The climate in North Mississippi is somewhat temperate, but early springtime can be quite cool, and it was
on one such crisp spring day that I decided to take a drive in the countryside. I had already begun to
collect cats, and by this time Bonnie, a small cavalier spaniel, had come to live with me. Even to this day in
Mississippi we have those old, rickety wooden bridges that cross lonely creeks with names like
Tallahatchie, Tishomingo, and Tuscumbia. On my drive I came upon a small but steep creek. Rolling down
the driver side window I drank in the fresh air and listened to the chatter of birds among the trees as I
slowly crossed the bridge. This is the time of year when birds hatch in their hundreds and whole trees
come alive with their noise.
Sometimes the chirp of a bird can sound like the yelp of a puppy, and I found myself thinking this as I heard
the sharp chirping of a bird coming from a direction that would place the bird under the bridge, not up in
the trees. I stopped on the bridge and exited the car. Standing on the bridge I listened carefully for the
unique sound I heard just a few moments before. I went to the side of the bridge, which had no railing, and
peered the 20 feet or so to the small creek bed below. As my eyes began to focus on the wild scene below
the bridge, I came to be strangely aware that I was looking directly at a fully grown yellow dog lying on a
ledge about halfway down. That wasn't the puppy I thought I heard, so where did the crying come from? Of
course, I was curious about the dog, but what to do? I was just out for a relaxing drive -- not exactly
jumping for joy at having to deal with this situation. The sides of the creek were steep and littered with
weeds and sticks, rocks and pieces of concrete and broken bottles. I looked around and could see that I
was standing in the middle of nowhere. There were no houses within eye- or earshot, so having surmised
the risks, I made the only decision I could make: I decided to take a chance and see if I couldn't rescue the
dog.
The climb down was steep and slippery, almost vertical, but there were many crags and crevices to aid in
footing, so down I went. When rescuing a stray animal you always have to take into consideration the
health of the animal involved. We still have rabies in this country, and dogs are especially vulnerable. This
dog was very lethargic and not at all moving, but she appeared to be in no great mental distress. When I
arrived at where the dog was I stopped and looked about. I didn't see any other animals. The dog
observed me but showed no apparent anxiety as I approached. She appeared to be in well-enough shape
-- not as emaciated as I would have expected, but obviously tired out and perplexed. After looking about
for a few seconds I eased myself into a kneeling position beside the dog, carefully weighing the further risk
to my health being in such close proximity to a strange dog. Reluctantly I took a deep breath and placed my
hands on the ground immediately adjacent the dog. Showing no fear or anxiety she didn't move. Shoving
my arms gently underneath the dog I slowly lifted her up, cradling her near my chest. It took a while, and
the journey out of the ditch was precarious. I slipped a few times and ripped a hole in my pants leg, but
eventually I delivered her to the back seat of my car.
After that I returned to the side of the bridge for one last look. It was then that I heard the noise again.
Surely there is a puppy down there somewhere, I said to myself. Boy I did not want to have to descend to
the bottom of that ditch, but there was no mistaking that sound. So, reluctantly I began my descent. Down I
went, and this time I went all the way to the bottom. On my way down I thought to myself that this is what it
must be like for Steve Irwin, the "Crocodile Hunter." On the bottom near the water I could not hear the
noise I had heard earlier. There was no puppy, but there was trash down. Someone had thrown away some
plywood and other such building materials. There were large pieces of concrete and bottles and cans,
pieces of lumber and plywood. I kicked at one of the pieces of plywood, and heard a yelp. Lifting the
plywood up by one edge, I could see that a puppy, no older than four or five weeks, maybe barely weaned,
was wedged underneath. Lifting the plywood up and out, I scoop the pup up in one hand, and began the
ascent out of the ditch. What ensued was another long climb out of the ditch, after which I delivered the
pup to the back seat of my car and what I presumed to be the pup's mother.
Of course, the expedient thing at the time would be to jump into my car and head home. I live at Willow Oak,
my 16 acre farm located just outside of Corinth, in rural Alcorn County Mississippi. I rescue animals, most of
which I deliver to our local human shelter, but a few manage to find themselves living with me, and
together we share the wonders of living in the country, where the breezes are cool, and the trees grow tall.
Even though it was early spring in the Deep South the temperature was cool, and without proper attire I
was starting to feel it. But, I had to take one more look. I stood on the edge of the bridge, and yes, I could
still hear a puppy somewhere. So down I went. Once again I found myself on the bottom, and this time I
followed the creek, first in one direction then the other. Within a few minutes I spied another pup -- this
time trying to bury himself into the solid rock on the other side of the ditch. I navigated to the other side of
the creek, soaking my shoes in the attempt, scooped the pup and once again ascended the steep incline
with a delivery to my car.
In all I would descend to the bottom of that creek six times. Five puppies would I retrieve, and in the end I
would find another adult female, which turned out to be the mother. The first dog evidently was familiar
with the family, but she was not the mother. The whole crew would be delivered to the local animal shelter
within a few days.
I had an opportunity to revisit the shelter a few weeks later. While I was there the manager of the shelter
related to me that all of the puppies had survived and had been adopted. That was certainly gratifying
news. The puppies' mother had been adopted, also good news. While there I became reacquainted with
the first dog I had rescued from the creek. She was in with a couple of other dogs, and I immediately
noticed a difference in her demeanor. Whereas the day I found her she had been completely lethargic, now
she was much more energetic, bouncing around her kennel, barking her approval at my having paid her a
visit. She had not been adopted yet, and that was a shame. She was a gorgeous dog -- a beautiful,
short-haired yellow retriever. The shelter manager assured me that she was doing everything she could to
adopt the dog out, but reminded me that they are not a no-kill shelter, and if the dog didn't get adopted
soon ...
She didn't have to tell me. I had delivered dogs to her before only to learn that they had been put down.
But it was out of my hands now. I already had more than my fair share of critters to care for. All I could was
wait and hope. And I didn't have to wait long. I was at home when the phone rang. It was the manager from
the shelter. She called to tell me that the yellow dog had finally been adopted. A search and rescue team
from another state had stopped by looking for a suitable candidate for their program.
Ah, sweet news! A gratifying feeling! It had all been worth it. After I hung up the phone I eased myself into
my favorite chair. Bonnie jumped into my lap, and I began to stroke her head. As I sat there I thought back
to the day I had rescued the yellow dog and the pups and their mother. I thought about the chance I took,
having crawled into that ditch, and had at least risked my health, if not my life, to rescue that dog. But it had
turned out okay in the end. I had rescued one of God's creatures, and I was enjoying a very satisfying
feeling.
Then it occurred to me. I had taken a risk to rescue a strange dog, and now that same unloved, uncared
for, and otherwise unwanted cur is ..., well ..., now she is the one taking risks ..., rescuing humans.
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Oak in my journal, or email me one of your own stories.
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