Amy McCracken and Cheesburger, Another Double Rescue

We were given permission to reprint this story by Amy McCracken, Executive Director at Richmond Animal League (www.ral.org):

(Alyssa was a 14 year old girl who had Cystic Fibrosis and was a beloved friend of Amy McCracken, the Executive Director of Richmond Animal League)

Watching Alyssa die was the hardest thing I have ever done. Despite her incredible bravery and the crazy goodness of her family, it was, in a word, hellish. Floppy (stuffed animal) was under her shoulder the entire time.  Her doll, Sallerina, close by. So many of my friends had become totally invested in her life, and losing her after all she had been through was devastating.

All other staff were at training
that day at Richmond Animal League.

August 2, 2013

I went back to work.  For the first time since coming to work for Richmond Animal League, I was alone at the shelter.  We had an off-site training that everyone was attending and there was not one of our 300 volunteers lurking about.  I was very, very grateful to be there alone.  As amazing and loving as everyone had been to me, I did not want to see or talk to anyone.  I was just sitting at my desk staring at my computer when I realized that the dogs were going nuts. I have no idea how long they were carrying on. I just knew that something wasn’t right.  I went to the door closest to my office and looked in the long skinny glass window to the kennel.  There was a huge white dog standing at the door.  Just standing there.  And the kenneled dogs were so mad.  Huge White Dog wasn’t barking at all. He was just standing there at the door.  I could not see that he was wearing a collar because he is so fluffy.  I was scared of him.  I went over to the clinic and asked a coworker to help me put a loose dog back.  She came over and saw him and said, “Oh, that’s Cheeseburger!  He came in yesterday morning while you were at Alyssa’s funeral.  He’s harmless.” She put him back and locked his kennel.

I sent an email to the staff to please double check that all animals are secure before leaving the kennel.

Five minutes later the dogs were going crazy again.

Again, Cheeseburger was out and standing at the door. Again, I put him back. 

Five minutes later the dogs were going crazy. I have no idea how he unlocked his steel kennel door time and time again.  But he did.

I finally asked him if he had to go outside for a minute.  I put a leash on him and he pulled me right into my office and sat down.  Under my chair.  And then stared at me as if to say, “Don’t mind me.  Get back to work.”

And he stayed there the rest of the day.

Burg was left alone in the house when
the homeowners were evicted.

When my co-worker and our kennel director, Pam, came back I asked where Burg came from.  He had been pulled from Richmond Animal Care and Control (RACC)—that was all she knew.  I called RACC.  They said that Burg and another dog had been left behind in a home after his owners were evicted.  It was a long time before anyone knew that the dogs were there, and they were in rough shape by the time a neighbor complained and animal control discovered them. Burg had come to RAL while I was at Little A's funeral.

I told Cheeseburger that he could stay in my office for the day, but that he was not my kind of dog.

I told Alyssa’s mom and dad about him.  At first they thought maybe Burg was from Alyssa. It didn't take long to know it.

That night, I brought him home just for the night. We talked.  I explained to him that even though he seemed to come in at just the right time, and that maybe Little A did bring him to get me through the weekend, he was not my kind of dog.  He understood.

August 3, 2013

I took him to the neighborhood farmer’s market to find a good home for him.  That’s when I realized that little kids love Burg.  So much.  I wished I had a video camera on my head so that I could have recorded excited little faces charging toward Burg shouting, “So fluffy!  So fluffy!  So flufffffffffffffffffffffffy!”

Fluffy!

I told everyone.  Look at this dog!  He is the perfect dog!  He’s quiet!  He’s gentle!  He’s a thinker!  He loves children.  He doesn’t bark.  He walks great on the leash, and will sleep anywhere.  The shelter opens at noon today!  He’s available! Come by!  He could be all yours today!

After the farmer’s market we went to visit Alyssa (Alyssa’s grave – photos unavailable), and to thank her for not letting either of us be alone for the weekend.

I called the shelter and asked them to call me if anyone had come looking for Burg—and that I would bring him right over if they had.  But no one had, and we ended up back home again.  (He really is smart—even if he doesn’t know what side of the door the knob is on).

