I rescue animals. It’s what I do. Everywhere I travel if I see an animal that appears to be in need or is in
some other obvious state of distress I usually make an attempt to help -- sometimes with success,
sometimes without. Option #1 with rescues is to deliver the stranded vagabond to the animal shelter. If for
some reason the shelter cannot or will not accept the animal I certainly try to offer the poor thing refuge at
Willow Oak, my 16-acre farm in rural Alcorn County, Mississippi. At the time of this story I have 11 dogs and
13 cats, rescues all.
I have a three hour round-trip to and from work each day. My evening chores consist of feeding and
watering the dogs and cats that I already have; administering medicine to those who take it; take my own
evening medicine; fix my dinner; a little house-cleaning (there are always "accidents"); sit down to watch TV
or play on the computer; and just generally try to relax before going to bed.
The last community through which I pass on my way home is the little, nearly-deserted and almost obsolete
town of Winesoga. Basically, all that remains of Winesoga, which is within a few miles of my house, is a
railroad crossing and a couple of weed-infested, overgrown and crumbled foundations of what had once
been a country store and a post office. There are also a handful of mostly dilapidated old dwellings, and yes
-- people actually live in those structures.
On one particular day as I slowed down on my approach to the railroad crossing I saw standing right in the
middle of the road a large black and tan adult dog, and underneath her were her litter of six-week-old pups,
holding her in place, disallowing her the dignity of even being able to lie down or otherwise move herself
from danger. I stopped my car in the middle of the road and got out. The poor creature had that haunting
look of forlornness, gaunt and haggard, and her teats, gorged with milk were providing the only sustenance
to her progeny that surely they had up until then known.
The momma dog looked at me pleadingly and with a touch of fear as if to say, “Please don’t hurt me or my
babies, Mister.” First I smiled as broad as I could and spoke in a low and soothing voice: “It’s okay, Momma.
I’m here to help. It’s what I do.”
I managed to gather the puppies into a cardboard box I found nearby. Corralling the momma dog proved to
be a tougher task, but I eventually coaxed her into the back of my car. “Okay girl,” I said to the momma dog.
“You can relax now. I’ll help you out. That’s what I’m here for. It’s what I do.” Then I was off to my house. The
much anticipated evening of relaxation was not to be.
Four males and two females. Two black and tans; three solid blacks; one chocolate brown. And a momma
dog. Plus the nine I already had ..., the next week was to be one of mostly sleep-deprivation, cleaning,
mopping floors, extra mouths to feed, and waking up through the night to sounds of crying and barking. In
the meantime I called the animal shelter and they agreed to take the pups, but would I keep them until they
were weaned? I agreed, so I had another couple of weeks of sleep deprivation to look toward.
During the couple of weeks or so that I cared for the pups, momma dog turned out to be a real help. You
can imagine that cleaning up after six pooping puppies is quite a chore. They tend to get in the way, so
when it came time to clean up I called momma dog: “Here, Momma! I need your help.” And she would come
running. She would lead the pups into another room and keep them occupied while I cleaned up the room
they had messed up. Then when I was finished, she would usher them back into the room I had just
cleaned. She really was a good mother and a good helper!
The couple of weeks I had the pups were tough. I leave my house for work around 5:00 am and do not
return home until around 6:00 pm. I like to be in bed by 8:00 pm, so I have only a couple of hours in the
evening to do chores: feed and water the dogs and the cats; give Bonnie her medicine; take my own
medicine; any laundry or housework that needs to be done; fix my dinner; and do any relaxing that a person
normally requires before going to bed. And on top of all that I had a litter of six puppies that required extra
attention: cleaning and mopping; special diet; time with mommy; etc.
So when a couple of weeks had passed I was greatly relieved to see the puppies safely to our local animal
shelter. Even though I knew the pups had to be delivered, it was not easy. It is never easy to take an animal
to the shelter. I don’t like it, but it is the right thing to do. I could not possibly have kept the pups, since I
already had my hands full before I found them.
Large breed dogs are difficult to adopt out, and knowing that the shelter would most likely have to put her
down I decided to provide the momma dog a home at Willow Oak. Finally I could get back to my previous
routine before the puppies had come along. So what if I had one more mouth to feed? She was well-
behaved, and she was only one more. And she deserved it. Within a week or two I would take her to the vet
and have her spayed and receive shots. She would get a good physical exam to clear her of heart worm or
disease, and if she receives a clean bill of health she will be one lucky dog. The only thing left was to find
her a name.
The momma dog’s milk glands were still engorged with milk, but that would soon clear up after she got
"fixed." I had delivered Momma’s pups to the shelter on a Saturday; got caught up on my sleep over the
weekend; and returned fresh to work the following Monday. The drive home Monday evening was
uneventful, knowing that when I arrived home things would be back to normal, and I could relax after I
finished my chores.
