. Really friendly. He introduces himself as Don. I suddenly feel like everything is going to be ok. Don hands me 2 photographs.

“I see you like the light pits. Here are 3 you might want to tell Rande about. These two are sisters. Beautiful, sweet and well trained. 2 yr olds. And this one got adopted then returned. Sad. He’s a puppy. People just don’t understand the work involved with a baby. Now he has a black mark against him…. A returned dog doesn’t adopt out very easily. “

My heart aches looking at the photos. I know we can’t take anymore. We hardly have the room for the ones we have saved. I take the papers and tell him I will give them to Rande.

As I sit and fill out the paperwork, the building starts to fill up. Not with adopters, but with employees. Everyone is so friendly. Everyone says hello to me or smiles. A man stops to ask if I found my dog. I tell him I’m rescuing the spray painted dog. To my amazement he asks which one. I can’t believe there is more than one. He tells me he has been looking for his dog since New Year’s Eve. She got scared and ran away. In his neighborhood they shoot guns in the air to bring in the New Year. His eyes are really sad. “She’s been with me for ten years,” he continues. “I don’t’ think she’ll be coming home. “ He sounded certain. I wanted to cry.

Finally everything is done and I’m the proud mama of a white, year old, unneutered pit bull terrier. With nothing left to do, I gather up my stuff, feeling really good. I went to a scary place and realized it wasn’t so scary. I saved a life. My stomach does a flip-flop. This time there is no fear, only excitement. I can’t wait to meet this little boy. Georgie. The first dog I rescued….

As I walk past Don’s desk, I smile. ‘Thank you so much Don! You really made it not so terrible.’

Don smiled his huge smile, ‘No problem, pretty lady. Come back anytime.’

Who knows, maybe I will.

…To Be Continued…

Cliff Simon Rescues Bullies

Get To Know Cliff Simon
Actor, born September 7th, 1962 in Johannesburg, South Africa. Of Polish and Lithuanian decent, Cliff was the youngest of four children and only son of Emmanuelle and Phyllis Simon.

At a very young age, Cliff aspired to be the first South African swimmer to win an Olympic Gold medal. His mother, being a swim teacher, had him in the pool before he could walk and instilled all the confidence he ever needed to follow that path. At the age of 6, he showed talent as a gymnast. By age 15 Cliff had reached a national level in South Africa in both swimming and gymnastics, but to go further in either one, he needed to devote 100% of his time to just one, and he chose swimming.

At age 15, with all the turmoil in South Africa, his parents decided to immigrate to the United Kingdom. It was here that Cliff completed his schooling and was chosen to swim in the British International squad. He competed in Olympic trials and qualified for the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles. He was offered scholarships to Houston University and Southern Methodist University in Texas, where he would train with the best United States swim team, the Mustangs. This would have culminated in him competing in the 1984 Olympic Games. However, after scraping ice off his car windshield at 5am every morning for three years before heading off to swimming training and spending six and a half hours a day in the pool, Cliff felt waterlogged, burnt out and that he was missing out on his social life as a young man. Half way through a training session Cliff climbed out of the pool, sat on the edge and told his coach that he was leaving and would be returning to sunny South Africa.

Back in South Africa Cliff entered the air force where he continued his swimming and achieved the highest athletic award given in the air force, the Victor Ludorum.

In 1982 after serving his two year term, Cliff took all he owned in one suitcase and headed down to the coast in an old Fiat convertible. He landed a job teaching windsurfing and waterskiing at a resort hotel. As fate would have it, a stage show was in production at the resort and Cliff was informed by one of the performers that the choreographer was looking for a gymnast. Cliff somehow knew that this was going to be the first step towards a career on stage. To cut a long story short, Cliff performed all over the world in various stage productions as a dancer/acrobat, culminating in his dream role as a performer at the world famous Moulin Rouge, Paris in 1989.

On his return to South Africa, Cliff pursued his stage career as an actor. Whilst studying drama, Cliff secured himself a modeling agent and enjoyed much success in ramp, print and television commercials. Cliff received major recognition as a model in South Africa and was asked to enter The Mr. South Africa talent and action man competition. On winning this competition in 1992, Cliff was offered an audition on a hugely successful television series, called Egoli – Place of Gold. After guest starring on the show for three months, he was offered a permanent contract as a regular cast member in a lead role and would go on to become a household name for his six year run.

