Dogs rescued from neglect won't suffer any longer

This dog spent his days in the darkness of this dirty shed. Note his nose poking out from the bottom left corner of the yellow door.

Even the sweetest day of the year doesn’t give dedicated rescuers in the field pause from heartbreak.

While many people celebrated love with their heart throbs on Valentine’s Day, I was consoling a New Orleans animal control officer whose heart had been torn apart. You met 22-year-old Melanie Fenwick last week. She’s the red-haired rescuer who came upon three dogs existing on a trash-strewn, derelict property.

The place is like so many others that litter the post-Katrina wasteland. Buildings that were submerged under dirty floodwaters are moldy, tattered shells.

In this case, two three-year-old pit bulls were being housed in dark, dilapidated sheds. The third, a five-month-old puppy, was clamoring to escape from the cab of a junked pick-up truck.

During one site visit, Melanie found a dog tethered on a heavy chain next to a burning pile of debris. There wasn’t even a bowl of water to quench his thirst as he sat breathing in the toxic fumes.

Melanie and her partner Travis Causey hoped they could orchestrate a happy ending to this story. They instructed the dogs’ guardian to make changes towards improving their welfare.

“Those pictures were not the worst ones,” said Fenwick, referring to the photographs posted to the blog story, Officers help dogs living in dismal conditions, February 10, 2009.

There isn’t a happily-ever-after ending for these dogs.

On Friday, the case went to court. The owner struck a plea bargain. He agreed to relinquish his two older dogs to the Louisiana SPCA. In exchange, some charges were dropped – a neighbor had spotted one of his dogs roaming at large, and none of them had rabies vaccinations. But the neglect charges stuck, and he pled guilty to three counts. One for each dog.

Now the fate of the two dogs turned over to LA SPCA had to be decided.

Prospects for pit bulls needing homes are grim at best, hopeless at worst. Most shelters I visit are overloaded with them. Many shelters won’t even put them up for adoption, fearing liability to their organization, or mistreatment of the animals. Pits are often euthanized upon arrival. Some organizations will consider adopting well-behaved pit bulls if the dog -- and the potential adopter -- pass rigorous assessments.

Louisiana SPCA does place pit bulls. But tragically, the dogs rescued in this case have several strikes against them. They aren’t babies anymore. At three years of age, people will look right past them and gravitate towards the plentiful puppies. And they tested positive for heartworm. The mosquitoes nurtured by the steamy climate of the bayou carry the parasites. The disease is expensive to treat and requires weeks of quiet rest. It’s not practical to offer this peaceful convalescent environment in the shelter’s chaotic setting.

And the pit bulls seized have other marks against them -- significant scarring to the skin that might be viewed as battle scars.

“We don’t want them fought, and we don’t want people coming into the shelter thinking, ‘Oh, this is a good fighting dog,’ ” Melanie said. “Nothing with scars goes up.”

The dogs were scheduled to die soon, this past Friday or Saturday perhaps. I don’t know if they are still alive. If they are, their time is coming. Possibly as you are reading this. Take some comfort in knowing that, unlike how they were treated in life, their deaths will be handled with humanity and compassion.

If you feel compelled to act and memorialize them, there is something important that you can do. Educate someone you know who is thinking of breeding their companion animal. Whether they own a pit bull or another type of animal, you will be saving lives. There is an epic overpopulation crisis. There are simply not enough homes. It’s time for all of us to act.

Back in New Orleans, the sheds where the dogs lived in misery have already been torn down by the landlord.

“His house really shouldn’t be inhabited,” Melanie said. “He didn’t have a proper place to put the dogs.”

Melanie won her case. But she’s frustrated. The win begets a loss. Unlike people who minister to human beings, animal rescuers aren’t just tasked with saving their charges. In many cases, they are also responsible for deciding who lives, and who dies.

Melanie consoles herself with the knowledge that their last few days at the shelter will likely be the best times for these dogs. And like most rescuers I meet, she’s more worried about the dog going home than the ones scheduled to die. The five-month-old puppy will be returned to his guardian this week. Melanie will be back to check on him soon.

“I care about the well-being of the dogs,” she said. “It’s good that they’re not going to spend the rest of their lives on the end of a chain. They won’t have to live through that again. At least they’ll have shelter and food until the end."

Fly away home, Big Bird

Big Bird is back in flight following a near-death experience. Photo taken by Pat Maloney.

Rescuing animals has found its way into my heart for many reasons, not the least of which is a family matter.

There are dedicated animal lovers on both sides of my family -- parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles. One great-grandfather was even the state veterinarian for Zimbabwe back when it was still called Rhodesia. Relatives who were gone before I was born are posed in old photos holding beloved dogs and cats. Their animals were important enough to be included in the black and white shots long before digital cameras stored thousands of pictures with a few clicks of a button. Back then, setting up a photo was an ordeal.

But no family member loves animals with the passionate fervor of my mother. She carries cat food and a dog leash in her large purse in case she comes across strays. She’s trapped feral cats to spay and neuter, and reported dogs locked up in hot cars to the authorities.

And she doesn’t just help companion animals. She rescues wildlife facing danger, too. Near her place in Florida, she’s pulled her car to the side of the road to pick up wayward turtles and help them safely cross the road. She’s cordoned off burrowing owls so people won’t threaten them while they are vulnerable in their habitat, which consists of a shallow hole dug in the dirt. She even makes sure the runners on her windows are gecko-free before she shuts them to avert tragedy.