The route home always takes me through the Tuscumbia River bottom and wildlife refuge. It is a beautiful
drive of only a very short distance not far from my house. I have found several abandoned dogs and cats
there, and I almost always see some wild creature or another as I drive through.
Monday passed without event, as did Tuesday and Wednesday, then came Thursday, and wouldn’t you know
it? Just as I passed the old rickety bridge over the Tuscumbia creek I saw off to my left about 30 yards from
the road .., yes, it was a very small puppy ..., and not just one but several. When it rains it pours! So I pulled
in, knowing full well what I was about to do. I exited my car and saw that the pups were all piled upon
something rather large. It was puzzling, and I approached cautiously. As I arrived closer I could tell that they
were all trying to suckle up to what obviously was their mother. And I could tell that there was something
wrong. It did not take me long to surmise that these pups were suckling what was the still warm corpse of
their mother. It was not clear how she had died, but dead she definitely was. Her body was warm but stiff. So
she had died very recently – perhaps only within a few minutes.
I squatted next to the body and watched the pups as they sucked away. I had no idea if they were receiving
sustenance, but one thing was clear: their mother was dead, and they would be too if I left them there. So I
gathered them up – six puppies in all, just like before, and carried them to my house. When it rains it pours,
indeed! These pups appeared to be no more than two weeks old – three at the most. They most definitely
were not weaned, so how was I to deal with this situation? I could only think about the fact that I was once
again about to kiss my regular routine goodbye.
I had heard of people nursing baby kittens and puppies by hand, feeding them with a bottle: goats milk, I
believe they used. How could I possibly manage that? I have a job to go to. I cannot stay home with them
during the day, and I cannot stay up all night with them. It looked pretty hopeless to me. Nonetheless I
delivered the gang of little ones to my bathroom at home and deposited them into a box in which I had
placed a blanket. Then I sat down on the floor next to them to think things through.
As I sat there I heard a scratching on the bathroom door in the background. The momma dog I had rescued
only two weeks earlier was outside the door. Evidently she missed her babies, and surely she was aware of
this crowd I had here. Perhaps she was thinking that these were hers. I made a trip back in my mind. I
recalled reading about a dog at an animal shelter, which had been brought in with pups. That momma dog
had nursed her own litter, then she had nursed another whose mother had died. I couldn’t recall the
details, but that momma dog had nursed another litter of puppies as if they were her own. I thought about it
and wondered. To me it seemed like a long shot to even try it, but what else could I do? I had to give it a try.
So I retrieved the momma dog, and introduced her to the pups. This won’t work, I said to myself. She might
even attack them, but …, either she adopts them or they will die anyway. The pups went after her almost as
if by instinct. She on the other hand did nothing spectacular. The pups swarmed her and began the natural
thing, seeking her teats, while she moved around as if to avoid them. Looking at me her face seemed to
say, “These aren’t mine. What do I with them?”
At least she didn’t immediately attack the pups, so I slowly backed out and Momma tried to follow me out,
but I closed the door in her face. I closed the door and went on with my regular evening routine. I checked
the other animals’ food and water and gave Bonnie her medication. I then fixed my own dinner and sat
down to eat, relax, and watch TV. After a little while, perhaps an hour I decided to check things out. All was
quiet in the direction of the bathroom. Cautiously I pushed open the door and peered inside. Once in a
person’s lifetime he has that experience -- a rush of ecstasy that transcends physical explanation, a rush of
adrenaline that paints the world a rosy hue. What I witnessed that evening amounted to nothing short of
what for me was a miracle, an intense moment of relief, an epiphany. What I in fact witnessed that evening
was the most unnatural natural thing I had ever seen: momma had laid herself down on the blanket that I
had provided for the puppies, and there beside her were six snuggling, grunting, suckling, smacking little
ones, each vying for position over his neighbor.
Despite the cruel fates of being abandoned and unwanted, and against the long odds of nature the momma
dog had persevered and provided for and successfully nurtured a brood of six puppies, and miraculously
all had survived. Then when at a time all had seemed dire and survival hopeless, someone else had
stepped in and rescued her and her pups. And later on when someone else was in trouble it was she who
stepped up and undertook the responsibility of providing sustenance and relief. As I gazed upon that most
wonderful of scenes I was struck at just how beautiful she was: she had a very pretty face and a black,
shimmering coat, highlighted with tan and white. She had such a wonderful disposition, full of vigor and
bounce and oh so full of grace. Ah, that's it: Grace.
Looking down on that scene that evening it occurred to me that it is indeed such unselfish grace that
adorns this world with such unmatched beauty. And as I continued to look on in wonderment, the momma
dog turned her face toward mine, and the look on her face said it all: “It's okay, Mister. I’m here to help. It’s
what I do.”
| "... it is such unselfish grace that adorns this world with such unmatched beauty ..." |
| Saving Grace Daniel Taylor |