In 1997 he married his longtime girlfriend Colette, in a beautiful game lodge in Southern Africa. After being personally effected by the violent crime in Johannesburg, he decided it was now or never and he immigrated to the USA with the hope of having a better quality of life. This also gave him the opportunity to realize a long time dream of further pursuing his acting career in America.

Arriving in 2000 and weathering only five months in Los Angeles, Cliff secured an agent and soon landed a guest star role with Don Johnson on the hit TV series, Nash Bridges. A short time after that, he acquired the guest star role of Ba’al on Stargate SG1. Cliff’s combination of charming bad guy charisma and wicked sense of humor made him a viewer favorite antagonist, keeping his character recurring for five seasons. In 2007, Cliff was brought back to play Ba’al in the Stargate SG1 movie called Continuum, which will be released in 2008.

When Cliff is not working you will find him racing dolphins on his kite board off the beaches of Malibu and leading a quiet life.

Walking Jazz…Part 2

Click here to read about Jazz from the beginning

On my way home, I made a call to my vet, Dr. Gebroe. I asked him if a dog could give a cat any disease. He said only a few. One was rabies. One was mange. And I can’t remember the other. I described what Jazz looked like. To my horror, Dr. Gebroe said, “That sounds like mange.”

“Shit.”

I got home and immediately put all my clothes in the wash and jumped in the shower. Then I settled down with the cats for some TV watching.

It was a month before I went back to see Jazz. In that month only one person walked him. Twice. Two times outside of his cage. When I heard that my throat closed up and I felt horrible. Not only is he sick, and in a strange state and been through who knows what, but he’s alone and no one wants to get close to him because he’s ugly and mangy and sick.

This time I knew where to go. No one stopped me or asked who I was. I just went straight up to the third floor. The sign on the door said, “Keep Door Closed”. I slowly opened it. The two dogs were no longer next to him. He was all-alone in that room. What I saw broke my heart. No. More than that…it shattered it. Every fiber in my body ached with a sadness I didn’t think was possible. There he was…Jazz. The same tiny ball in the corner of a cage. This time he barely looked up. He met my stare, only to put his head back down, as if to say, “She can’t possibly be here for me. No one ever comes in here. She must be lost.” He closed his eyes again. My eyes welled up with tears. In fact, as I write this, the tears are streaming down my face again. I can still picture that sweet face. The hopeless boy that everyone forgot curled up in a tight ball. All. Alone.

Through my tears I called his name. “Jazz, it’s me. I walked you before. Come on, we’re going outside.”

He got up, not really believing it. But once I opened the gate, the happiness invaded his body and he was all kisses and love. I struggled to put his leash on. I hugged him. He was no longer contagious and I was going to make up for lost time. I smothered him in kisses. And tears.

The walk to the elevator was really fast this time. He was rushing to get outside…I was rushing so no one would see me crying.

I cried for the first 15 minutes of our walk. I cried and I talked to Jazz. I told him I wasn’t going to let him sit in that kennel all day long with no visits. I promised him I would be there every day. No matter what. No. Matter. What. I told him I was going to find him the best home ever. I told him he would never hurt again. I cried and promised. Snot running out of my nose and into my mouth. (Gross!) I didn’t care. I cried as I picked up his stinky poop. (Really Gross!) Several people crossed to the other side of the street. I don’t know which was scarier to them…A Pit Bull or the hysterical woman talking to herself as she walked him.
I walked that boy for an hour and twenty minutes. We loved every minute.

When it was over, he went to his corner and curled up. It was just so…sad. I couldn’t stand it. I got in the cage with him. The door closed behind me. His loneliness washed over me. His sadness. But also his strength. No hurricane was going to break his spirit. No cage. No isolation. Nothing. I got down right next to him and looked into his eyes.

“Jazz”, I whispered. “ I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He wagged his tail. And went to sleep.

…to be continued

Allie

Here is Allie’s story…

It all began about four years ago. My boss, one of my best friends, asked if I would watch her dogs while she and her husband snuck off for a weekend getaway. I had always been an animal lover, and I was excited to get to meet the dogs she had spoken so highly of. I knew them as Allie and Lucy, or “the girls,” and their mom was in LOVE with them.

I arrived at the house, not knowing what to expect, and not expecting anything. When I walked up to the gate, I noticed two pit bulls guarding the gate. I walked up closer, and said, “Well hello, girls! You must be Allie and Lucy. I’m Marnae.” I had met a few pit bulls in my life, and luckily was never told anything misleading about them. I did not fear them, after all, these were “the girls.”