The latest recipient of her creature compassion is Big Bird, a great blue heron who had nearly met his demise by the time she spotted him. Poisoned and confused, he was flying “as if he had lost his GPS”, Diana Maloney said.

She quickly got in touch with a local rescue group who agreed to come right over and try to catch the bird. Diana was “absolutely gobstruck” watching Dan the Bird Man at work, and she writes about his techniques in her story below.

“He just dove on it,” she said. “At one point I looked away. I couldn’t bear to see. I was expecting to see a squished bird, but he actually dove onto his elbows and knees. You only get one shot at it.”

The situation was dire. He couldn’t miss. If he did, Big Bird wouldn’t survive one more night of a cold snap in usually sunny Sarasota. The temperature had dipped below freezing several nights in a row. Herons are skinny birds without much meat on their bones to begin with, and this one was significantly underweight.

But in an update I received today, I found out that Big Bird wasn’t fully cognizant of his near-death experience. He showed zero gratitude towards his captors, who helped save his life by warming him up in their toasty intensive care unit and nursing him back to health.

“The girl phoned me from the rescue center and said this is one pissed-off bird,” Diana said. “He is so mad. She went in with the fish, and he puffed out all his feathers and he put out his wings, and he charged her.”

Below, I've posted the story she wrote on the rescue.

Diana Maloney prepares to release the bird she rescued. Thanks to her quick thinking, he won't be getting his angel wings just yet.

We are privileged to look out over a fairly deserted beach. Deserted but for the wildlife that abounds there, both on the sand and in the water. Arriving home, I looked up and was horrified to see a beautiful great blue heron fly straight into our building. And then plummet to the ground. He stood up but didn't attempt to move. I went inside to observe "Big Bird" from the foyer. My fear that he was in trouble was confirmed when he staggered away, turned, and flew back into the building again.

A call to the Wildlife Center of Venice brought us the help we urgently needed in the form of Dan, a volunteer from Bradenton. I don't know exactly what we expected, maybe the use of a tranquilizer, but we were definitely not expecting what followed. On arrival, Dan quickly jumped out of his truck. We pointed out where Big Bird was hiding between some bushes and the property fence, with just his head showing. Dan ran back to his truck, grabbed a large net, attached the pole handle, and went into predator mode. Crouching low to the ground, out of sight of the bird, he scurried towards him like an animal hunting prey, poised to pounce. He made only one downward motion with the net. It covered and encircled the bird. He seemed to almost drop to his knees and elbows and cover the bird. By this time, Big Bird was squawking loudly and not happy.

When Dan emerged from the heap, Big Bird was safely tucked under his left arm and his right hand held the bird's neck just below the head. The net had done its work and lay on the ground. Before placing Big Bird in the rescue carrier, Dan carried out a deft cursory check for injuries. As he held the bird tucked under his left elbow, and held the head with his left hand, his right hand moved quickly over the top of the bird’s outstretched wing. And then the same procedure on the opposite side. No palpable injuries. He checked the eyes – membranes were all open, a good sign. A closed membrane could mean he had suffered a concussion.

But Big Bird was not acting normally, Dan told us, and so would need further examination by a vet.

Today, I was contacted by the rescue center. They believe this bird is less than a year old. Through a process of elimination, it appears that he may have botulism poisoning from ingesting dead or contaminated fish, or even cigarette butts. He is underweight, which indicates he may have left the nest too early and not yet be proficient in the art of hunting for food. His treatment will include flushing the toxins through his body repeatedly, maybe administering sub-cutaneous fluids, and possibly feeding him intravenously until he is well enough to be released back to this area.

Here’s a closing thought. Wouldn't it be great if instead of taking the youth of Sarasota on a hunting trip, as is happening this weekend, they were taught the art of capturing wildlife in the manner that Dan demonstrated? This skill could save a creature's life, rather than ending it.

Officers help dogs living in dismal conditions

A dog's nose peeks out from the left corner of the door when officers arrive. Photo courtesy of the Louisiana SPCA.

I’ve got another illuminating update from the field filed by webmaster Shelly Patton of the Louisiana SPCA. She’s been riding along with animal control again.

Her story struck me hard. I felt like I was riding along with her. But what resonated most was the importance of citizen involvement. Filing a report when you witness animal neglect or cruelty can change an animal’s destiny.

Sometimes taking action involves a bit of legwork. Animal control for a particular region might be handled by the city, or contracted to an independent agency such as an animal welfare organization. If at first you don’t track down the organization with proper authority, don’t give up. Ask around. Over the years, I’ve reported many people in a multitude of cities. The results were satisfying.

As you’ll find out when you read Shelly’s story, a few telephone calls on your part can make a dramatic difference to an animal’s treatment. We owe it to the animals to speak out and get involved. If we don’t, who will?

Here's what Shelly reported:

Officers Travis Causey and Melanie Fenwick had been at the address the previous day responding to a “roaming at large” call. The first thing they noticed when they arrived was a pit bull puppy in the cab of a blue pick-up truck. The puppy was excited by our arrival. Jumping at the window, he was clawing to get out and greet them.

Walking past the truck, they climbed the weather worn stairs and knocked on the door. They surveyed the yard below. Debris was everywhere. The yard had the junkyard appearance so common in low-income areas.

Just past the driveway sat the pickup truck nestled in overgrown vegetation. The truck was waiting for “someday” to arrive. Its hood was opened in a silent scream. The passenger window was hanging precariously in its frame. The back right tire was deflated and the truck bed was filled with debris. At this point, it was nothing more than a kennel. A dangerous kennel.