Burg was as sad as I was.   I tried to make him feel better.  I even found and printed out this picture from the Internet Machine and tried to rewrite his life story for him.  Tried to pretend that no one ever left him behind.

“Look at you!” I told him.  “Look how cute you were when you were a puppy," I lied to him.  I loved you then and I love you now!  Even though you are not my kind of dog.” 

I’m not sure he bought it, but I think he loved me for the effort. 

The next week he spent his days in my office and his nights at my house.  We talked a lot about Alyssa. 

August 10, 2013

It was Saturday again, and I took Burg back to the farmer’s market.  Everyone was very happy to see him, but sad that he had not been adopted.  I talked him up again.  “He is completely housetrained!  He sleeps until 10:00 a.m. on the weekends and Wednesdays!  He loves to go for a ride in the car!  He eats, but he is not concerned with what you are having.  He is not a licker.  He is a very good listener.  He’s a little sad, but coming around.  He is very independent, but just when you think he might not love you at all, he walks over and sits on your foot.  We open at noon today!  We are located right behind the Martin’s near Chesterfield Towne Center!  Come over!”

Amy and Burg, making it official.

And Burg came over and sat right on my foot.

And I drove to the Richmond Animal League and adopted him.

And good Lord in heaven above was Little A about on the edge of her seat waiting for me to realize that she'd sent Burg, and that we were destined to carry on without her, no matter how impossible it seemed.

So much has happened with Burgie since then. He has amazing friends who have helped him heal in all ways. I'm still convinced Burg misses someone. In fact, I think he misses a whole family. He listens to traffic and I wonder if he is waiting for someone to finally come home. He will sit and watch an entire Little League game, and he pays attention to doors opening wherever we are. I can't think about all of that. I just know how incredibly lucky I am that Burg spends time in my living room, and at the shelter with me, and I will never, ever, take him back to the farmer's market and try to find him a home that I think might be better than ours. Thanks for saving me, Burg.

Author: Amy McCracken, Executive Director, Richmond Animal League

Higher Beings

A little coffee with your healthy dose of dog hugs?

By now most of us are aware that petting a dog or cat is scientifically proven to reduce stress and depression in humans. Along with the more obvious benefits such as companionship, unconditional love, increased opportunity for exercise and socialization, interacting with an animal causes the body to release a stress-reducing hormone called oxytocin into the bloodstream and reduce the production of cortisol, which is a stress-causing hormone.  Non-human animals are good for us.

Then there’s the story of the rescued dog, Mac, whose disability left him unable to climb stairs. When a fire broke out in his family’s home he somehow dragged himself up a flight to wake them, saving them all (by Caroline Golon, halopets.com).     

The headlines are full of similar stories.  In the Huffington Post the headline reads, “Rescue Puppy Saves Owner’s Life by Alerting Her to Gas Leak” (Melissa McGlensey).  In a violent incident of road rage in Georgia, a dog leapt in front of gunfire to save his family, losing his own life (Michael Pearson, CNN).  They save our lives.

In a small town in Delaware there is a young boy who was adopted from an orphanage in Bosnia.  He has Spina Bifida and uses a wheelchair.  He visits the hospital frequently.  These things set him apart from his peers and he feels lonely.  In the same town a black dog that lost the use of his hind legs languished in foster care for nearly a year.  Loved and cared for by his foster/rescuers at LNF Dog Rescue, they were stunned that the gentle dog was passed over again and again by potential adopters.   When the boy’s family heard about the dog who uses a wheelchair they immediately adopted him.  Now the boy and the dog are like brothers, no longer lonely, no longer the outsider, leaving their wheelchairs to swim together in the family’s therapeutic pool like happy fish.  They rescue one another every day.

Family Photo.

An integral part of the human condition is the fact that many of us feel rescued by our rescues.  Our loneliness is mitigated by their presence, our grief is truncated by their affection and our lives are changed indelibly because they are a part of it.  Indeed this is the case with all companion animals if the human among them is on par with this phase of the evolutionary process.  That is, sharing the viewpoint that the other beings with whom we share this planet are not our property, but our responsibility at the very least, and our family for the great majority of Homo sapiens. 

