The Rescue

On the internet news, I saw this story.

Pulls at your heart strings. Even the reporter was aghast. Did you see her hand at her mouth?

Here’s a similar story.

Our neighborhood went into action.

A stray dog was sited wandering the alleys and sleeping nestled in some Asian jasmine behind our immediate neighbor’s house.

We live off a busy street and the animal lovers, individually, (I’m serious. None of us formed a committee or anything.) put out water and dog food. The idea: keep her in the neighborhood and off the main boulevard–six petrifying lanes of bumper to bumper madness– until someone could catch her. She had a beautiful graceful stance, a pink collar, and a green bandana. For sure, a pet.

About a week passed and no one could catch this frightened animal. Then, one morning, my husband and I turned onto our home street only to see the stray beneath a tree beside a house too near to the boulevard. One of our neighbors sat on the curb, talking soothing words. The dog bayed. Another friend, driving in the opposite direction, parked her car in the middle of the street. The dog was surrounded. We parked our cars and crept into a circle. Another neighbor went inside to get her dog’s leash.

Long story short, we got the stray into a car and to my vet who pronounced her healthy and flea-bitten.

“A pit bull mix just like my dog,” vet said, and, speaking frankly she warned, “Hard to place. Not that I don’t have hope after the story you told. Just being realistic.”

We drove home discussing what to do with this sweet dog that cuddled up to any warm human. One of our neighbors who had been in on the capture volunteered to house the dog. He knew how to post on Craig’s List and had a good-sized backyard.

The vet’s staff called a few animal shelters and found the owners. ‘Our little stray’ as the neighborhood had begun to call her went back to the vet. The owner had promised to retrieve his pet. Three days passed. No owner. The dog was scared. It had been in a pen at the local SPCA. This was much too familiar an experience. You could see that on the dog’s face–cowed, head hanging.

My husband and I saw the temporary keepers out walking the stray.

“Look, she’s learned to sit.”

It sounded like a proud father. The skin, so irritated by the fleas that it was an angry red, had improved.

“Can you believe?” My husband shook his head. “Say, heard anything off Craig’s List?”
“Craig’s List? Oh, we’ll get around to that eventually.”
He knelt to give the little dear a scratch behind the ears. The dog smiled. (You know that can!)
“I think you’re attached,” I said.
“Could be.”
And so the conversation went.

During the time ‘our little stray’ was at the vet’s, all of us checked on her daily. The vet, I’m sure finding all of the attention humorous and wanting to move us to decision, said, “They’re vicious when people make them that way.”

Two cases to that point.


One comment on “The Rescue

  1. debutauthors says:

    Reblogged this on Stuff.

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