The three of us quickly became great friends. I visited them twice a day, sometimes even more. We would wrestle, play fetch, go for car rides, even just cuddle on the couch and watch TV. Allie and Lucy’s personalities unfolded, and I was hooked. It was in a two day weekend that I fell in love.

Over the next two years, I called “dibs” on watching the girls, and quickly became their favorite friend. I would even receive birthday cards from my girls. They became such a part of my life, and I loved it. Sara, their mom, would come to work everyday and tell me about their latest trials and tribulations, whether it be a chewed fence, a cornered raccoon, or a terrified gardener. We found great joy in the stories about the girls, and it is these stories that I will never forget.

As the girls grew older, Allie’s health started to decline. She was diagnosed with cancer, and after a few attempts, her parents decided that it was not fair to keep Allie around. She was in pain, and it was her time. I’ll never forget the day Allie went to doggy heaven. Sara and I were at work, and Mike, Sara’s husband, called to say that she had passed. He took her to the vet, an absolute pit lover, and she agreed that it was time. Knowing that Allie was an avid squirrel chaser, the vet found a picture of a squirrel in a tree, and held it in front of Allie’s face for her to see as she passed. He told us this, as we cried in our office. We couldn’t speak. All we could do was look at each other and cry. Anyone who has lost a pet knows the raw emotion involved.

It has been over a year since Allie’s passing, and I can speak for us all when I say that not a day goes by that I don’t think of her. But when I think of her, I smile.

Allie and Lucy sparked my intense love for pit bulls. I now have two of my own, and know that I will probably never own another breed of dog. I’m completely serious when I say if I could have 50 dogs, I would have 5o pits. Or they would have me. They have my heart, and they always will.

I have been involved with Karma Rescue for about a year now. The satisfaction of knowing a once abused, neglected, or homeless dog now has a family that is in love with it, is the purest form of happiness that I know.

I stopped by my local animal shelter to take a peek at a baby pit Karma was saving. And it was then that I saw her. Next to the future Karma pup, a tan and white 8 month old beauty. I saw the look in her honey eyes and I felt like I already knew her. The staff, knowing I was with Karma, let me take her out of her kennel and walk her around a bit. I spent a lot of time with her, and although she was terrified of the noisy place she was in, she climbed up into my lap, and gave me a kiss. I inquired on the status of this beautiful girl, and the staff urged me to fill out an “Interested Party” paper on her. They explained that this would save her for 48 hours. “It THAT in the plans?” I asked. “Tomorrow.” The guy behind the counter said.

I was instantly in love. I contacted Rande, President of Karma Rescue, only to hear that we were full to the brim and could not pull another dog. She did say, however, that if I could make arrangements for her, Karma would help me show and place her. I called my friend, another Karma volunteer, the best foster mom ever–and she agreed to foster our sweet girl.

It took about two days, but alas, she was mine. Ours. She was OURS. She was saved. She was safe in my arms, out of harm’s way, and I would do everything in my power to get her the best home a dog has ever known. And then it came to me. This pup, my first rescue, would be named after the first pit I ever fell in love with. The dog who sparked my passion, kept me awake at night because she wouldn’t stop giving me kisses, wanted me to rub her belly until my fingertips felt raw…our Allie. I named Allie after the first pit bull I fell in love with-Allie Webster. Allie was an amazing dog, an ambassador for her breed, and will be forever missed by those who loved her.

Meet Allie!

Hello everyone, I am Allie. I am a 10 month old sweet little girl. I love other dogs, but I would rather spend my time with people. I follow my foster mom around, and every time she talks I get really excited!!! I always think she must be talking to me and I run over for lots of kisses and rubs. No matter who she calls, I always come. In fact, if she calls another doggy I run over faster than usual to make sure I get there first. Right now I live with a few other dogs (all different sizes) and a couple cats, and we all get along well. I already walk perfect on the leash, staying right at your side. I just discovered tennis balls, and every time I see one I turn into a complete goofball. When I chase the ball, I always do a bunny hop while trying to get it. I would really love a home with a family that loves a dog who will always be at your side.

Allie is in a foster home where she is loved to pieces! It is important to us that we find her the best home possible, and we will take all the time in the world until we find that for her. If you think you could give this sweet girl all the love and attention she deserves, and receive a TON back, please contact me.

