Community

We live in a magical neighborhood. In the last five years, people from all over the country have come to this small southern town at the confluence of the Tennessee and Ohio Rivers, just up from where they join the Mississippi. Artists. Because the people who live here are the Nicest People in the World. You can read more about that here.

And everyone has dogs. Our neighborhood is full of dogs and people who love them. And some cats, too.

Two days ago, the whippets told me someone was at our front door. We poured downstairs and found our neighbor Kathleen, who loves Buddy, her twelve year old sweetheart of a bully dog. When I opened the door, I saw the trouble on her face.

"Oh, Patience, I just saw a loose dog and she's in bad shape. Bad shape. She's starving. And she's had puppies."

We spent an hour, each in our own car, crawling back and forth through the neighborhood alleys and streets, with no luck. I walked my dogs, keeping an eye peeled: nothing.

Yesterday I saw the dog for myself. She was trotting down the sidewalk on Jefferson, a one way street. I had to go around the block to get to go the right way on Jefferson, and by then she was gone. But what I had seen chilled me. She was beyond emaciated. She was walking skin and bones. And from each side of her mouth hung ropes of drool. Could she be rabid? Could she have some oral abscess? I called Kathleen and told her I had spotted the dog. "Kathleen, I don't think you or I should approach that dog." I told her about the saliva. "I think if we see her again, we should call Animal Control."

Today, my neighbor Deb called. "Patience there is a puppy in Chad's garage. Could I pick you up and come see her?"

"Is she the color of sand and really skinny," I asked?

"Yes!"

"Don't approach her, Deb. I think she is seriously sick and she could be dangerous," I warned.

"Oh," said Deb. "Merle and I have already petted her and Chad gave her some food." Hmmm.

"OK, come get me at the side door."

I put my puzzled dogs in their downstairs crates with their biscuits, and put a hat on my scary undone morning writer's hair, and a coat on against the rain. Again this rain. Sweet Deb swung by and drove me the kattycorner half block to Chad's gorgeous property.

And in Chad's garden shed on an old wrought iron lawn chair with a folded cushion, was a dog curled in a tight, I don't care if I live or die ball. It was the most skeletal living dog I'd ever seen, and I do whippet rescue. You couldn't look at her and not have your throat get too tight and you eyes sting. You just couldn't look and not feel a stabbing in your heart and your gut suddenly felt like you shouldn't have had that coffee because it was burning and maybe you needed to excuse yourself and puke. She was that skinny.

Well, I didn't know what to do. I knew if we called Animal Control she wouldn't live through the day, and that might have been a kindness, but I couldn't have survived seeing that pole/loop thing around her neck and her struggling and being heaved in The Truck. Chad came out and said he had given her water and a little bit of puppy food and the second time he did, she followed him to his porch. No, he answered, she hadn't growled, hadn't shown her teeth, hadn't done anything but duck her head out of the way when he tried to pat her. Like she'd been hit before, he said. I dropped a biscuit from my pocket onto her chair.

She swallowed it whole.

Then after all my advice to Kathleen, I stroked the top of her head. Bone. "I think she's a Pit/Lab cross. She could be all Lab, it's so hard to tell in this state, but no, her coat is too short. I think she's a Pit/Lab cross," I said to Deb and Chad, like that meant anything to them. What was I going to do?

"OK, here's the deal. I'll go back to my house and get a crate. If I can get her in the crate, I'll take her to my vet. Bill has been asking what I want for Christmas, and here it is - a big vet bill! If I can't crate her, I think I have to call Animal Control." Head nods all around. Deb drove me back around the corner (well it was raining) and I grabbed a crate, a hot dog, a martingale lead and my check book. And Bill's famous Rendezvous! I didn't want a sick dog in the Whippet Wagon.

I gave the dog a tiny piece of hot dog. She lifted her head but those yellow eyes were empty. I gave her another tiny piece. I dropped a bigger piece in front of her chair and she dripped down off her perch. I placed a piece in the doorway of the Vari Kennel, which she inhaled, and then I threw the rest of the hot dog in the back of the crate. She walked right in, snarfed the meat and lay down in the crate. Didn't blink when I closed the crate door. Didn't blink.