Hearing the door open behind them, Melanie and Travis turned and told the man answering that they were there responding to a complaint. They asked if he had seen any strays roaming. “No. No dogs,” he said. “The only dogs I seen are mine. I have them out back. Want to see them?” He spoke of his dogs with a sense of pride. He didn’t think he was doing anything wrong.

As the man walked them around to the back, he was questioned about the puppy in the truck cab.

The backyard was worse than the front: overgrown, littered with empty bags of dog food, dirty cracked buckets, cans scattered about, broken furniture, discarded piles of plywood, and trash.

A dilapidated shed stood to the right. It had no doors or windows. Even sections of the exterior walls were missing. The inside was falling apart, just a framework with crumbled sheetrock hanging here and there. Years of dust and grime held it together. The floor was a build-up of paper, sheetrock, 2x4s, and filth. This shed was home to a white female pit bull. The 10-foot chain securing her to the doorframe was G80, a large, heavy tow chain. Perhaps at one point the chain had belonged to the truck out front. Now it was dead weight around the dog’s neck.

Beyond the first shed sat a second. This shed had a door and tightly boarded windows. The only light filtering into this enclosure came through a hole in the bottom left corner of the door. It was just large enough for the muzzle and eyes of a large dog to fit through. The officers were being watched.

Melanie and Travis began to educate the man about city ordinances concerning dogs and basic standards of animal care. He was in violation of many of them.

They explained to the man exactly what laws he had violated, and the consequences he would face if he didn't raise the standard of care for his dogs. They informed him that an officer would return to verify that he had made the changes necessary to comply.

Some situations require the animal be removed from the property immediately. But that wasn’t the case on this call. Ninety percent of the complaints animal control officers respond to require only education and condition checks. Many people don’t know they are doing the animal an injustice by the way they are keeping them. When the animal’s needs are outlined, they often make changes willingly that are in the best interests of the animal.

Primarily, animal control officers are community educators. They speak for the voiceless, advocating for them to people who love their animals but just don’t know any better.

Melanie and Travis had scheduled this man’s condition check for a few days later, but when time allowed for the visit the next day, the officers didn’t hesitate to arrive earlier than scheduled. Particularly because of the puppy and chained dog involved.

We walked around back to have a look.

The white pit bull – now unchained – was watching us through the hole in the door. The man enthusiastically told us the cab puppy was now in the house. Two major issues had been resolved.

The man opened the shed door so the officers could get a better look at the dogs and the conditions inside the shed. Out ran the white pit bull. Accompanying her was a blue male. Both were a bit on the thin side, but by no means emaciated.

The man told us he let them out at least once a day to run around. Judging by the way they stayed in the area, I believed him.

At one point, the female ran by, kicking up a kitchen knife lying in the weeds near a pile of wood. As the metal flashed in the sun, it caught Melanie’s eye and offered her the perfect opening for explaining the importance of removing all debris from the immediate area. She set parameters for the clean up, emphasizing the dangers that debris posed to the paws of a running dog.

Travis and I went into the shed. Although it was dark, the darkness was not a violation of city code. Travis noted that there were two bowls of clean water and two empty food bowls. There was only a small amount of fecal matter on the floor, an indication that the man did clean up after his dogs.

But the smell was a problem. The air was thick with ammonia. Travis patiently explained something needed to be done about the buildup of urine on the floor. Cleaning the floor using a mild bleach solution once a week should do it. Travis told the man, “You want to take as good a care of your dogs as you do your children.” To me, it appeared that his statement sparked a dawning enlightenment in the man. Travis had given him a visual he could understand.

The focus turned to the condition of the dogs themselves. “Feed them a little more. They are too thin,” Travis added, pointing out a few obvious medical conditions that needed addressing. The female had a bloody tail tip. The male had a minor skin condition, and possibly an ear infection.

After running through the list of requirements the man had to complete and sustain, including yard clean-up and a veterinary visit, another condition check was scheduled. Officers will return in two weeks to verify compliance.

What struck me about this experience was the man’s willingness to do right by his dogs. He had already made some of the necessary changes he had learned about the day before. I got the impression that he cared. He just hadn’t known any better.

Louisiana SPCA animal control officer Melanie Fenwick cuddles a pit bull puppy. I snapped this photo of her at a temporary shelter set up by LA SPCA in Baton Rouge. I fled the city with staff and the shelter animals this past September when Hurricane Gustav rolled in.

Cats love the velvet paw treatment

Sam and Felix enjoy a friendly headlock.

On Saturday I promised to tell you how to operate a harmonious cat house.

After spending some time over the weekend thinking about it, I’m wondering if I’m qualified to answer that question. I still have a lot to learn.

It’s true that I’ve rescued hundreds of cats, and fostered many of them in my home. And with a current head count of nine, I have more pets than most people.

But I’m always picking up new tricks from other animal rescuers.

Take my friend Carol Reichert at Richmond Animal Protection Society, for example. She’s the one who taught me the best way to safely introduce a new cat. Set up a large cage in your living space and let the new arrival spend some time in there each day. This gives the cats a chance to get used to each other. Nobody feels threatened. When the new cat isn’t in the cage, he should be confined separately in a room. Just letting a new cat loose in the house to fend for himself is emphatically the wrong way to make an introduction, causing rifts that can last a lifetime.