You can see more pictures of Allie on Karma Rescue’s website at www.KarmaRescue.org.

Georgie

Georgie

My First Rescue….Part One

Thursday, January 5th, 2006 So yesterday, actually the day before yesterday, I got a call. She started with, ‘This is a very big deal and I want you to know you can say no if you really can’t or don’t want to do it.’ Immediately I felt a knot of dread form. The call was from Rande, the director of Karma Rescue and I was sure it was going to be bad news, like I needed to pick up a dead dog or Brandy was in trouble or hurt or something really, really horrendous had happened. It was bad, but not as bad as my head invented.

South Central has the most hard core shelter in LA. Hundreds of dogs, most abused, abandoned or used for unsavory things, like dog fights. Lots of Pits. The most abused dog in the US and the most misunderstood. Highest kill rate. Worst conditions. I hate shelters. Even the ‘good’ ones make me so sad I can’t even stand it. My heart just can’t stand going inside and seeing those sad eyes, those lost souls. I want to love them all, make their pain go away, save them…..but it’s not possible, and so I turn my eyes away and try not to think about it….that would change with Rande’s phone call.

I brace myself for Rande’s question….’There is a dog that comes available tomorrow…and…no one can go and bail him out.’

I don’t think I say anything….and so she continues….’He’s only a year old and was brought in covered in gang graffiti.’ My stomach lurches. ‘I want to get him out…before….before anyone else can get him.’ And then the bottom line…’Can you go save him?’

Go. And. Save. Him. And then my head adds, ‘Before the bad men come and take him back.’ I can only hear the echo of those words. Terrifying to me. Go. Save. Bad. Men. Go. Save. Bad. Men.Go. Save. Bad. Men.

My mind is stuck on the defenseless boy getting spray painted. Scared, being held down by violent assholes who probably think it’s funny. I can see them in my mind….laughing, drinking, having a good ole time. ( Go. Save. ) The dog’s eyes filled with terror. Maybe even with love…and certainly with confusion and sadness. (Bad. Men.) It could be that the ones who did this to him “owned” him. My heart broke into a thousand pieces at that moment. And with my broken heart, I knew I would go and save him. Even if….

Even if I had to see hundreds of others just like him. Ones I couldn’t bail out. Ones with scars and eyes too sad to even look into for long. Even if….(Bad. Men.)

And so I said….’There’s no one else?’

And she replied, ‘No one.’

And I asked again, ‘No One? Well….’ Huge pause. I knew what I was going to say, but I still didn’t want to …. ‘I’ll do it if you can’t find anyone.’ What a dumb thing to state. I knew there was no one else. She just told me several times. But that small part of me still wanted to stay in denial. Not open my eyes to see the sadness that lives in a shelter. But the other part of me couldn’t. I held my breath.

She said, ‘I’ll make a few calls and see if I can find someone. But you’ll do it if I can’t?’

‘Yes. Yes, I’ll do it….. If you can’t find someone…..the only reason I’m hesitating….’

‘I know…’ she said and hung up.

I was in Rite Aid at the time of the call. I couldn’t concentrate on my list of things I needed. I was talking to myself….back and forth. Wanting to call her back and say I changed my mind. Wanting to call her back and say don’t call anyone else, I’ll do it. Torn. Scared. Sad. Just like the dogs.

Her call came about an hour later. Maybe less. It felt like forever.

‘Bad News.’

On no, we’re too late. Someone got him…a bad man. He’s dead. Something really horrendous has happened to him. Again.

‘There’s no one else.’

And so I get a pen and paper and start writing down everything I need to do. Addresses, first one at the shelter, phone numbers, must get there first thing in the morning, directions, animal birth control, be careful, you can still back out, micro chips, are you sure, more phone numbers, use my address if you can, thank you, (Bad. Men.) more addresses, vet’s name. Holy shit….can I do this? I’m already panicking. South Central, what if I get lost or shot or some gang guy is there to adopt him and waits for me outside because I got there first and steals him from me,…..God, I’m dramatic! But that’s what was going on inside this brain of mine.

So now I’m ready. My alarm is set. I have my itinerary. I know just what to do. I don’t, however, know what to expect. Rande told me under no circumstances do I go into the kennel and see the other dogs. She knows my heart will explode. She knows I couldn’t handle it. I tell my husband. He is nervous for me. He knows I might go into the kennel. Just to see. He warns me not to. I hope I listen. And so I fall asleep and dream of my coming adventure….only I’m a super hero with very special powers. And in my dream I am hunting down the violent assholes of the world…Hunting. Them. Down….and bringing justice to all….Justice. To. All.

