I am not dumb. After all I am a college graduate. Of course, I didn't actually graduate until I was 35,
approximately 14 years after I originally enrolled ..., so maybe I ain't so smart after all. But I have learned a
lot, and a lot of the lessons I have had to learn the hard way.
I saw the cats beginning to multiply. They weren't mine. They were someone else's. I lived with my mother,
and my sister lived on the same property, and it was they who had been collecting these dogs and cats all
these years, so let them deal with it. But they weren't dealing with it, and that's why there were so many
dogs and cats. Sheba had recently borne her litter of four males, and there were a few more cats that had
showed up since, among which were Charcoal, Boots, BKI and BKII (Black Kat I and Black Kat II), and others,
and I had assumed the role of caretaker.
So I set about looking for a vet who would help me out and not require that I turn over my checking account
number. I did eventually find someone who would do the lot for $200, so I loaded up the cats -- nine in all
and headed for the vet.
I know that you sitting there with all of your years of experience, saying to yourself that you do not carry one
cat, let alone nine, loose in your car, but hey, I was a newbie. I didn't know.
As long as I did not pull the car over and open the door I was okay, but when I finally arrived at the vet's
office I knew that my car would never smell the same again. On the ride over most of the cats had pretty
muchy freaked out -- almost all of them except for Socks. From birth Socks had been the calmest, coolest,
most laid-back cat of all. Early on in life he had crawled into my lap and lay there. Everyday my lap was his
destination, and if he was not in my lap he was in the chair next to mine. Without a doubt, Socks was my
favorite. And on the ride to the vet Socks was the only calm one of the bunch.
As a matter of fact, Socks lay in my lap during the trip to the vet, and naturally he would be the first that I
would carry inside. So I gathered Socks up first, opened the door very carefully so that no one else would
escape, and headed for the door. I was carrying Socks in my arms when the door opened, and when it did
Socks bolted. Off he ran into the woods adjacent to the building. That was seven or so years ago. I looked
for that guy for days, and for weeks I returned and went all throughout the woods looking for Socks, calling
out to him, but I never found him nor did I ever see him again. My heart was thoroughy crushed over that
incident.
I managed to successfully deliver the other kitties to be neutered and spayed, but I really learned my
lesson that day.
Lesson #1: When transporting your pet ALWAYS CONFINE YOUR PET TO A PET CARRIER OR LEASH until
safely delivered inside.
This next lesson required several incidents in order to be driven into my thick skull. Occasionally we would
find the body one of our cats off in a field or some such place, seemingly in one piece but mussed up
nonetheless. I was always puzzled as to the nature of the death, but eventually I did figure it out. Evidently
sometimes a cat will get itself into a scrape with a pack of dogs, and this has happened several times. To
be truthful, this is what happened to Shadow, Curiosity, and Sheba, as well as at least three other cats of
which I am aware.
I made a decision long ago that I would not confine the cats to an outdoor pen. This has mostly worked, but
there have been failures. Most of my cats understand how to navigate among the dogs, but even among
my own dogs, who are mostly very friendly to the cats and each other, "accidents" can happen. So
whenever I leave the house now I confine the dogs to minimize the incidents of "accidents."
Lesson #2: CONFINE YOUR ANIMALS WHEN AWAY FROM THE HOUSE.
However, I had to endure the demise of poor Yella Fella and poor Goldie and almost the demise of Cathy
before I learned that even among friends, accidents do occur. I acquired first Yella Fella from the
neighbors. He was in bad shape -- full of ticks and fleas and mange. I bathed him and administered Ivomec
as I have done so often before, and within a couple of weeks he was well on the way to recovery.
I always quarantine a new animal for at least two weeks, and such was the case with Yella Fella. Within the
allotted time Yella Fella had recovered well enough to introduce to the general population, and after the
initial sniffing and snarling, the other dogs settled back into their normal routines. When I would go to work
I continued to confine Yella Fella behind a child gate, but one day when I arrived home I found Yella Fella
running loose but in one piece. I decided to leave him out. This worked for about a week, and then one
day I arrived home to find his lifeless body in the back yard. Evidently, the other dogs had not quite
accepted Yella Fella fully, but I was not aware of this. Poor Yella Fella. I truly did not know any better. Even
so, I feel that your untimely demise was my fault.
