You had come from everywhere, on two continents, and
you had come from every circumstance: neglect, abuse, apathy, human boredom and
irresponsibility, human “inconvenience” (e.g., “we’re moving; a new baby;
career changes”), medical issues, elderly, handicapped, blind, deaf, psychic
pain and behavioural problems.
Almost none of you could have been described as
“well-behaved” and I counted myself lucky if you happened to arrive
housetrained and without aggression. You cost me a small fortune and I had
started with far less than a small fortune.
I knew from the beginning that you would become the “too many” and that
I would be subjected to some criticism, especially from those who do too
little, too late, or from the “theorists” who never provide a practical
application.
I hadn’t been “schooled” in how to rescue animals –
almost nobody is – so it was a lot of “learn as you go.” I did learn, over
three decades, and you became my best teachers. I accumulated some academic
accolades that should have proven that I knew what I was doing, but you were
always the first to embarrass me in public and prove to the world that I didn’t
know how to proceed.
My only “house-rules” were that you were allowed to
destroy furniture and carpets – which you did gleefully – and that you weren’t
allowed to harm each other, which you complied with admirably. Hundreds of you
went on to wonderful lives and permanent homes with compassionate people. Some
of you stayed behind with me, even after my human mate of many years abandoned
us, because in most human opinions, you were the “unadoptable.”
The truth is, I never could have endured parting with
you. Parting with fourteen of you on the
afternoon of January 25, 2004 was forced upon me when our home burned to the
ground and took you away from me. Not a day has gone by since that I haven’t
thought of you, what you meant to me, and how much I miss you … how much I
learned from you.
I could write a chapter on each of you and how you had
thrived with love and good care, a homemade diet, maybe a little bit of tough
love and positive-reinforcement training that added some stability to your
lives and set some parameters you could depend on.
It had become my mantra that I would never betray your
trust and that you could always depend on me. I rarely left you for longer than
an hour per day, but as the fire marshal told me the evening of the fire, if I
had been home, I wouldn’t be here now. I have no doubt that is true, because my
first impulse would have been to try and save you as I’d once saved you. I will
live with that regret forever, and the evening of the fire, I didn’t want to be
in this world any longer if I couldn’t be with you.
However, a half dozen of your brothers and sisters
survived, and I had to continue on for them and for whatever reasons our
Creator decided I should remain behind.
You were feline and canine and lupine, but you were never less worthy
than me and never less than my children. Despite the respective tragedies and
disappointments of our lives, and our emotional baggage, we somehow formed a
family.
I remember and still miss dispensing vanilla wafers at
bedtime and rolling around with you in the snow, and having my eyeglasses
slurped off my face … cleaning cat vomit out of my computer keyboard. I always
knew that you had done far more for me than I had ever done for you.
People, even religious people of different faiths,
often ask me if I equate animal life with human life. What a silly question. Do
we not all bleed the same red blood, suffer the same pain and fears, and
breathe the same air? Aren’t we all looking for the same safe environment and
companionship we can trust? Are we not all marvels of Creation and biology?
Have most humans ever, personally, visited a slaughterhouse, or their local
“kill-shelter’s” euthanasia room? What an utterly silly question with such
obvious answers.
Humans, who I like to call the “blind species,” need
to be forgiven, especially by those of us who have achieved enlightenment as a
benefit of sharing our lives with you and your kin. Most of us consider it one
of the blessings of our human lives and we all need to help educate other
humans while helping to save more animals.
To lose one furred, feathered, or scaled companion who
has shown us nothing but unconditional love is heart wrenching; to have lost
fourteen such in one day has approached the unbearable at times for me. But God
and you have shown fit to have blessed me with wonderful friends, human and
furred, to make sure that I do go on, especially to go on and speak for those
of you who have no voice.
If you’ll allow me to single out one of you, it will
be “Cleo,” the American Staffordshire Terrier who arrived at seven months old,
starved, abused, a product of a Pit Bull fighting dog breeder, and who was
deranged and uncontrollable from her experiences. She was biting inanimate
objects to the point that she knocked out two of her bottom teeth. For the
first three days, I wondered if I would have to finally, after all the years,
violate my own ethics and beliefs and have a dog euthanised for behaviour, for
being “unredeemable,” when I continue to insist that even biting is natural
behaviour and a form of communication for a dog.
I held to my beliefs, Cleo settled down and then
blossomed into one of the most beautiful and well-behaved dogs of her breed
I’ve ever met. We were smitten with each other. As she ran around the yard,
swam in her pool, and took numerous foster dogs under her wing and showed them
the ropes, I was amazed at how much a “crazy” dog can teach a “crazy” human. In
fact, she seemed to gravitate to the most down-and-out “basket cases” I took
in, and she managed to give them the gumption and assurance that I, the
fallible human, could not.
Every evening, before your dinner, I would call,
“Where’s Daddy’s baby?” and Cleo would come tearing across the yard and jump
into my arms, all 65 pounds of her (and one time she nearly broke my nose). Old
habits die hard and to this day, whenever I feed your current brothers and
sisters, or the foster animals who have passed through our new home, I whisper
– but now it is, “Where’s Daddy’s babies?” Plural.
Of course, I know where you are, and while it may be
customary to wish that you rest in peace, that wouldn’t be fitting. You never
allowed me to “rest in peace,” and I sincerely doubt that, despite your obvious
charms, you have added much to the peace of Heaven. On the anniversary of the tragedy that took
you from my good home to your new great one, I want to tell you, Otto, Pongo,
Cleo, Tina, Gaston, Gabriel, Amadeus, Danny, Danube, Tara, Tawny, Lucinda, Lakota,
and Willow, that you are not forgotten, that you are remembered daily and
missed, and until we see each other again, you always will be.
Love and more thanks than I can adequately express,
Your human dad, Jim, and all your furred brothers and
sisters
P.S. To everyone who sent messages of sympathy and
support, and donations over the past year, you have our most sincere gratitude.
(Jim Willis, 2005;
Author’s note:
“If you like, please light a candle in their memory or
do something extra special for an animal; please give a rescued animal a good
home if you can. Thank you.”)
*****
I would like to thank Jim Willis for his kind permission to publish his writings on my blog.
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