Several years ago I lived next door to a person who collected stray dogs and cats, among which was a dog
named Lola Belle. Lola Belle was without a doubt one ugly dog – maybe the ugliest dog I ever saw. Lola
Belle could almost always be found curled up on the front porch, and likely as not dirty and matted. Lola
Belle had wisps of fur, not much hair really, and upon enquiry I would always be told that “she has some
sort of skin condition.”
My neighbor was what one might call a “hoarder.” She would find a dog or a cat on the road and take it
home. As was her practice she kept the cats all congregated together in a small pen, where they crawled
over each other and their own waste. The dogs would all be shoved into a small fenced area to the side of
and behind her house. She would keep an animal until it died of whatever disease killed it. When an animal
got old and unable to control itself, she would put it behind her house in a separate pen, and there it would
live out its days until it expired. Her animals ate food that had been left out in the open where it turned
moldy and became muddy and filthy. The animals drank water out of a small children’s wading pool, which
was black and filthy with rotting leaves. Some pitiful stories I could tell you.
So it was with Lola Belle. Lola Belle was blind in one eye, and the other eyeball was missing. She had no
upper teeth, and her bottom teeth stuck up above her upper lip, giving her a bad case of under-bite. Let’s
just say it: Lola Belle was one ugly dog. I never observed her playing or even moving about much for that
matter, and I could never recall hearing her bark. Lola Belle was truly a sad situation.
One day I visited; the temperature was in the 30’s; Lola Belle was curled up on the front porch, and while at
my neighbor’s house I mentioned that the dog was freezing, and suggested that the dog be brought inside.
The response was negative, and not wanting to be intrusive I left it at that.
Time went on, and one morning as I was enjoying an early morning cup of coffee on my own back porch I
heard a very strange and quite disturbing noise. Somewhere in the distance I could hear what sounded like
the anguished wail of an animal in distress. I had to listen carefully to determine the direction from whence
the noise came, and it appeared to be coming from the direction of my neighbor’s place. I hurried over to
see if one of her dogs or even if she was in some sort of trouble. I heard the intermittent wailing and
looked about to see. The neighbor appeared to be home, but she evidently could not hear or was ignoring
the noise. I went to the back of the neighbor’s house and looked into one of the pens. All I saw there was
an old moldy towel or rug that had been tossed to the ground.
Then I heard the noise again. Such an awful wailing of anguish – enough to make the skin crawl. I looked
and listened. The noise appeared to be emanating from the old rug that I saw on the ground. As I looked
closer, the rug appeared to move. So I crossed into the pen to have a closer look. It was not a rug. It was
Lola Belle! Poor, awful, neglected, sick Lola Belle. I would suggest that all of us have at one time or
another lived near a neighbor who appeared not to take proper care of his pets or even children. We’ve
often anguished over what to do in those situations. As for me, I usually shrugged my shoulders and
sighed with that sorrow that usually betrayed my reticence to interfere.
I stood in my neighbor’s back yard and looked around. There was a bowl that was filled with dead leaves
and dirt, and there was another bowl, presumable for water, filled with some black and dirty liquid. With Lola
Belle languishing in agony and torture at my feet I took the only course my conscience would allow: I stole
the dog! Not seeing my neighbor around I scooped Lola Belle into my arms and returned with her to my
house.
When I arrived back at my place I found a large cardboard box and placed her in it. Then I drove to the
veterinarian I regularly use. I asked that they come to my car to see, and when the vet arrived was asked,
“What you got there? Looks like a possum.”
“Take a closer look,” I said.
Once we had Lola Belle inside, we could have a better look. Lola Belle was all over covered with black,
moldy sores. Some were oozing fluid. She was crawling with fleas; the ticks were thick around her brows
and deep inside her ears. Her bones stood out clearly through her skin. There was very little fur, and she
had scrapes and scratches all over her body, and she was covered with mange, the smell was putrid.
“Put her out of her misery now, please.” I figured it was time for Lola Belle to be relieved of the torture she
had endured for so long. I asked them to euthanize her, and they agreed that it was the proper and the only
thing to do. I paid the bill at the front desk and hurried out of that place. I wondered if I would ever get that
image out of my mind.