I am going through this process right now with Little Carreen, who has been living in my house for a couple of months and is still adjusting. She’s tiny, much smaller than the other cats. That sets her up to be a target for bullies. Thankfully she’s already formed bonds with two of the other cats – Sam and Henry – and they spend time visiting with her when she’s hanging out in the large master bathroom. She spends time with me in the loft when I'm writing, sitting in my lap so I can protect her.

I tried the cage idea with Madison, my 15-year-old who can’t stand other cats. Over the years I’ve tried many times to integrate her with varying success. When she stopped grooming herself and starting hiding under the bed constantly, I knew she badly needed her own space.

Madison is currently living in the daylight basement, where she enjoys snuggling up on the double bed I slept in as a child. The other day I placed her safely in the large dog-sized carrier in the middle of the living room, hoping she might start getting used to the other cats. She howled and howled in distress until I took her back to the basement.

I have resigned myself to the fact that she will probably never feel comfortable living with other animals. I visit with her several times a day, and sleep down there with her on some nights.

My cats have taught me that they occasionally need their own space to gear down and be alone with their thoughts, just like humans do.

Sam is my most social cat, both with people and other cats. But he has a contradictory side. He craves a bit of alone time each day. I found this out by accident. I started giving him a short period of solitary confinement in the basement or a bathroom when he was annoying other cats. He doesn’t hurt them, but loves to take chase. He doesn’t even have to chase to get them growling in his direction. He simply stares at them and starts rolling around on his back as a taunting maneuver.

He soon figured out a surefire way to carve out his own private time. Now he bothers the other cats on purpose. When I open the door to the bathroom, he strolls in like he owns the place. I toss a towel down and he curls up there, contented and ready for a long nap. He signals he’s ready to rejoin the group by scratching at the door.

So much for discipline.

To my surprise, Sam – previously Madison’s constant tormentor when she lived with the others – wants to spend time in the basement badly enough that he behaves when I let him in there. Madison doesn’t seem to mind having him with her in short doses.

Knowing your animals’ special likes and dislikes becomes even more important in a multiple pet household. Catering to each cat’s needs helps their mental balance. A pinch of catnip or a favorite food treat fosters contentment that goes a long way towards creating goodwill between the cats.

My calico cat Opus doesn’t like still water in a bowl, even if it’s fresh. She demands running water, and sits on the kitchen counter in front of the tap meowing until I get the message. She’s a cantankerous cat who might take a swipe at you if you reach out to pet her. But she’s very affectionate at night, when she sleeps on my head.

My feral cats will usually run if I approach them – they would rather come to me. But they are extremely vocal, and love it if I speak or sing to them. And they meow back. The cats will come and stand around me in a semi-circle if I’m having a karaoke moment. They don’t care that I can’t sing worth a hoot.

Just like people, animals have their own idiosyncrasies, and they thrive if their needs are met. Without words, they tell us how they want to be treated. We just have to watch and listen.

Opus demands running water when she's thirsty. Maybe I should call her Queenie?

Happiness is...an afternoon nap with your best pals.

Pitter patter of tiny paws is as distinct as a cat's meow

I don’t have kids, but I do have cats. A pride of nine mischief-makers who crave special attention. And just like a parent of human children, I do my best to cater to their individual needs.

Visitors have trouble telling some of them apart. Four are black. Three have grey markings. Two are tabbies. I know each of them by sight, even a sidelong glance. Just like a mother asked to tell her twins apart.

The other night, I was taking a moment to repose on the couch. But the cats weren’t sleepy. By nature, they are nocturnal beings who sleep most of the day. They ran and jumped and played with balls and catnip toys. They batted each other’s tails and caterwauled as they wandered through the house going about their nightly activities.

Lying there with my eyes closed, I knew exactly what each cat was up to. I knew them by their meows. Their gait. Their method of play.

Even when they jump onto my bed in the middle of the night and it’s too dark to see, I know them by the touch of their fur and heft of their body.

Knowing who’s who doesn’t mean it’s any easier to get them to behave. Right now they are galloping through the tax receipts I spread out carefully on the floor in categories. The cats take a running start, land on a pile, and slide like a pitcher coming in to home plate. The tiny scraps of paper swirl around them like confetti. I’m left to pick up the pieces – er, papers.

For the fourth time, I’ll be re-sorting them.

I’m not complaining. I’m feeling lucky that the receipts barely dodged one cat’s vomit and another’s need to mark territory with a little bit of liquid courage.

Tune in to read tomorrow. I’ll tell you how I give my felines individualized treatment to encourage harmony in my crazy cat house.

It's raining cats and cats

I received a belated holiday email the other day from a friend in Canada whose dedication to animals I’ve always admired. She and her husband pour a mind-boggling amount of time, effort and money into rescue. They stand out. Even when they are placed in a line-up alongside the ranks of inspirational people I’ve encountered.

Here’s how her note began:


Some people are organized and send out Christmas cards in early December.

Some people are organized and do Christmas baking.

Some people are organized and make a big festive dinner.

Those people do not have 117 cats.

This is our version of a Christmas letter…


Now you know why they stand out.

I have to keep my friends’ names anonymous. Having 117 cats in one’s house doesn’t endear you to the neighbors. Or the authorities. So for purposes of identification, I’ll call them Patty and Bob.

People like Patty and Bob follow their own law. Humanity rules, that is. They have pulled umpteen cats from death row at shelters and lovingly nurtured them in their house. But like many compassionate souls in the rescue community, they have a hard time saying no to shelter staff and veterinarians who bring them homeless creatures.

Until a few years ago, when they hit 140 cats.

When you have 140 cats, the world as you know it disappears. You can’t even cook a meal because the cats have peed on your stovetop in their quest to mark shrinking territory. Your life is consumed by feeding and watering, cleaning, medicating animals, and scooping litter. Money for the vet bills spills like an endless river. Never mind covering costs such as food and other supplies.

Realizing they weren’t able to turn away an animal in need, Patty and Bob felt they had only one option.

Leave town.

They packed up their belongings, the cats, and a rabbit, and headed across the country to find a new life. When they got there, they would be in stealth mode. They wouldn’t make contact with local rescue groups or veterinary clinics. Their new veterinarian was warned to keep the existence of their cat house under wraps.

I played a small role helping to move the cats, arriving at their place to be a catcher. We had to get them loaded into carriers two-by-two. The operation happened in stages over several days. Coralling 140 cats – many of them feral – takes bravado and some artistry. A couple of bites and scratches were the only collateral damage.

There was one escapee who made it to the lawn, but she was caught before danger befell her.

The carriers were placed on pallets and loaded into the plane’s underbelly. I jokingly called the charter ride Meow Air.

The bunny and the sickest, oldest cats made the trip with Patty by motor home while her husband waited at the other side to receive the cats coming in by air.

It hasn’t been easy for Bob and Patty. They had to do significant renovations on the old house to clean up after the cats, and to the new one to accommodate them.

But finally things are getting easier in this cat house.

On behalf of all animal lovers out there, I would like to wish Patty and Bob a belated happy holidays. And thank them for all they did for the cats in 2008, and beyond. Paws up to you!

Here's an excerpt from her letter.

“…We have way less financial stress and have used our leeway to get some much needed surgeries done for our four-legged family. The female cats we took in here, as well as some that left unspayed, have been fixed to the extent possible.

Virginia has never been healthy enough to spay, nor have we wanted to stress the two remaining from our superbug group, GypsyRoseLee and Alexa.

We have only one healthy cat named Theresa left to take in and thankfully she is not a noisy, in-heat gal.

What a relief to get Gwyneth, Stephi, Lily, Menewt, Terri, Tess, Tina and Pamela done. The noise level has been reduced enormously as they seemed to be in a constant state of heat.

The spays here are $250 each so that is why we had to wait so long.

Lots of dental surgeries needed doing as well. We have several toothless cats now, and they are much healthier and happier that way. Amazingly, several of them still refuse any wet food.

We found a vet practice a 40-minute drive away that we have faith in. It is so worth it, for all the surgeries and the diagnostic abilities there are also far better than our local practice.

Our local practice has gone through hard times and lost its best vet some time ago. Sadly three of the cats who had surgery there since died from complications from their surgery. The worst of all being our beloved Jordie whose lung collapsed. No vet was even in the office within an hour after surgery to check up on him. This despite them mentioning that he was a higher risk than some due to a heart murmur. We surely regretted having his teeth fixed and miss him still.

There is never a dull moment with our cat house.

At this time, we are watching several carefully. Sammy is diabetic and Scratch has just gone through a bad time with an infection. He is barely better today and we are still holding our breath.

Our group ages every year and so every year means more pass on to the rainbow bridge.

Most recently, our loving little Bomber and Gwen gave up the earth life the week before Christmas.

Since starting this letter last Friday night, we also had to say goodbye to Precious. I was fortunate enough to get home on Monday eve about half an hour before she died and so was able to be with her and tell her one last time how special she was.

We lost several of our babes this year and one of our two bunnies, Mutt Bunny, died. He was our little handicapped bunny and amazingly ate right up to his last day. Every year we expected him to pass. I guess he just loved the raisin and oat treats too much to go. Nine years is amazing, even for a healthy bunny – he beat all the odds. Jeff bunny is still going strong and showing no signs of age. He is still our “Watch” Bunny and drums in his cage when he feels threatened by noises outside. I just discovered that Cheerios from nuts and bolts are a tasty treat for Jeff. He stared at me intently while I was chowing down on some and lo and behold, that was what he wanted!

Maisie and Maude continue to play fetch.

Our FIV+ mommy cat April is still living happily with her daughters MayDay and JuneBug. Considering we have had her since 2001, she had truly outlived expectations and shows no signs of the advanced disease. Our other two FIV cats have passed on though. This year we had to say goodbye to Gideon. As with so many of the wild ones, he tamed quite a bit with the onset of illness.

Leo, one of our wild boys, had become a big suck now that he has been moved in with Harvey to a main floor bathroom due to breathing problems. What a beauty boy he is. Harvey has also changed, as did Guinevere, who also passed over this year.

One thing that probably surprises me most is that we still miss the movements and habits of every one that passes on. I will never get good at saying goodbye and will likely never run out of tears. There is a numbness that comes over you at times but it is short-lived.

Our Christmas day was one of relaxation after chores, but also of course included a period of remembering and assessing what we have been able to do and what we still have to do.

We just keep on going like the Everready Bunny because there is no current alternative. I do however join in the lottery pool and work and we have several tickets for tonight and tomorrow night so...you never know!

As you can probably guess we have no plans to take a vacation. Being away is not an option with so many furry friends dependant upon us.

We haven’t exactly encouraged any visitors either. The house we have is not designed to be cat friendly and is nowhere near to the stage where we could invite anyone to stay and be comfortable. Of course, I am still stubborn and never give up. Once spring comes around I will be back at the garage renos and also back at investigating a heating system for the house. Space heaters are not something we can leave alone for too long, so we did not attend the family Christmas dinner. My niece had it at her house, which would have been a two-hour one-way drive.