What of those who declare they are “just dogs” or “just animals”? As if to say “just human” would be an outrage because we have somehow outclassed the “just” prefix.  This gives us permission to classify some as slightly below or perhaps deeply below “our kind”.  It has a stench much like the Bible interpreters who justify the dismissal of women and gay people as lesser, with the imagined backing of certain passages they opportunistically read literally, when the evidence is piled high against such a simplistic approach.

Here is an anonymous post reacting to the question, “Are humans animals?”  Just for fun. (I have corrected some of his more glaring errors, the silly monkey):

“READ YOUR BIBLE. If you have the nerve to count yourself as a position as low as an animal then just go around and call yourself that. ‘Cause I will not call myself a living beast eating my feces, sniffing things, licking my stuff (I think you might do this if you could – the author), living in the wild, be a pet, and pick up my turd and throw it at someone.” (I know where I’d throw my turd - the author) 

My apologies to other Bible readers who are deeply mortified by this individual.

This seems like an excellent place to talk about the SAE fraternity for just a moment, because I don’t think I can get through the day without weighing in on this (my apologies to the decent frats and sororities who are truly community minded and not raving sexists and racists. Seriously though, the bar is pretty low for you guys). The little ditty the SAE men drunkenly bleated as they rode along on their bus made reference to black people “hanging from trees.”  When we measure the intelligence of humans to prove we are inordinately more clever than dogs, let’s not use a frat boy as the standard for measurement.  Like fraternities, dogs historically ran in packs.  Sometimes they ate each other’s poo to clean up after their young and to protect their sick or dying whose leavings might attract predators, and just to keep the den tidy.  Yet this group has enormous appeal when held up against these “Greek” petri dishes of over-privileged white people, festering in their own stupidity and spreading their shallow diseases to one another under the translucent guise of their organization’s philanthropic activity.  It’s quite a different kind of poo-eating from these highly evolved humans.  Dogs don’t seem to get hung up on the sorts of biases and grudges we do, and often if a dog behaves poorly there is a human behind it.  Just a human.  Maybe it’s time to take a good long look at ourselves before we paint ourselves as worthy of “dominion” over the other beings in our midst.  The hubris is galling.

“Genesis was originally written in Hebrew, and since every translation involves interpretation, we do well to ask about that English word, ‘dominion.’ (Some translations read ‘rule over,’ instead.) In biblical Hebrew, the word indeed supposes a hierarchy -- someone in a position of power exercises this quality over inferiors. So ‘rule over’ or ‘have dominion’ is actually quite accurate. However, its interpretation as the right to exploit and despoil is not.” - Kristin M. Swenson, Ph.D.

And what shall be done with Rebecca Miller and Janice Freeman who would abuse and/or murder well over 100 dogs, tossing their bodies into garbage cans like so much forgotten rubbish? (http://www.nbc12.com/story/28263279/more-than-130-dogs-found-in-choctaw-co-puppy-mill) In the case of these Alabama puppy mill demons, these psychopaths, I say without caveats that they are murderers and should be dealt with as such.

And then there's Natwan Callaway and Bobby Hollinger, who tied a dog intended for

Tampa Police Sgt Rich Mills Rescued this helpless
dog who had been shot and was tied to the railroad
tracks.(Tampa Police Department's photo)

fighting to the railroad track and then shot her several times because she was too kind-natured to engage in their chosen sport. What of these youngsters, just 17 and bloodthirsty, with all the charming indicators that they'll certainly cut a human into tiny pieces as they blossom into glorious adulthood; tiny little red flags poking out of their every filthy little orifice.  The dog survived, rescued by police sgt Rich Mills. Lock them up and toss away the key.

The naysayers will cry, “But where do you draw the line?  If you step on a bug do you go to jail?”  I say those details can work themselves out, but let’s start with the dog killers.  Meanwhile, how about we step on fewer bugs?  How about at the very least we don’t elevate animal abusers and murderers as they continue with their lives, as we do with Michael Vick, who left so much horror and damage and so many dead bodies in his wake as he trotted onto the football field, glorified and wealthy beyond most of our wildest dreams.  Excuse me one moment, I just threw up a little in my mouth.