In the parking lot, I paused as I reached for the door of my car. It is a hard thing to take the life of any living
creature. My neighbor was totally unaware of what I had done – of what I was doing. I decided to go back in.
I decided that the least I could do was to afford Lola Belle the dignity of having some human being other
than a veterinarian present as she passed on. When I returned to the examination room, the vet and his
assistant were examining the dog. The assistant was holding the syringe, and the vet told me that he was
just about to do the deed.
“Wait,” I said. The vet had one hand on Lola Belle, with the syringe poised in the other. The technician had
both hands on Lola Belle, and both were looking at me. “Wait,” I repeated. Surely if ever there were a
candidate for euthanasia, here was one. Surely many others have had the experience, but it is not an easy
thing to take the life of one of God’s creatures. But this dog was in such bad shape, there really was no
choice to be made here. The veterinarian I used was a professional and had experienced this moment
many times. He lowered the hand that held the syringe and, and indicating that I could have a few minutes
he stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him.
I decided that Lola Belle would not die that day. Instead, I had them clean her up and give her whatever
shots and/or antibiotics she needed. Another technician gave Lola Belle a thorough bath. Instead of having
Lola Belle put to sleep, I took Lola Belle home with me. Lola Belle would not be returning to her former
owner.
I would take Lola Belle to the vet numerous times over the next few months, where she received shots and
pills and baths. She had skin removed where it had died and turned gangrenous. She received treatment
for mange and ticks and fleas. Lola Belle endured surgery to remove whole sections of dead skin. At my
place she received food, and fresh clean water, and a warm comfortable bed. Lola Belle could barely walk,
and when she would try to walk she would just fall all over herself; so for the next few months I would get
out of bed several times during the night and carry her outside to let her do her “business.” Several times
during the day I would put Gold Bond powder on her body to relieve her itching. I would put antibiotic
ointment on her sores. I would bathe her and comb out the knots in her hair. I would sit and hold Lola Belle
and pet her and hug her and kiss her and talk to her.
I loved Lola Belle. I fell hard in love with her. For the next year and a half I had the privilege to occupy a
front row seat and observe first hand one of the great miracles of life: that little fluff of hair that she had
that would not grow due to some “skin condition” did indeed grow. The little wisps of fur that she had
because of some unknown malady would blossom into a full and luxurious and thick coat of golden blond
hair, long and full and soft. That emaciated and bony frame that would not fill out because of some
undiagnosed ailment would fill out and become fat. Her skin would clear up; her hair would grow; her body
would fill out.
And Lola Belle would begin to engage in one other activity: she would begin to bark. Oh how she could
bark! I would carry her to the yard and gently place her on the ground and leave her for a while to herself.
Occasionally I would check on her only to see her lying in the cool, green grass, her face turned toward the
sun, with a faint smile on her face as the cool breeze blew past her ears.
I would leave her again, and time would pass until I had forgotten about her, and just about that time I would
hear a strange sound emanating from outside. The sound would not at all be like the forlorn wailing I had
heard some months before, no – the sound I would hear would be of someone announcing to me that it was
time to be going back inside.
I would dutifully cease my work and respond to the summons. Lola Belle would have raised herself by her
forelegs, and even though walking was still difficult for her she still managed to waddle a few steps in my
direction and remain standing until I arrived to pick her up. And if I had taken too long, Lola Belle would set
up a wail for all the neighbors to hear until I arrived, at which point as soon as she surmised my presence
all noise would cease.
Ah! Lola Belle! You with that long and thick fur. You with that pug nose, and those buck teeth, and that
one eye. You with that “ugly” face, you rascal, you. You would steal my heart, and you would eventually
tear it apart.
Lola Belle lived out her remaining days with me, and even though her days with me were not many, and
even though it has been a few years since Lola Belle left me I think of her often. I ache to be with her, to
hold her, to kiss her, to bathe her, to love her, and to hear her bark. I ache to see that face with the one
eye. Not a single, solitary day passes without my missing my dear, sweet Lola Belle.
Yes, Lola Belle was just about the prettiest dog I ever saw!
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