But I’m watching the playoffs.
“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.”
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.
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.
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?