Come On and Rescue Me

The first dog came as a puppy when I was in second grade and lived to see me into my college years. This was Speckles, a mixed-breed Dalmatian who was my wingman on outdoor adventures; the confidante to my late-night conversations, cheers, and tears; and so much more. It became my responsibility to support him as we said our goodbyes. Speckles taught me to open my heart to animals, to live through the grief and loss without hardening my heart to another animal’s love, and to know that I would have more animal friends as family in the future.

As a single girl, my first dog was found in Northern Minnesota. After a summer of work before starting my first post-college job, I returned from the northern state with two dogs. One mixed-breed, which I shared with my sister, and a two-year-old Samoyed named Kutka who was to be mine. Or more accurately, I was to be his. He was the Alpha in our family and I was his Beta pack member. Kutka was a good dog, a stunningly handsome dog, and his own leader. We failed dog training several times. He was no longer welcome at any kennel as he jumped every fence and barrier. He was not aggressive or dangerous but just very strong-willed. He did what he wanted — when he wanted — and I was in service of him.

Kutka was very smart. After he learned to open the closet door, he chewed one shoe from every pair I owned. He kept me on my toes, pulled me miles on our runs, and loved a driving trip. My mother found Kutka a wonderful home when I took a year off to backpack around the world. I was promised a puppy from a litter he would sire when I returned. But I never took the new owner up on the offer — no dog could ever replace Kutka in my heart.

And yet, my heart always remains open to the next dog or cat or friendly animal who needs a loving home.

I have written about my senior dog, Buddha Bear, who has worked by my side for more than eleven years. Both of us have silver hair now but he and I have shared our lives and partnered on many and major commitments — none more so than the rescue of Big Boy, the South African Mastiff. Followed closely —six months later — by the rescue of my mother from a situation that did not align with her (or my) definition of Quality of Life.

Buddha Bear taught Big Boy dog language and behavior, and slept by my mother Betsi’s side every night, alerting me to her needs. Buddha Bear is a great listener and consultant and has shared my work-life and working relationships. Since the passing of Big Boy and Betsi, we mourned together and have rebuilt our lives with two French Bulldogs and a rescue — dog-confident — kitty.

Buddha Bear is slowing down but still holds the place of pack leader to me. Thanks to Kutka, I have learned to be the Alpha member of the pack.

Though many dogs needing forever-homes cross my internet, I have resisted the temptation. I regularly threaten to buy a farm so I can spend my retirement surrounded by animals of all types.

On Friday, I was called to the rescue role again. As I drove from east to west in Cleveland, the cars in front of me started to slow. The snow was falling and the traffic uncertain. Clearly, there was something to be aware of somewhere ahead of me. In the two lanes of traffic, I saw a dog frantically running between the cars, but unable to scale the snowbanks.

I slowed. I stopped. I opened the driver’s door. He approached.

He was a chocolate brown bully breed, with a collar but no ID. He wanted to find safety in my car but was cautious.

Later, I wrote on Facebook that my confidence in the goodness of mankind was reinforced by the reaction of those around me. All the cars stopped. People jumped out of their cars to help. No one honked loudly – everyone held their breath.

Could I catch him? Would he bite me? Would I succeed in getting him safely — and to safety — in my backseat?

With the help of several people and a small growl, I managed to pick up this handsome guy and help him into the warm car safely.

Thanks to my experience with Big Boy and my continued advocacy of rescuing and fostering animals, I know the location of most places to take a lost dog. I wanted him to go to the closest animal shelter so that if he had a family, they would find him easily.

It has been three days since I rescued him from the cold and traffic, and no one has called for this guy. He doesn’t have tags or a micro-chip. He smiles and wags his tail. The shelter tells me he is good with the staff and other dogs. And I have told them that I will help to find him a home. They appreciated all my effort and wished me well. As I left, they told me they have more than one hundred dogs available for adoption, if I was interested.

I feel like Big Boy is cheering me on. He is always top-of-mind these days as I am actively sharing his story in two children’s books. And now, I have been given the opportunity to advocate for a real-life new friend.

Want to help me? Need a new friend?

Children, animals, and seniors are the biggest commitment a person can make in caring for another. I find that this kind of commitment brings out the best in me. I am taught by every interaction and forced to slow down and savor the moments shared. A commitment to care-taking is not without hard work and even sacrifice, but life has taught me that investment of self will be returned hundreds of times over.

Is your life looking to become a little more complicated in the very best way?

Listen

Listen closely.

Is that someone singing, “Rescue me?”

Leslie

“In more ways than one, we are all rescues.”

— Leslie Yerkes