Shortly after losing Yella Fella I acquired his sister. This time I would make sure not to make the same
mistake again. "Goldie" was in much worse shape than her brother had been. She was all over sores and
welts and fleas and ticks, but as with her brother I was quickly able to set her on a right course. In her case
I decided to extend the quarantine period and observe the other dogs' behavior before I trusted them to
be all together while I was away. Over the extended period Goldie grew and I observed on my days off and
my time at home that the other dogs genuinely seemed to accept the newcomer. So the time came that I felt
like it would be safe to leave her out with the other dogs when I left for work.
The day came to leave Goldie loose, and all day at work I worried. That was the longest day of my life -- all
day I worried and sweated and wondered: had I done the right thing? After all, wasn't I risking Goldie's life
by taking this chance?
When I arrived home all was very quiet. Eerily quiet. Too quite. Slowly and nervously I exited my vehicle.
The dogs were all in a very abject mood as I entered the house. Ordinarily I would have expected Goldie to
be bouncing around outside, as with all of the animals, but there was no Goldie. I knew before I even got
out of the car. I knew before I even entered the house. I knew. I found Goldie's lifeless body under my
desk. I cannot describe the rest of the scene. I cannot think about that now.
Lesson #3: NO MATTER THE DISPOSITION OF YOUR PETS(S), EXPECT ACCIDENTS TO HAPPEN.
I do often think that I have done a good job of rescuing a few animals and helping those in need to receive
help. I do have a few success stories. But I have a few failures also. Sometimes failure is the only way to
learn. Even so, learning can be so painful. I cannot blame myself for Yella Fella's demise, but I knew I was
taking a chance with Goldie. With Yella Fella I sincerely thought all was okay, but with Goldie I knew there
was the possibility of a bad outcome, yet I took the chance anyway.
There is a footnote to this story. Yella Fella and Goldie were litter mates. Their mother belonged to
neighbors. She and I never met until one morning about 5:00 am. As I was pulling out of my driveway to go
to work, Yella Fella and Goldie's mommy decided to chase my truck. Another vehicle was approaching from
the opposite direction and hit her. I pulled up and exited my truck. She was in very bad shape. Here it was,
5:00 am, and here was this dog lying in the road, all beat up. What could I possibly do to help her? Well, I
had to go to work; It was too early to find a vet open; her owner's were not awake yet; she was in very bad
shape -- she couldn't possible survive.
As I was kneeling next to the mother of Yella Fella and Goldie I recalled an incident that had happened a
few weeks before. Another dog, owned by the same neighbor, had been hit in approximately the same spot
in the road. I had arrived shortly after it happened, and the owner had arrived also. The dog was in very
bad shape and could not survive, but it was alive. After some consideration I retrieved my .22 rifle, and she
called another neighbor to come and do the deed. I recall asking the guy if he would please put several
bullets into her head, but macho as he was he assured me that one shot between the eyes would do the
trick. I didn't argue, but against my better judgment I decided to stay and observe. He shot the dog once in
the head. What happened after that I wish I could forget. The dog required several minutes to expire, but it
was a long struggle. Oh, it was probably unconscious during the whole time, but I decided right then that
the next time this situation presented itself I would do the deed myself.
Now here was the next time. I retrieved the rifle from my house and returned to the dog who lay beside the
road. She was alive and conscious, but it was obvious that she would not survive. Never in my life had I
done what I was about to do. It was very early in the morning and still very dark. The air was cool and crisp,
and I love dogs -- all dogs. Yet I was staring down the muzzle of a loaded gun with the bead set squarely
between the eyes of one of God's precious creatures, and I was about to take from it the greatest gift on
earth. I had been in the same position a few years earlier when Sam first showed up at my place, and in his
case I couldn't pull the trigger. But now -- there simply was no other choice. This time there was no long
struggle. It was over in seconds. I pray God forgive me for doing what I felt like I had to do.
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