Anyway, I expect this is more information than you ever wanted on the crazy cat world here so I will bid adieu and hope everyone I send this to has a happy and peaceful 2009.

Happy New Year!

p.s. Another sad delay to this letter. Osiris died last evening. We had not been watching him for illness.

There was no sign of illness until late Friday evening. So now there are only 116....

My day with kid rescuer ends in giggling fit

I’m starting to think that little girl rescuer Calli is a Mini Me.
A jaunt to Winnipeg (aka Winterpeg) nearly froze me solid this week as I frolicked with pen, pad and camera in icy minus 49 degrees Celsius. The harsh climate is particularly rough on homeless people and animals. While I was there, animals were being admitted to the local shelter with frostbitten ears.

But out there on the Prairies I found warmth, too. The kind that melts the heart.

Calli Vanderaa and I spent time talking about animals and compassion. We discussed responsible pet ownership. I shot photographs of her with Jessie and other animals. And we toured the Winnipeg Humane Society. Staff there called her “an inspiration.” Shelter work is difficult at times, a job that seems dismally dark on some days. Calli was a ray of light and hope on two small legs as she walked the place in awe.

I first told you about nine-year-old Calli just before Christmas (Girl rescues tortured puppy from inner-city war zone, Dec. 14, 2008).
A few months prior, she had rescued her Jessie from a trash dumpster near her house in the heart of gangland territory. Someone had tortured Jessie and her two littermates, setting them on fire before leaving them for dead. The caramel-colored dog, scorched and blackened, was the only pup still alive when Calli pulled her from danger.

Like the shelter workers, I found it inspiring to watch Calli in action. Kids naturally do the right thing by animals. They don’t think about time, money, and life’s responsibilities before attempting a rescue. But as we grow into adults, we start thinking more about our own needs. We forget we are obligated to rescue the creatures we fought to save when we were as helpless as they were. Back when we stood knee-high and looked straight into their eyes. Children view this responsibility with unfettered purity.

They get it.

Calli and I had work to do, but we found some time to play, too. I took her out for a nice lunch at a posh restaurant. It was there that we launched into a giggling fit, a familiar old feeling for me.

When I was a kid, gales of raucous laughter always got me into trouble.

Once I got started into a fit of laughter, I couldn’t stop. Teachers would sternly instruct me to stop laughing and being disruptive at once or I would be in trouble, big trouble. But that only made me laugh harder. Frequently my desk would end up banished to the hallway with me stationed at it. I recall sitting out there all alone as the humor of the situation set in. In the long corridor, I now had my own classroom for one. Tears would roll down my cheeks as I laughed even harder at the hilarity of the situation.

It was easier to laugh than to cry.

It turns out Calli is wired similarly. Our laugh track lasted a good 20 minutes. When one of us could finally pull it together long enough to catch a ragged breath, all it took was a glance of eye contact from the other and we’d be off again.

“We should go to school together – we’d be in big trouble,” Calli said in between our dueling gulping bursts of fanatical laughter.

Calli’s posted my cell phone number up on her fridge, and she knows she can call me any time. With her single dad Corey on the road long-haul trucking much of the time, she could use a friend. To talk about animals, or anything else, for that matter.

And Corey kindly offered to indulge our wish to meet up again. On his next trucking trek out to the West Coast, Calli will be riding up in the cab with him, clicking off the miles until we can hang out again. She’ll be staying with me for a while, and Corey will pick her back up to come home on his next run out.

I’ve already started figuring out where we’ll go and who she’ll meet when she visits. The cat sanctuary with 800 felines. The shelter that takes dogs seized from grow-ops. The myriad adults and kids I’ve met along the way who devote themselves to rescuing animals.

People who can’t turn away when they hear a puppy crying.

I know they’ll love her. She’s one of us. And like me, I’m certain they will recognize themselves in her.





Trading hats.





Poor Calli was frozen stiff while we took photos on a cold night.

Hanging out with Jessie, dad Corey and Calli. Check out the hot Stratus guitar she received from a reader for Christmas in the background.

Update on rescuer shot recently—she's home!

For those of you keeping Bunny in your thoughts and prayers, I'm posting this follow-up from her sister-in-law Shelly Patton.

Carreen, you captured the essence of Bunny beautifully. When she is feeling stronger, I look forward to watching her read this. She isn’t aware of the blogger’s comments and for now that is best. When she begins to seek out information on her own, I know this writing will be such a blessing to her, set apart by the tenderness with which you wrote. On behalf of Bunny and our family, thank you.

She is out of the hospital and in the best environment possible for healing; surrounded by her children, grandson and ferrets, with family and friends filtering in and out ensuring she is not alone. I’ve seen Bunny smile.

Still, it will be a long journey before she is truly home, but she isn’t walking alone.

Thank you to everyone for walking with her through your prayers and well wishes.

Shelly

Animal rescuer shot in the face

She has always been spellbound by animals.

Even as a little girl.

Her love for creatures was so intense that she changed her name when she was in high school. Her nickname had to describe a girl who hopped around with enthusiasm. From then on, she was Bunny.

Now 60 years old, the New Orleans-area woman is devoted to rescuing orphaned baby wildlife. Gently and patiently, she nurses them back to health.

But a week ago, she was the one who needed to be rescued.

