Posted by: pendrops | August 26, 2006

k-9 karma


Today, I saved two dogs lives. OK, a little unusual for me, I know. It was nothing extraordinarily heroic, but the way they kept running ramjet through the library parking lot and the busy main street, they were bound to get hit.

While I pulled out my computer to look up the Animal Control number, a library worker and another dog lover coerced the panting pups with cups of water and lip-puckering, whistling noises.

After grabbing hold of their collars, we found their up-to-date rabies tags and memorized their ID numbers, 1436 and 1437. A minute later, we had the owner’s phone number from Animal Control and called to tell her we had her missing dogs. The woman’s voice on the other end was nonchalant and ungrateful, but said someone would be right there.

The other dog savior had to go, so library worker chic and I held onto the dogs to keep them from going into the library, scaring the little kids, or running back into traffic.

While we squatted in the entryway and watched the dogs ravenously lap up water, library chic told me all about the dog she and her husband got from a shelter and their dream to start a dog fostering business. She petted the salt-and-pepper dog she held and talked sweetly to it. I just looked at the dog I held, hopping that it wouldn’t shake its head, the way dogs do, and whip that gelatinous goop hanging from its mouth on my face.

As I crouched down, holding the collar of this smelly outdoor dog – some random mixture of Jack Russell and Chihuahua – I couldn’t figure out why or how I had gotten wrapped up in this rescue effort. Sure, I like dogs, but the cute, cuddly, good-smelling kind. Like my little Izzy. Not the rambunctious kind that stink, run wild and slobber sticky strings of mystery substance.

I guess it’s as simple as this: I’d want someone to do the same for Izzy. That must have been my motivation. Because if that little squirt would ever lose her way, I’d want someone to treat her the same way I treated this mutt. I’d want someone to keep her from running into traffic and hold her till I got there.

I scooted a little closer to the tired dog with blonde-brown eyes and said, “Good girl.” And with my free hand, I reached out for her. “Your mama’s gonna be here soon.”


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: