A Million in One

Every creature fights for survival.

This dog gave up to ticks. Millions of them. In clusters all over her. Her soft skin invaded by clusters of them. The armpits, the ears, the toes, the neck. In my eight years in rescue and animal cruelty investigations, I have never seen dog with so many ticks.

Someone tied her amongst tall grass and left her there.

She must’ve tried to get away.

The missing fur tells us that at some point she chose to bite them off.

Then she tried to break her leash.

Then she gave up.

To die a horrible death.

This dog was anemic beyond belief. Her gums were bleached. She wouldn’t have made it through the day with those ticks sucking away at her emaciated body.

So I sat down on my knees and started picking them off her body. 2 people working for 30 minutes or so got maybe 25% of them off her. Nothing grosses me out more than clusters of ticks but this dog needed relief.

We doused her with chemicals and took her to the Vet -assuming she will need a transfusion. The good Vet told us that as long as she eats- she will be fine. So I opened some wet food for her and even before the dish hit the floor she had scarfed down almost all of it.

Then I wrote “Very Gentle” with a sharpie across her disposition paperwork. That means she will have 3 days. The compassionate Vet smiled at me for the work done to save her and marked her for spay surgery. That would mean she won’t die immediately. That she will have a shot at life.

While I was putting her back in her cage she wagged her tail and for the first time in her empty eyes I saw a spark. A chance at life- hope.

As the ticks dropped off her continually- due to the medication I wondered if my touch today was the first loving touch this dog had ever known.

Her survival chances are up to her luck now. Maybe (post spay) in the weeks she has at the shelter a family would see through all the dried scabs of blood and see a priceless soul. Maybe she will finally get the love that we humans owe her. Maybe she’ll be able to give her love to someone.

She was one with a million ticks on her.

Today her survival chances are one in a million……

…But one is a number.

Will you be the one to make her your ONE and ONLY?

The Grandiose Hopes of a Road-Side Romeo

As an A.C.O you get called out to some calls that make your head scratch and leave you in a desperate attempt to hold back your laughter.

A stray male Shih Tzu is reportedly digging under the fence of a homeowner and getting into the yard in the hopes of impressing their dog.

This is the face of the Hapless Shit-Zhu

And this is the pretty face of a fully grown female…

This is the two of them together.

Some GUYS JUST DON’T GET IT… She has barked at him and turned him down several times. Homeowner has blocked every dug-up pit with wood/stones and returned the dog to the street.

Doesn’t prevent this bugger from making new holes.

She is clearly wayyyyyyyyyyyyyy out of his league.

He’s a 1.5, she’s a 9 (at-least)

But he doesn’t get it.

As an A.C.O- I can’t laugh- but I really really really want to–

Preferential Treatment

Sarcoptic Mange is caused by the parasite Sacroptes Scabiei. While it can infect and grow in humans too- it prefers to grow in dogs.

The kind of preferential treatment they can absolutely do without.

Because we can help ourselves. They can’t.

We have sprays. They have neglect.

We have money they are destitute.

We control out destiny. They have been robbed of their destiny because we domesticate and breed them.

And this is what it does to a ‘once vibrant’ Great Dane. His legs are swollen to three times the normal size. His walk is so painful that he shuffles inch by inch. Standing up is so excruciating for him that he eats lying down.

In a world where shelters are overcrowded and animals get put down for perceived aggression or a minor kennel cough, what chance does this poor neglected boy have?

Who was the human that let the neglect go this far. At what point do you stop and say- I think my dog needs help.

So what did this human do??

He abandoned this dog on the street in almost 100 degree blistering hot Texas sun. A skin so sensitive it cannot endure human touch was found lying on a burning hot pavement.

Now that is preferential cruelty.

To Steal or Not to Steal ?

Dinggggg

But I’m watching the playoffs.

Dinggggggg

“OK OK, I’ll look.” I yell at my laptop.

You have been tagged on a post. I take a deep breath.

2 Pit bulls- Possibly will be sold for drugs to become bait-dogs. Please help.

I click on the post. There are 57 comments. People in rescue and concerned humans commenting over and over about “Hope someone can save these poor dogs.”

Don’t do it, Inder. Just don’t . It’s the same dance.

My fingers type these words. “I’ll get them.”

Darn it.

It’s a drug-den and I’m new to Dallas. I’m somewhat familiar with the dingy underbelly of Houston. This is new. I need a lookout person.

“Can someone go with me to steal these dogs?” I type and wait.

No response.

It’s the age-old dilemma. We want to save dogs but we want someone else to save them. It’s always someone else.

There’s just one person I know in Dallas and I ask her. A 30-year-old Vegan woman who just loves animals and is a kind generous and lovable soul. She is very slightly built- but she doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll go with you.” She types.

Together we go through the rigmarole. A pair of new box-cutters at Home Depot. Gloves, leashes, treat. And we are off.

The things to determine are

Is it a prized fighting dog? In that case we are screwed. He will be aggressive, and expensive and well protected.
Is it a bait dog? He would be timid and injured.
Is he a dog that’s just neglected?

My strategy to steal or report cruelty or buy will depend upon that.

I check for dog-fighting paraphernalia; none. I approach the dog to check for friendliness. He is in a dog-house in a vacant lot. There is filth all around him and he comes out slowly. He has a giant chain around his neck with 5 locks dangling from it. His gait is labored, his neck is lowered, his shoulders are hurting from the heavy chain.

Gosh.

I extend my hand to him. He comes close and sniffs it. Then he just drops to the ground and throws his legs in the air. He want’s human contact- any contact other than a human striking it.

I rub his belly. He moans and groans. I’m his new friend.

I’m just about to remove his chain from his neck when I hear a voice behind me.

“Is there a problem?” An extremely thin, older man walks up to me. His hands are placed on his hips.

“Plan B, Plan B, Plan B”

I try to get him to give up his dogs and negotiate a humane release for them. But he just wants some money. His missing teeth confirm my doubt for what he wants money for.

My life is a struggle to prevent drug use, but I am pro-life. Just pro-dog-life. He wants a 100$ apiece or he will report me to the police for attempting to steal his dogs.

I threaten cruelty and tethering citations. But he’s played this game a hundred times before. He calls my bluff.

I offer him 80 $ and he agrees right away.

Five minutes later two sweet pit bulls are on their freedom ride. In an air-conditioned car after years of being in dirt and filth and the elements, within a minute both are snoring.

That’s how I almost went back to stealing. The sweet woman who was my lookout driver had type 9-1-1 on her phone already and her trembling finger hovered over the green button of her phone. She had told me she hasn’t stolen anything in her life. I promised her that I would try and keep her record intact. And we did.

Two dogs got another shot at life or a shot at a humane death.

And I almost stole again.

But some crimes are worth it- aren’t they?

Officer- There’s a dog in my car !!!!

I got called out to a police call today where a man was complaining about a dog in his car who wouldn’t come out.

Strange?

Well, he was changing the license plate stickers and has left his door open. When he got done- a big German Shepherd sat in his car and refused to get out.

So he called the cops.

So the cops called me.

I asked him to come jump in my truck and he didn’t even think twice. He jumped out the car and into my truck.

Then he licked my ear the entire ride back.

And at the shelter he wants to be walked and demands treats. At almost 140 Lbs a few treats don’t even whet his appetite. He needs a handful. And then he wants to thank you with a spatula like tongue and he can shake your hand with his giant paw.

What an adorable dog. He is somebody’s pet for sure…even if he is a tad bit grey around his muzzle…surely nobody would’ve abandoned such a majestic and intelligent dog.

I hope not…

..So stay posted…will update his progress.

The Messenger of Death

Death;

That’s the final frontier.

Nothing is more definite.

Nothing is more final.

Nothing is more irreversible.

Then why do we take a life?

Why do I?

If Dr. Kevorkian can be punished for human Euthanasia, what is my punishment for killing sixteen cats and nine dogs with reasons ranging from upper respiratory infection to perceived aggressive to simply – “un-adoptable because they’ve been at the shelter too long” scribbled clear across their charts.