Like most people in the hurricane-ravaged region, the road back to self-sufficiency has been long and hard for gregarious, rambunctious Bunny. She lost her house to Katrina’s devastating blow.

Then it happened again.

In September, Gustav swept through the Gulf Coast, destroying her trailer. In a left-for-dead city plagued by skyrocketing crime and rampant homelessness, Bunny had finally found a temporary place for herself and her 14-year-old daughter in a motel room.

But none of that compares to what happened to Bunny on January 3rd.

In a quest to find better accommodations, she rented the bottom half of a house from a man who placed a Craigslist ad seeking a renter. For several weeks, she had been moving her possessions into the house. Then, on the day she was scheduled to make his home hers, the 57-year-old man lured her into a strip mall parking lot and shot her in the face. One 25-calibre bullet lodged there, shattering her jaw. The second pierced her cheekbone, settling in her sinus cavity. A third tore into her shoulder. The fourth grazed her back and landed in the car seat.

If she hadn’t slumped over her steering wheel and played possum, she wouldn’t be here to tell the story.

Bunny’s passion for animals isn’t the only reason I feel kinship for this gutsy woman. She’s the sister-in-law of Louisiana SPCA staffer Shelly Patton. Besides being a dear friend, Shelly is a frequent contributor to this blog. She wrote to me about the shooting.

“When she opened her eyes, his car was gone,” Shelly said. “She started the van and drove back to the strip mall, parking behind the stores. After trying to reach her oldest daughter twice by cell phone, she called 911.”

Bunny is unable to speak. But being a bubbly chatterbox, she’s still fighting to tell the story in her own words. For now, she’s communicating by madly scribbling in a notebook. Fittingly, given how she saved herself, she’s also using a possum puppet as a prop and a book on ventriloquism.

Despite her troubles, Bunny hasn’t forgotten about the animals.

“All she wants to do is get home with her ferrets,” Shelly said. “Bunny focuses so much love and attention on her animals.”

Even in her excruciating pain, Bunny made a courageous decision. She’s stopped taking pain medications. The drowsy feeling makes her feel helpless, and that’s when memories of the shooting creep in.

“She would rather deal with the pain than lose her sharpness of mind,” Shelly said. “Her face is torn up inside. The piece of bone that hinges her jaw to her skull is gone. Her nose is broken, her sinuses pressurized by blood. And she stops her pain meds. I knew she was tough, but I had no idea. I have a whole new respect for that woman.”

The physical pain doesn’t compare to the mental torture her attacker has inflicted.

“Bunny’s greatest suffering right now is from terror,” Shelly said. “I don’t know if Bunny has ever really been afraid. She cries when she talks of being afraid. Thankfully, she is talking of being afraid.”

Shelly has been visiting Bunny in the hospital, where doctors are determined to piece her back together again.

“She looks like a human, Goth god hybrid,” Shelly said. “Black lips, black shading under and around the eyes, deep purple patterns painted along the left cheekbone, chin, and down the neck, a blank facial expression caused by the drooping left side. But the eyes are so bright. There is life in the eyes. It is very eerie.”

Not everyone has been a source of comfort for Bunny. As is typical, many bloggers have been cruel. These sanctimonious cowards saw an opportunity to kick a woman named Bunny after she was taken down. From the anonymity of their computer screens, dozens of bloggers weighed in with their high and mighty opinions, blaming Bunny for what happened because she answered an Internet ad.

Saying that she deserved what she got.

Their righteous, heartless attitude churns my stomach. It’s easy for them to point fingers from the comfort of their safe homes. Bunny is a woman just trying to survive in a wasteland, a dark place that tried to waste her.

But from what I hear, the courageous, indefatigable spirit that defines Bunny won’t be dimmed by their ugly words.

“Bunny is the most perpetually happy person I have ever met,” Shelly said. “She lost her home in Katrina. She continued to smile. She lost her trailer in Gustav. She continued to smile. She has lost so much through her life, starting with her innocence in childhood. She has always smiled.

“I hope I see Bunny smile again.”

More details of this baffling crime are available in The Times-Picayune newspaper article.

New Orleans animal control officers exhibit guts and heart in the field

Writer Shelly Patton of Louisiana SPCA hams it up at the shelter's Christmas pet photos event.

Animal control officers despise it when members of the general public label them “dog catchers”. Who can blame them? They are so much more than the dismissive title implies.

These people are essentially the police force for the animals, working the front lines of cruelty and neglect. Dogs neglected on chains. Animals beaten and tortured. Innocent, helpless creatures tossed aside and considered worthless beings. Animal control officers witness scenes daily that would feature in our nightmares for a lifetime. For little pay and no appreciation, in fact downright abuse at times, these people forge ahead without validation because they know that what they are doing is right and just.

The work being done by Louisiana SPCA’s animal control officers takes the challenges in the field to the next level. The city remains devastated by Katrina, with many residents working hard to eke out a living and a lifestyle in a crime-ridden, decimated wasteland.

Shelly Patton, webmaster for Louisiana SPCA, has been a frequent contributor to this blog, engaging us with her insightful comments and gentle thoughts. She went on her first ride-along yesterday. Although I’ve hit the road with animal control many times, it hasn’t hardened my heart to the reality. I sobbed when I read what she wrote, so I wanted to share it with you.

My day with animal control was very enlightening. In the morning, we went on sweeps; four trucks, six officers and me. A sweep is a group of officers hitting an area as a team, “sweeping” through and catching stray dogs. The day is mapped according to "roaming at large" complaints we have received. Whether or not the stray will still be in the area by the time we get there is questionable. However, strays tend to stay in their territory. Once we arrive at an address, the trucks traveling through the neighborhood split up to search.

