Perhaps the most difficult part about rescuing animals is the sure knowledge that you cannot save them all.
By far most of the animals I have rescued have been delivered to the Corinth Alcorn County Humane
Society animal shelter. And the majority of the animals that I have delivered to the shelter have never been
adopted. It is a sad situation, but there it is.
As much as I would love to be able to take in every wanton and unwanted waif I cannot do so. I am limited in
space, limited in money, and limited in time. As much as I would love to be able to save every homeless and
helpless and hapless vagabond, I have come to realize through the years that there are some that I can
rescue, and there are some that I simply must let go.
Even then, with the salient truth of what I have just said, those very words that I repeat to myself often,
ringing in my ears, I cannot help but have regrets about some of the decisions I have made when deciding
to leave an animal alone.
I see the faces; I see those eyes. I have delivered kittens that I have found, that once ensconced in my
vehicle have set up their comforting purring, sure in the security that their savior has arrived, only to be
deposited at the shelter to await some unknown outcome.
I have revisited the shelter some days or weeks later to find that those kittens were not found fit to remain
for one reason or another; and I have had to drive away with the images in my mind of those looks …, those
faces …, those trusting eyes, with the full conviction in my mind that I had failed, that I had let down one or
some of God’s precious creatures.
I see the faces of those innocent and helpless ones that I have left beside the road because there was not
room in my vehicle or because I was too far away from home or for some other reason.
The one thing that I have not yet learned to do well is to refrain from beating myself up over these tough
decisions I have had to make.
Even though it grieves me often to recall some of these situations that I have described I am certain that I
did indeed probably make the only correct decision that could have been made under the circumstances.
One morning early I was within just a few minutes of arriving to work when I happened upon a sad scene. I
commute an hour and a half each way to and from work every day, and I had already been on the road for
more than an hour when I came
upon a scene similar to that, which I see often.
The body of a dead dog, obviously having been recently hit by an oncoming vehicle lay lifeless in the road.
In this case I saw something else – something, which I see occasionally but not often. Another dog was
standing over the corpse, and as I slowed to pass I saw the still standing dog doing something that I have
never seen before.
The dog that was standing was reaching forth with a front leg and wrapping it around the body of the
lifeless dog and making a pulling motion, as though he were trying to revive the dead dog or …, as though
he were pulling on the dog – pulling for the dog to get out of the road and out of harm’s way.
Conscious projection is what we human’s do with our pets. We assign to our pets human qualities. We
imagine in our minds what our pets are thinking. Through conscious projection I can imagine that the dog
that was standing knew that something was wrong with the other dog who perhaps was a buddy. Through
conscious projection I can imagine that the dog standing was aware that there was danger in the road, and
not wanting his buddy to be harmed was making an effort to remove the body.
Whatever, I found myself pulling to the side of the road to take a closer look. Fortunately at that time traffic
was light, so there were no oncoming vehicles to worry about. I walked cautiously toward the two dogs and
knelt down. The dog that was standing looked up at me and with a very meek expression on his face
seemed to say, “Mister, there is something wrong with my buddy. He won’t get up.”
I spoke to the dog in as soothing a voice as I could muster. It was very obvious to me that the dog lying
down was dead, but I wasn’t sure about the mental disposition of the dog that was standing. I had to get to
work, but since I normally arrive to work early anyway I figured I had at least a couple of minutes to give the
dog a helping hand.
I slowly scooted to where the two dogs were and remained in a crouched position. The dog that was
standing made no threatening noises or motion so I took a chance and reached forth a hand to touch the
dead dog.
Rigor mortis had already begun to set in, so I could satisfy myself that the dog that was lying in the road was
dead, not just injured. If the dog had been injured then my decision would have been a totally different
one. But the other dog appeared to be totally healthy and completely unharmed, and he did, after all, have
a collar.
As I sat there contemplating what to do, I was close enough to both dogs that the dog standing
actually licked my face.
Patting him on the head I said, “Come on, boy. I’ll help you out. Let’s get your friend off the road.”
So I grabbed both hind legs and began to pull. And then it happened. One of the most amazing things I
have ever witnessed. As I pulled the carcass of the dead dog off the road, the other dog reached forth his
mouth, and clamping down on a shoulder with his jaws he too pulled on the dead dog. Together we pulled
until we reached the side of the road, well out of harm’s way.
It just so happened that a sheriff’s deputy happened to be stopped nearby at a local convenience store and
had observed the incident, which I just described.
“Well, I’ll be!” the officer exclaimed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Nor have I,” I retorted.
I enquired about the possibility of summoning the local animal control officer and the deputy assured me
that he would call, and have the control officer summoned as soon as possible.
Satisfied that the situation would be put right by the local constabulary I returned to my car. After I did and
after I had seated myself behind the steering wheel, I peered over the dash at the
scene beside the road. The live dog was still standing over his buddy, and as I looked he turned his face
toward mine and we made eye contact. And conscious projection took over.
“Mister there is something wrong with my buddy. He won’t get up. Isn’t there anything more you can do to
help?”
Indeed there was nothing more that I could do. The other dog was dead, and the one left apparently
belonged to someone. I was already practically at work, too far from home to simply take the surviving dog
there and return to work later.
There was nothing else I could do. I started up my car and drove off. And I have not seen that dog until this
day.
I still drive through the same area going to and from work each and every day, and each and every time I
drive past that spot where I saw the dog standing over his buddy who lie lifeless in the middle of the road, I
think back to that early morning. And each time I pass through the area I slow down and look around,
wondering and hoping on the off-chance to see the dog again. But I never do.
I have not seen that dog from that day to this …, except for the fact that hardly a day goes by that I do not
see the look the dog gave me as I drove off. It is there in my mind, and it will not go away.
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