A red tag around their collar as I walk him to his final walk. The chocolate brown big-pittie wags his tail wildly as I pet his pretty face. He jumps up and down the weigh-scale ready to play his game with me.

The amber read-out of the scale flickers. That would mean 8cc of the Blue-juice. My gut tightens.

The vet-techs check his vitals and I tranquilize him. Then we put him in the cage and the vet techs cover it with a blanket.

“Why do we do that?”

“So he can’t see what’s going on outside.” He says to me and re-starts his banter with the other vet-techs.

Having been here for a week has taught me how to read between lines. Having worked in rescue for years has taught me how we veil our fears and feeling. It’s not because we don’t want them to see outside. It’s because we don’t want to see inside.

So I peek behind the blanket. My pittie is swaying his head from side to side like Stevie Wonder does when he sings. Drool is dribbling out of his mouth.

I can barely hold his chart up with my trembling hands. There must be something wrong. He is so healthy and happy. I go over every line again. It still says Upper respiratory tract infection. I could’ve sworn I never heard a cough or anything.

They pull him out and lay his limp body on the table. His muscles are quivering involuntarily. He must’ve figured out what’s coming.

“Why don’t you do this one.” My supervisor points to me.

“Me?” I look behind me. Nothing. Gosh.

My mouth runs dry. I gulp a few times and pick up the syringe. I draw 8cc’s of the blue liquid and grab the pittie by the elbow and twist my wrist slightly.

His big vein pops up willingly, eager to please me very much like him. Always obliging. Always ready to give happiness, joy, love and now even his own life; The true spirit of a dog.

And the true spirit of man.

I point the beveled end of the needle up and dig into his skin, feeling the vein. I draw out a little blood to ensure I’ve hit the vein and then I plunge the syringe as deep as I can.

A sudden urge to vomit overpowers me. I’ve just pushed death into the body of an animal that I had sworn just to give life to. I had chosen death.

“Good job, officer.” My supervisor spins on his heel and leaves the lab.

My knees hit the floor. I run my hand over the pitties head repeating the words SORRY SORRY , Please forgive me. I am so sorry, big guy.

His eyes glaze over they are staring into nothingness. I put my face right in front of his eyes. I want me to be the last thing he saw. I pet his head and kiss his nose till the heart jab injection tells me he has passed.

I force myself not to cry in front of the vet techs. I force myself to appear professional but my heart broke into a million pieces today. But it has broken several times before and it will as long as I work in this field.

Today I am the messenger of death. We in rescue call this by different names- we try to ease the pain and cutify death. Lab Limbo (stalling going to the lab by doing menial things to delay killing), The Rainbow Bridge, Going to meet Jesus, Going night-night… It’s still death; Final and all encompassing.

I trudge over to the wash-basin.

Boraxo, Industrial strength hand-wash. An orange bottle over the basin reads. Removes paint, grease, tar, ink and oils.

I pump some on my hands and scrub the grainy gel as vigorously as I can. Yes but can it remove DEATH too?

Another one licks the dust … Pound for Pound

Have you seen a big un’ go down? That’s what I did today.

NO, I didn’t kill any dog. It was a black and white coloured pit-bull that I tranquilized because he was being aggressive when I cornered him.

NO, I didn’t tranquilize him because he was aggressive but because he is a stray and not neutered. He must’ve been used to produce more pit-bull puppies to be sold for profit. These are the puppies that finally show-up back at the shelters as abused dogs and do end up on euthanasia lists.

So had him pegged with my catch-pole when he gave up the chase and I had to shoot 1cc Tranquilizer into his dense hind-leg-muscle.

He stood there; defiant. The effect of the Curariform skeletal muscle relaxer was winning the battle. In a few minutes his anal gland released and urine dribbled down his leg, involuntarily. His front paw bent inward as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

Then the drug started affecting his muscles and his trembling legs could no longer hold up his massive body and down he went like The Titanic.

