Lola Belle: The Ugliest Dog I Ever Saw
Thanks for that last response. For the life of me I do not feel that I had a heart attack. Since there was no heart damage, and since I was practically already prepped and ready when the thing came down, I guess you could say that the heart attack didn't actually occur. The paperwork used the term "MI." I asked what that meant, and the response was "myocardial infarction." That would be a heart attack. Anyways, I truly feel fortunate to have survived that ordeal and to have survived in such a complete and whole way.
Now, back to my story. I have a neighbor relative, of whom I have spoken previously and about whom I would prefer not to say too much. I'm sure that she has meant well, but if you had witnessed what I have witnessed in regards to her animals you might not agree with me.
Lola Belle was a dog who lived with her for several years. Lola Belle was truly a very ugly mutt. The entire time I knew her, while she lived over there, she was always dirty and matted. She never appeared to display any personality or humour. She didn't have a lot of fur. Most of the time I saw her she was curled up on the front porch, looking forlone and forgotten. She had wisps of fur, not much hair really, and upon enquiry I would always be told, "Well, she has some sort of skin condition."
As is the practice with my neighbor relative, she would keep an animal until it died of whatever, and when it would get old and unable to control itself, she would put it out behind her house in a pen, and there it would live out its days until it expired. She pretty much did this with all of her animals. Some pitiful stories I could tell you.
So it was with Lola Belle. Lola Belle was I believe something like a Peek-a-Poo, all white (what fur she had); she was blind in one eye, and the other eyeball was missing. She appeared to be buck-tooth. She was ugly. I never observed her playing or even moving about much for that matter. I could never recall hearing her bark. It was a sad situation.
One day I visited; the temperature was in the 30's; Lola Belle was curled up on the front porch, and as I entered I mentioned that the dog was freezing, and shouldn't she be brough inside? The response was negative, and not wanting to be too intrusive I left it at that.
Time went on. I lived nearby, and was enjoying an early morning cup of coffee on my own back porch when I heard the most awful noise. Somewhere in the distance I could hear the anguished wailing of an animal in distress. I had to listen carefully to determine the direction from whence the noise came, and it appeared to be emanating from my neighbor relative's place of residence. I hurried over to see if one of her dogs was in some sort of trouble. I heard the intermittent wailing and looked about to see. The noise was coming from behind her house, so I went back there. She was home but evidently could not hear or was ignoring the noise. I looked in the pen where I thought Lola Belle should be, but all I saw there was an old towel or rug that had been tossed on the ground.
Then I heard the noise again. Such an awful wailing of anguish -- enough to make the skin crawl. I looked and listen. It was coming from ..., it was coming from that old rug that lay in the backyard. I looked very closely, this is strange, I said to myself. The old rug seemed to move, and I crossed into the pen to have a closer look. That was no rug! It was Lola Belle! Poor, awful, neglected, sick Lola Belle. Gosh, my heart stopped beating. And without missing a beat I scooped the creature up and headed back to my house.
When I arrived back at my place I found a large 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 he asked, "What you got there? Looks like a possum."
"Take a closer look," I said.
Well, we took Lola Belle inside where we cold have a better look. Lola Belle was all over covered with black, moldey sores. Some were oozing fluid. She was crawling with fleas and ticks, and the bones stood out clearly through her skin. There was very little fur, and she had srapes and scratches all over her body. She was covered with mange.
"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. Would I 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 relative 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 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 examing 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. I inquired as to the actual condition of the dog. Surely if ever there were a candidate for euthanasia, here was one, but let's give it some thought.
Well, to shorten what has already become a long story, I decided to not put Lola Belle down. Instead, I had them clean her up and giver her whatever shots and/or antibiotics she needed. She would return to the vet numerous times over the next few months, receiving shots and pills and baths. She would have surgery. She would have skin removed where it had died and turned gangrenous. She would recieve treatment for mange and ticks and fleas. At my place she would recieve food -- lots of it. for the next year I would get up in the middle of the night and carry her outside to use the bathroom. I would put Gold Bond powder on her to relieve her itching. I would watch her and care for her and bather her and comb her hair.
Lola Belle. Lola Belle. I would fall in love with her. I would fall very hard in love with her. I watched as the miraculous happened. That little fluff of hair that she had blossomed into a full and luxuriant coat of thick, golden blond furry, hairy ..., long and full and soft would her hair become. Fat and healthy would her body become. And eventually she would began to bark. Bark and bark she would, oh yes! Barking and eating and sleeping and using the bathroom.
Eventually I would have to make the dreaded decision, but when that time came she would go in high fashion. Instead of the scrawny, sickly, neglected waif she had been back then, she would part this earth a healthy, happy, beautiful golden girl.
Lola Belle. Lola Belle was truly the most gorgeous dog I have ever known!
Lola Belle. I love you. I miss you. I shall see you again some day.
My "Steve Irwin" Adventure
The weather [I mean climate] in North Mississippi is pretty temperate, but early springtime can be quite cool, and it was on one of these days that I decided to take a drive in the countryside. I had already begun to collect cats, and by this time Bonnie had come to live with me. Even today in Mississippi we have those old, rickety wooden bridges that cross lonely creeks with names like Tallahatchie and Tuscumbia. On my drive I came upon a small but steep creek and slowed as I crossed the bridge. With my window down I drank in the fresh air and listened to the chatter of birds among the trees. This is the time of year when birds are hatching 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, don't you think? And for some reason 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.
It was without reluctance that I stopped on the bridge and exited the car. I went to the side of the bridge, which had no railing, and peered the 20 feet or so to the rushing water of the creek below. To my surprise I was looking directly at a fully grown 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 am just out for a relaxing drive, I am not exactly jumping for joy at having to deal with this. But, what could I do? The climb down was steep, 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, so what was I going to do here? I got down to near where the dog was and stopped and looked about. I didn't see any other animals. The dog observed me but showed no anxiety as I approached. After several minutes of wondering what to do I made my decision. I knelt beside the dog and placed my hands on the ground immediately adjacent. She didn't move. Then I just went for it. I shoved my arms underneath the dog and lifted her out. It took a while, and the journey out of the ditch was precarious, 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 somehwere, I said to myself. Boy I did not want to have to descend to the bottom of this ditch, but there is no mistaking that sound. So, reluctantly I began my descent. I went all the way to the bottom. On my way down I said to myself that I reminded myself of Steve Irwin. Anyways, on the bottom down near the water I could not hear the noise I had heard earlier. There was trash down there. Someone had thrown away some plywood and other such building materials. I kicked at a piece of plywood, and immediately a yelping started up. There was a puppy, no older than four or five weeks, maybe barely weaned, wedged underneath. I was able to scoop him up, and made the ascent out of the ditch. Another long climb, and I delivered the pup to what I presumed was its mother.
Of course, the expedient thing to do at that time would be jump in my car and head home. Even though it was early spring it was still cold outside, and I was starting to feel it. But, I had to take one more look. Yes, I could still hear a puppy somewhere, so down I went. I found another puppy after walking a ways down the creek. This one was on the other side of the creek -- joy, joy. So I jumped the six to eight feet to the other side, then back up the steep incline and to my car.
In all I would descend to the bottom of the creek six times. Five puppies I would 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.
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 also been adopted, also good news.
And what of the first dog that I had rescued? Although she didn't look like much on that day when I carried her in my arms up the steep incline of that ditch, she transformed herself into a bubbly, bouncing, barking, and gorgeous long-haired laborador retriever, and she too had been adopted. She was adopted by a Search and Rescue team from an adjacent state.
Now she is out rescuing humans.