"Take only memories. Leave only footprints." - Chief Seattle

The above quote asks that we be stewards of the earth; noble custodians over all that we see.  It is an impossible order to fill.  Our presence alone is apocalyptic for many species and aspects of the environment.  We can at least mitigate the damage by using compassion in our approach.  We can do our best to do no harm. Why not start with a two pronged approach, treating our own species with dignity and respect.  Concurrently, as we work to master just behaving decently toward one another, we can begin to view man's very best friend as a viable being with sentience, capable of great emotion, profound loyalty and experiencing pain and pleasure much like we do.

-Kiki Nusbaumer

http://www.webmd.com/depression/features/pets-depression

http://halopets.com/freekibble/donation116.html

http://www.cnn.com/2014/11/30/us/dog-saves-family/

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/03/28/dog-rescue-gas-leak_n_5036727.html

http://dogtime.com/adopt-a-less-adoptable-pet-week-2013.html

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/11/03/toledo-hero-dog-pit-bull-tiger-todd-kibbey_n_6095966.html

http://www.nbc12.com/story/28263279/more-than-130-dogs-found-in-choctaw-co-puppy-mill

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/03/12/dog-tied-to-railroad-tracks_n_6853468.html?utm_hp_ref=dogs

A Cautionary Tail (Adopt Capone)

Capone, a handsome, ball obsessed boy who deserves a good home.
He is available for adoption now at Rebound Hounds www.reboundhounds.org.

At Who Rescued Who? we are engaged in social media to communicate with our followers and to help us with research and promote our organization.  Each day as we peruse Facebook and Twitter there is a barrage of posts about animals in urgent need of rescue and placement.  We do our best to share the images of these dogs and cats who are earmarked for euthanasia.  These shares can save lives.  There is a powerful community advocating for these victims of the system, often surrendered by their humans for sometimes ludicrous, sometimes legitimate reasons.

On March 4^th the face of a beautiful one-year-old pit bull filled the screen as we checked into our Facebook account.  His name is Capone.  He was surrendered by his human who cited “personal problems” as her reason for relinquishing him to the system.  So often our personal problems become theirs.  One could argue that men and women who experience personal problems do not relinquish their children.  The evolution of animals as family has made its way through parts of society, but we’ve such a long way to go.  Still, if an animal’s quality of life will suffer because an individual or family chooses to uphold their side of the bargain we make with our companions, regardless of the adversity they face, is it better to re-home them?  Certainly this must be determined on an individual basis.  Who knows what agony Capone’s adopter experienced when she knew she could not keep him.

Capone was slated for execution at noon that Wednesday.  A snow storm was headed east.

Capone's poster.

We had three hours to put a hold on him so he would be spared for one more day.

When all the online paperwork was finished there was one half hour to spare.  A half hour more of life, had no one spoken for this dog.  But he was safe, for now.  We are in Richmond, Virginia and he was in Manhattan.  I proceeded blindly, not tempered by reason or practicality, but for the sole purpose of saving his life.  With the bosses' blessing and two days off for the trip, I planned to depart at 6am the next day.  The dogs, Molly and Mazzy, were in the car with their winter coats packed, sleeping bags spread out, for their trip to meet the big guy in the Big Apple.

The snow began an hour into our journey.  It piled on 95, at times slowing traffic to 20 miles per hour.  The windshield was constantly coated with dirt and ice and the shoulders of the road were littered with vehicles less fortunate than us.  We powered on in our Suzuki Grand Vitara, 4 wheel drive the whole way.

We made it in ten hours.

In New York we made our way to NYC Animal Care and Control and found a parking space directly in front of the doors.  This made it seem as if the trip was blessed by some higher power, but our luck was about to run out.

When they brought Capone down we met him outside.  He was one of the most beautiful dogs I’d ever seen, with a golden coat and rippling muscles, head the size of a basketball and a wide goofy smile.  My little pibble seemed comfortable with Capone, but my small, 9 year old mix, the dog who’d been a loyal hearing ear dog for two deaf pit mixes, seemed terrified, growling and barking and trying to make herself big next to this giant of a pup.  It was an unusual reaction from her and my heart sank.  I tried to make light of it and went inside to talk to the staff.  The adoption counselor remarked on Molly’s behavior, freeing me to express my fears that this may be a poor match through no fault of Capone’s. 