ALL

…to be continued

Meeting Jazz

The first time I saw him he was pressed up against the back of a cage. He looked tiny in that cage. It wasn’t a very big cage, and he’s a big boy…but somehow he just looked so…small. And sad. I didn’t really know what to expect, but it wasn’t that. I knew he was a Hurricane Katrina Survivor. I also knew they thought he was a baiting dog.

The first thing I read about him was on the Karma Rescue website:

“Although Jazz’s photo may not be the easiest to look at, when you meet him in person you see beyond the scars. Jazz came from Louisiana after Hurricane Katrina. By the looks of his face and his condition, we assume Jazz was used for a baiting dog. A Baiting Dog is a dog that is used in dog fighting to get the dogs excited before the match begins. Most baiting dogs are very sweet in temperament, which Jazz is. He came to Karma Rescue carrying Heart Worm but is being treated by VCA Animal Hospital who has donated their services to these animals from Katrina. He also has swollen limbs that are getting better so therefore he can walk better. I have never come across a dog like Jazz before that has such an amazing disposition with people. He loves everyone. After his month of cage rest he will be off to our trainers for rehabilitation. There he will learn socialization skills and how to be a dog, a real companion animal. Jazz will be up for adoption on January 1st, 2006, but we are looking for a foster home for him now. He deserves the best after what he had to endure in life so far.”

I’m not sure why I decided to walk him. I had only heard the terrible things about bully breeds, especially the Pit Bull. I was apprehensive to say the least. Would he try and bite me? Would he be aggressive with the other dogs we met on our walk? Could I handle him? I wasn’t sure, but I was already at the vet’s office and couldn’t turn back now.

“ I’m here to walk Jazz”.

The receptionist looked up, “Do you know how to get up there?’

“No” I replied.

She led me to the back doorway and through a long hospital like hall. It wasn’t pretty. It was dark and scary. There were a million doctors walking around. The elevator was small. She hit the 3rd floor button.

The third floor was where surgeries were performed. It smelled like medicine. And urine. It was also where they housed the injured, the quarantined and Jazz. The last thing the receptionist said to me was, “Make sure you wash your hands after you touch him.” That comment scared me. He’s contagious? What does he have? Can I catch it? Can I give it to my cats? I almost turned around and went home. But something made me stay.

He looked so lost and forlorn. A small black ball, curled up tight. All alone in his little corner of the world. Except the other two dogs in the kennel next to his. They barked non-stop. Poor guy, how could he stand it?

I peeked in, “Hi Jazz. Ya wanna go for a walk?” I was scared to open the cage. Surely he’s friendly? I don’t think Rande or the doctor would let me take him out alone if he wasn’t. I open the latch….

All of a sudden he sprang to life. Fifty pounds of solid muscle, covered in scars and angry red skin. Bald patches made him look like a cancer patient. He smiled and jumped up on me, licked my face, tail wagging furiously. My first thought was, “Shit! Now I have to remember to wash my face AND my hands” I put on his collar and leash. We were off. Or so I thought.

Ever few feet, Jazz stopped to scratch. Or bite. Or shake. It took ten minutes to get to the elevator. By the end of the ride down, I was itchy all over.

Our walk was uneventful. I didn’t want to touch him or love him. I did try, but it was unconvincing. A timid pat on his head. I’m sure I hurt his feelings terribly. I took him on a 45-minute walk. He loved it. Even though his feet were swollen and he had a bad limp. I’m not even sure which foot hurt him most…I think they all did. But he was just so excited to be outside. I think he’d have walked for miles if he could…no matter how much it hurt.

After our walk, I took him back to the kennel. Such a good boy, he just walked right in without a fuss and lay down. He gave me a look with those puppy dog eyes and my heart shattered into a thousand pieces. Then I went and washed my hands and face.

…to be continued

Rescue The Under Dog

I’ve been involved with animal rescue from the time I can remember.  I brought home dogs, cats, even horses found their way into my life.  I never feel like I can do enough to help them.  So, in an effort to do more, I’m starting this blog, as a resource, as a way to showcase animals in need, to share experiences and challenges animal rescue faces.

Check back often.  Send in your happy endings.  Send in dogs that are in need of a home, a rescue group, money, love…