His big snout was on the ground and his heavy breath blew away blades of loose grass, he struggled to keep his eyes open. Five minutes later I realized my predicament of taking him to the truck by myself. The anesthetic would wear off in 15 minutes and I needed to secure the big-guy in the truck.

At this point I had an audience of around 20 people. I wrapped my arms around his back, lacing my fingers around his chest and heaved him up in my arms and–, and…

–My eyes welled up. His body weight was about 80 pounds. It wasn’t the weight that hurt me but the fact that several years ago I used to lift another dog of the exact same weight.

Speed. My Speedy; the big Doberman who was on the last stages of his joyful life. He suffered from Laryngeal Paralysis and on walks around the block he would have breathing episodes. I would carry him back to the house cradled like a baby and he would rest his muzzle on my shoulder. A part of me used to think he did it on purpose because he enjoyed those rides back. The wily old ba*****d.

Here I was today carrying this dog to my truck 30 meters away, to the cheer of the audience. Some were concerned about the dog, some thanked me a few were angry.

But the giant pit-bull is safe. He’s at the shelter and is well-fed. I’ve taken him on several walks now and I can safely say we are friends from the way he wags his merry tail every time he sees me.

Today my own Speedy would be smiling at me from somewhere behind the clouds for having picked another eighty pounder and given him a ride in my arms.

My chiropractor be happy too sending me bills- If I keep on doing this stuff.

The Dog in the Manger

Today I found a dog in a trash bin at a city construction site.

How did the dog get in there?

The dog looked at me with expectant eyes? Begging me to take her out of the trash bin.

She was happy to be out of the cold-wet-weather.

Happy to be back on the truck and back to the shelter.

She will be sad to lose her freedom.

But she’ll be safe, cared for and fed.

Now my job is to make sure that it’s just not for 72 hours (as promised) but to track her progress through the system and to a rescue or a foster or in the adoption kennels.

We have promised to fight for these dogs; Each and every one of them. My work just gets tripled with every dog I bring in- but that’s the goal. Our work is never over till each and every one of them that can be saved is saved.

…MERE PAAS MAA HAI

“Opossums in a Trap?” I tap the screen of the laptop in my truck.

“Yes two of them.” The voice over the phone crackles.

“O.K I’ll be there.” I assign the case to myself on the screen. Great, My second day on the job and I am dealing with Marsupials. Wasn’t this job all about Canines and Felines? Why am I saving opossums?

I press the button on my two-way radio. “10-4, Heading to trap #321.” I stare into the overcast Texas sky and quickly read my training manual regarding trapped wildlife. If wildlife gets trapped in our live traps set out for feral cats, they need to be released if they are healthy. If injured and bleeding, they must be euthanized in a humane manner as per Texas Health & Safety procedure 166.45-51.

Eight minutes later I pull into the maintenance building of the University and ask the complainant, “Two opossums in one trap? How?”

“This you have to see.” The Hispanic worker smiles.

I take a deep breath and prepare for the ghastly sight. Who cares for these ugly animals? I’m wasting time saving them instead some dogs or other cute…

…Whoa. The sight in front of my eyes stops me in my tracks. A baby Opossum is wailing and whining inside the trap and its mother is outside trying in vain to reach her baby through the wire cage. A deep gash oozes blood from her nose as she desperately tries to reach her young

She stops when she notices me and then starts again, unafraid of me. In fact, in her world I don’t exist and my uniform isn’t valid, nor is my pole threatening.

I put her in a transfer cage with her baby and take her to a local vet. We dress up her wound and suture it. My job calls for taking her to the shelter and declaring her injured. However if I do so she’ll be put down and her baby won’t survive without its mama.

So I break a rule on my second day at my job to save two lives I didn’t care for 2 hours ago and I re-learn the lesson of a mothers love for her child.

Tonight I’ll just call my mom and listen to her voice—just because…

HELP… HURTS

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Rielley Today

“I can’t find her vein.” Dr. Collins glances at the amber oval wall-clock. “ The anesthesia is about to wear off. Its time to stitch her up.“

My eves are transfixed on pitch-black blotchy skin on the 30 pound dog on the operating table. A purple tag around her collar reads ‘Rielley’. Her leg is swollen up to three times the normal size. The monochromatic surgery lamp is focused on it leg- lying split open with the doctor poring deep into it.