"All righty then. My vet is going to kill me!" But I think I've mentioned on this very blog that I am Blessed with the best vets in the world. "Bring her right in," said Gail. Chad came back out of his house with a wad of cash for the vet visit and the bag of puppy food. He wouldn't take no for an answer. Deb volunteered to come along. The dog didn't make a sound as we drove.

Deb and I carried the crate into the exam room. Ol' Poke 'n Stick, as my whippets call their dear friend and healer, is off on Thursdays, and his associate, Doc Rennie came in the room. Rennie has a smile that makes you feel like you're in a special space, and a heart just full of love and respect for her clients of all walks. She's purely beautiful. "What have you brought me, Patience?"

Rennie opened the crate door, amidst my warnings that I didn't know if the dog was aggressive, or anything about her at all. The good vet spoke to the dog and let her sniff around the exam room. Eventually and with absolutely no struggle or fuss or notice, Rennie had scanned the dog for a microchip (none), had drawn blood for heartworm (positive), had listened to lungs (clear), palpated belly, (full of worms but not full of puppies), checked gums and teeth (very pale and only around two years old), gave her a dose of Panacur in a bowl of A/D while testing her for food aggression (none, and she sat on command), put a kennel leash around her neck to see her reaction (a little worried but fine), and elicited the first feeble wag of the tail. Deb and I for the most part stood uselessly wiping our tears and marvelling at the skill, the gifts, and talent of Rennie the Remarkable.

Oh, Dear Readers, I know this is long for a blog. And I beg your forgiveness, but some stories just have to be told and that's all there is to it.

Deb said she would keep Elsa until we could find her a forever home. (Oh yes, we started calling her Elsa because she looked so much like the lioness in Born Free.) Deb has cats and an understanding husband with a huge big heart. I worried about the cats, beautiful Maine Coon cats. Deb said she could close off the back kitchen. I stopped and got a collar and a leash, my camera, a dog bowl and some food for sensitive stomachs, and a big foam bed. (Recognise your gift, Laurie? Thanks!) We got the collar on Elsa and let her out of the car at Deb's.

The dog was being polite, but still was not connecting at all. As we walked her around a small grassy section, she never acknowledged us, but was searching for things to get under, places of shelter. Then we took her in Deb's kitchen, letting her sniff around, dragging her leash. She drank a ton of water. We heard that tummy rumbling: puppy food from the morning, biscuits and a hot dog, a can of A/D and wormer, and a ton of water. Yah, let's take her out and try again!

Voila! A monstrous big pile of poo! On lead! A miracle! I fingered the whippet sized sandwich ziplock in my coat pocket. "You're going to need bigger than sandwich size, Deb." "We'll get quart sized. Gallon!" she laughed.

And we went back inside. And then there started to be a Change.



Elsa walked up to me, a hint of a wag, and leaned against me accepting my strokes and scratches. Then she walked over to Deb, and lay down next to her, again with a little wag. And her eyes weren't empty. They were coming to life.





I know Deb and her sweet husband Merle have taken on a very sick dog without batting an eye. I know that I am blessed beyond comprehension with the Most Wonderful Veterinary Practice In The World. I know this whole neighborhood will be pulling for Elsa, the way Chad and Kathleen did, without thinking twice.




This was the last picture I took today. What a difference! She started looking at us. Her eyes were no longer empty and dead. Can you see it? She's in there! And I think, from everything I've seen so far, she's a really, really good dog.

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[Addendum: the whippets were truly stellar and terribly deprived yesterday. After spending all afternoon in the Great Elsa Caper, I came home, let them out, fed them and took a shower. When I got out of the shower, Bill was in need of his own trip to the human variety of ol' poke and stick, and we spent the evening at the E.R. Bill is FINE. He has some follow up studies to do, and he's going to see his regular doc today. He had his second episode ever of Transient Global Amnesia,
the first being eight years ago. I mention it only because when the E.R. doctor asked Bill who the President was, Bill said, "I don't know but he's a real jerk." That's my Bill!]