“I don’t want to be ‘one of those people.'” I confided in him.  I wouldn’t leave Capone to be put down.  After some discussion I learned that Rebound Hounds (www.reboundhounds.org) had stepped up to rescue Capone if he wasn’t adopted.  One way or the other the dog’s life would be spared, but I was crestfallen as I piled my dogs back into the car.  I was plagued with the knowledge that in spite of my best intentions, I had let Capone down.

So we left New York City, getting lost for an hour before finding the turnpike.  In New Jersey we hit a drift in the right lane and slid toward the guardrail, thankfully not out into traffic.  I put the car into 4 wheel low and crawled out of the snow bank and down the exit ramp to get gas and collect myself.  After pumping gas I turned to get into the car and found all the doors locked.  My old dog Molly was sitting on my key chain.  She had locked me out with her butt.  It was bitterly cold and my fingers instantly began to freeze.  I knew it would not stay warm in the car much longer.  I knew I’d have to break the window, but not before pleading with Molly to press the “unlock” button, suddenly hoping she had Lassie-like tendencies.  Smart as she is, she either couldn’t understand my pleading or was still mad at me for assuming she’d be happy with a big brother, and curled into a doggy circle to watch me lose it outside.  It would be a cold ride home with no window.

I was close to crying when a trucker came walking across the parking lot toward me.  He held an unfurled coat hanger in his hand.  It may as well have been a lance and his brown jacket a suit of armor.

“I saw what you were doing.  My dog just did the same thing to me!”  He said and pointed toward a big rig with a dog seated in the passenger seat.

He jammed the hanger through the rubber seal of the driver side window and tried for a good 15 minutes to get the doors unlocked to no avail.  Then two more guys came up.  They held the antenna of their pick-up.  Bending it slightly, they pushed it through the window.  With my trucker friend helping guide them, in just a few tries they pressed the button to unlock the doors.  I would not have to shatter my window.  They refused my offer to pay them for a new antenna, saying simply, as they screwed it bank into its place on their truck, “We always use it for this.”  3 heroes at a New Jersey gas stop.  They are indelibly tied to my memory of Capone.  There are still really decent people out there; people who would help a complete stranger on a freezing night.

So then came the philosophizing as we headed back out into the night and I wallowed in

Seeking a forever home!  Find Capone at Rebound
Hounds in NY www.reboundhounds.org

self-pity as I drove, white-knuckle grip on the wheel.  The optimist might have a different take on all this.  So far we were all alive.  Indeed even Capone was at least alive.  I would have to take solace in that.  There is always something worse that can happen.

I looked through the rear-view mirror at Molly and Mazzy as they slept on their sleeping bags in the back, the initial shine of a car ride long since tarnished, giving way to the kind of exhaustion an overly long journey can induce.  They were cozy and warm.  I thought more of Capone and hoped he had a warm blanket and a few hugs as he moved over to Rebound Hounds for the next leg of his journey, a cramp of guilt sticking with me as we pulled out of Maryland and into Virginia.  And all these dogs left behind and in our prayers and good intentions make me think now of a line from the Sylvia Plath poem called The Jailer:  "My ribs show.  What have I eaten? Lies and smiles."

At 2am we arrived home.  I ran Molly and Mazzy out into the backyard to potty before bed, cheering them on quietly in spite of my fatigue (sorry Cesar Millan, it’s just how we roll: peepee and poopoo are much like a sporting event at our house).  As I waited in the quiet dark for them to run up the stairs I tried to figure out what was learned on this otherwise fruitless journey.  I tried to figure out if I was accidentally a bad person.  The hopeful rush of well wishers as I informed them of my plan to race up to New York to adopt Capone, the joy at the prospect of bringing home a big brother for my pups, the anti-climactic departure as I drove away without him; the heavy little empty place in me that was supposed to be filled by Capone; what have I learned? 

The words of the Urgent Help Center employee at NYC ACC:

“We see too often situations where people adopted a dog to save them and the dog ended up returned, in a bad situation, MIA or dead, so I would advise you to think through the worse case scenario and what you would do. Let us know if you have any additional questions.”

-Kiki Nusbaumer