“Forceps” the doctor squeals. I hand him, the cold metal instrument.

“Gauze.”

“Where do I put it?” I hold up my gloved hand.

“Just wipe my forehead.”

The large beads of sweat that I have seen on the Vets forehead for the first time almost drop into the dog. He wrinkles his nose at the P.A system playing Ticket to ride. “Ashley, this loud music is very distracting.”

You’re the die-hard Beatles fan, Doctor.

He continues to complain, “There’s no god damn skin to suture the wound. I don’t see how this dog can make it.” He pushes back his surgery goggles with the back of his wrist.

Inner strength doctor inner strength.

*********************

Dr Collins peels off his blue gown-“I think we should have put her to sleep.”

“I’d never seen anything like it, Doctor have you?

“People are sick. “ He tears off his face-mask. “Somebody picks up a stray with mange and puts her in a vat of motor oil .”

“Motor oil? Why?” I whimper.

“It’s an old wives tale. Motor oil doesn’t cure mange. It burnt this dog. The motor oil seeped through her legs and they swelled to three times the size. Her belly, face and legs are 90% burnt.”

“But she has spirit” I run my hand over her soft, bald head.

“That she does” His frown turned upside down. “She has more pain tolerance than any dog.”

I’ve seen bad-ass Dobies with Harley Davidson collars being dragged through that door” I point to the sliding door with the reverse image of Shadow Creek Veterinary Hospital for nothing more than a rabies booster shot. And then there’s Rielley- she traipses in every time. Greets each and every one of us- her mouse like tail wagging in glee. She’s just so happy to be alive.”

“Amazing.” He runs his finger on the bandaged legs. “We’ll be using an old method of treatment called wet-dry compress for these wounds.”

“An old wives tale almost killed her and now an old method of treatment will save her.”

“Last week I didn’t think she would make it. I recommended euthanasia but she wouldn’t take NO for an answer” Dr. Collins raised his eyebrows towards a woman sitting on the bench. Her arms folded in prayer- her soft eyes watching over Rielley like a mother-hawk. Her hopeful smile revealing her crow’s feet as she negotiated with god to save her girl.

“Yes, Angela, her foster from S.A.V.E rescue helped her. And this time it was the real help. She’s spent hours dressing her wounds, cleaning her suppurating pads.” I nod in familiarity. “Doctor, how long before Rielly will heal?”

“Well after the wounds heal we have to treat her for her original problem; mange. “

I put a hand on Angela’s shoulder. “So when the person who poured motor oil on her to help her caused her most harm.”

“Yes, life-threatening injuries. What’s worse is that when they saw the horrible results they abandoned her. All of you have really helped. Rielley responds to you because how much you care.”

“No Angela. The inner-strength that she shows while enduring the painful treatments gives us the strength to help her.”

“She’s quite a trooper, isn’t she?” Dr. Collins kisses her nose.

She gives me belief doctor. She gives me strength to face my own fears. It’s strengthened my resolve to educate everybody about the plight of animals.

****************

Today I took Rielleys collar off six weeks after I first saw her. Today she lifted her paw without any pain and shook my hand. Today we beamed over the first patch of peach fuzz she has got on her almost healed body.

Then the Beatles song started on the P.A system-

When I was younger, so much younger than today.

I never needed anybody’s help in any way

Today our help has paid off. This has been the roadmap of her journey.

The roadmap of my own journey has been made clearer by a path an abandoned stray has shown. I run my fingers over her almost dried wounds.

The gift of inner strength that a 9 year-old mutt abandoned in the dark and dingy underbelly of Houston gave me that beats any story, any parent or any preacher’s help.”

One day someone will give you a home, Rielley and you will help them in ways they don’t even know yet.

Won’t you please please help me,

Help me, help me, help me, oooooooo

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Peedu's People : Educating People about the UNDERdogs

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