When a stray is spotted, a call is made on the radio and all trucks converge on the area. In theory, the lead truck passes the dog, parking at the far end of the block. The other trucks park in intervals, with the last truck positioning itself at the beginning of the block. The dog is surrounded.

As quickly as possible, the end officers – we call them netters – grab heavy nets and prepare to snare the dog as it runs by. The middle officers – runners– chase the dog towards the netters. It is seldom is so simple. Dogs are smart.

I spotted the first dog captured. After the dog was poled and netted, I decided I wouldn’t make a good animal control officer.

She was a 20-pound black terrier mix. Her coat was clipped, she was overweight, and she wore a collar. Running through a field, she hid under a shed that was in someone’s back yard. With a privacy fence on two sides and officers on the others, she had nowhere to go.

By the time the officers captured her, the poor thing was so completely freaked out, I felt guilty for having seen her in the first place.

I understand banging on the shed sides, trying to scare her out. I understand poking her trying to get her to move. I understand eventually poling her, and pulling her stiff-legged fearful body over debris. I understand the streets are dangerous and it was in her best interest we take her off them. But understanding those things didn’t make it any easier for me to see this little black dog so afraid, a dog who, in my opinion, was loved. I hated that.

No, I can’t get past the emotions. I wouldn’t make a good animal control officer.

Once we captured the dog, I was very impressed by the tenderness and compassion the officers had for her. It was from the time I saw her to having her on the truck that I couldn’t deal with.

Yes, I am doing exactly what I need to be doing for the animals. I can make a difference in my detached position of building repairs and web work. I really don’t like seeing the animals upset. I wanted to scream at them to leave her alone.

I hope her owner comes in soon to claim her.

Holiday season sparkles for young animal rescuer

Readers have been emailing me wanting to hear more from girl rescuer Calli Vanderaa. Here’s her latest letter to all those who gave from their heart to hers:

Hi Carreen and everyone else. My name is Calli and you know my puppy Jessie. I just would like to say thank you to everyone who sent such nice gifts for Jessie and I. My daddy and I got to spend a lot of time together...that was really cool. I really like the Modern Dog magazine and plan on reading it as much as I can.

It’s clear that Calli is grateful for the acts of kindness bestowed upon her by strangers touched by her story. The gift avalanche from people around the continent was impressive.
For my part, I must admit I’m pleased that she’s reading Modern Dog magazine. Shameless self-promoting, I know. But I’m wondering if maybe Calli might become an animal rescuer and writer after all?

To reference the original story about Calli, go to Girl rescues tortured puppy from inner city war zone, Dec. 14, 2008. Several follow-ups have also been posted in the meantime.

Outpouring of generosity brings girl rescuer to tears

Nine-year-old Calli Vanderaa saved a puppy who was set on fire and left for dead in a dumpster. And when people read Calli’s story, they grew determined to save Christmas for her. Readers couldn’t resist showering gifts on this inner-city child who threw her Santa list away because all she really wanted to do was spend time with her dad. (Girl rescues tortured puppy from inner city war zone, Dec. 14, 2008).
Gifts poured in for Calli from Canada and the United States. But the most generous by far were kind-hearted Winnipeggers, proving once again that this city cares for its own.
I asked Calli to write to me so I could relate to you in her words what this Christmas has meant to her. Here’s what she said. I think it’s telling that she was most touched by the letters, not the presents.

There sure was a Santa this year. I had the best Christmas ever. I would like to thank all of you for writing such nice letters. I think I want to start getting into helping animals of all kinds. With everyone so busy all the time it’s easier for someone younger like me to notice the small things that need fixing too...like our animal friends. My daddy told me there are animals all over the world that need help sometimes. Maybe one day I could help them and protect them. Thank you again everyone for all the nice things you have done for Jessie and I.
xoxo
It’s true. Jessie has been well taken care of. Besides new bedding, toys and treats, the five-month-old dog has received the best gift of all – she will be spayed mid-January. Calli had been saving small change in coffee cans for the surgery, but several kind donors and veterinary clinics stepped up to offer free services without being asked.
A couple of days after Christmas, Calli showed heart again. She shared part of her bounty, taking some of her toys to the Salvation Army to help other needy children in her neighborhood. And she and dad Corey took toys and treats down to Winnipeg Humane Society for the homeless animals.
“She had a lot of fun. She really enjoyed giving out the dog treats,” Corey said.
Calli cried Christmas morning when she opened her gifts, especially when she unwrapped a signed Avril Lavigne poster. And just like her idol Avril, there will be music in Calli’s future – one person gave her a coveted Stratus guitar. She’ll be starting lessons soon.
But money couldn’t buy Calli the best present of all, granted just before New Year’s: an unprecedented three days off with her single dad, a long-haul trucker. The pair spent time going to movies and having fun together.
Calli’s already started writing thank you letters to everyone who sent her gifts and cards, so if you are among them, expect to hear from her.
I don’t think this is the last we’ll hear from Calli. She’s motivated to stay rescuing. She’s already spoken to other kids at her school about the importance of compassion and kindness towards animals.
It was Calli’s letter to her hometown paper that started it all. She wanted to tell people what happened to Jessie, and try to make things better for other animals. She tells it well, so I’ll let her say it in her own words.
“How can people do that? How can I let everyone know they shouldn’t do that?”