Willow Oak

[Willow Oak]

Life with Buddy began about six years ago with a white speck in the distance, away off in the woods. I could tell it was a cat, since hardly any other creature is so snow white in appearance. In the beginning he wouldn't let me get within 100 yards. Months passed, and the only appearance of this cat would be distant, and if I approached, he would run off.

In the meantime I had other animals to feed, and of the many cats I cared for several of them were of the strictly outside variety, so I had food available for them out under a lean-to, which was attached to one of the outbuildings. A year or more went by, during which time I would notice the white cat, mostly out away from the house in the woods, but occasionally I would see him near where the other cats would feed. Many months and weeks would pass before I would finally get to see that he was eating from the food that I had left for the other cats.

"Buddy," I would eventually call him, because I could only think to call him that when I would speak to him. I would see him eating with the other cats. Fortunately he did appear to get along with the other cats. In time I would attempt to approach him while he was feeding, but he would always run off. He would eventually allow me to approach without running off, but he would only allow me to stand near, probably no closer than 10 feet. From there he would eat and observe me obliquely with a wary eye. This standoff continued for another several weeks and months. Closer I would inch until Buddy would allow me to stand within even just a few feet as he would eat. From this position I would have to be satisfied to be in Buddy's presence while he ate for at least another year before he would allow me to approach even within an arm's length.

Eventually I knew I would make an attempt to touch him. At least three years had passed since I first saw Buddy, and it had taken me all of that time with much patience and perseverance to find myself with my hand outstretched to the cat that had come to consume so much of my thoughts and energy. In a flash he let me know his opinion of my disposition. My arm looked like someone had taken a box cutter and hit me with it three or four times. A pretty site it was not, and it felt not much different. This would be my experience with Buddy for another several weeks and months. Buddy was a "bruiser" and well endowed when it came to claws and teeth, and he was quick, as well as bold and brave. He no longer ran from me or avoided me, but he wouldn't let me touch him. I paid the price for every attempt. I knew, however, that if I were to ever help him out I had to catch him somehow.
I did not have a small animal trap, but I did devise one out of an old hamster cage. I set the cage out and put food in it. Eventually I did find him alone in the cage eating, and sprung the trap. Buddy made one brave attempt after another to tear his way through the cage, and I had to use a garden tool to pick the cage up. I was able to successfully deliver Buddy to the Vet where he was properly neutered and even received some teeth work. He had his ears cleaned out, received the shots he needed, and just received a good going over.

I returned home with him and locked him into one of my bedrooms. I observed him for a day or two, by easing myself into the room. He was not eating nor was he using his litter box. He was recovering from his visit to the Vet, and he was also recovering his mean disposition. He was not in a good mood. I do not have central heat and air so during the summer I leave the windows up with screens in place. After a few days in the room, buddy found a way out. I went in one day and could not find him anywhere. However I did find a large hole in the screen of one of the windows. Buddy had torn through the screen and escaped to the outside.

It would be weeks before I saw Buddy again. He would eventually find his way back to my sister's house where I had first seen him. I live next door and would go down to my sister's house to feed the cats that were there. I had my own set of cats but always took the initiative to see to it that all of the animals at both properties were fed and cared for. Buddy was back eating with the outdoor cats there. So I had to start over, and it took several weeks before Buddy would allow me back into his presence. However, even though he was still pretty rough, he would not spit and scowl as much as he had before when I approached. Oh, I received another slash or two from those lethal claws, but I never gave up. I continued to reach forth my hand, and Buddy continued to rebuff my advances with a well-timed slash of the paw. Then one day, with hand outstretched I very quickly touched his back then yanked back my hand. At the same instance buddy turned and scowled and raised his paw, but he did not strike. He bared his teeth to me and stared with a sour warning of beware.

Time went on this way, and I would snatch little touches of Buddy with him scowling and hissing menacingly, each time raising his paw in a striking position, but never quite launching out at me. And then one day I reached out quickly and put my hand ever so lightly on his back, but instead of retreating it quickly to avoid his retaliation I left it there. I braced for what I knew was coming. Quickly Buddy turned around and ducked his head, hissing his disapproval. But instead of lashing out with his paw as I was expecting he just moved away. And he only moved a couple of inches, but at least my hand was still intact.

This situation continued for another week or two, but eventually I found myself stroking Buddy's back and fur, without fear of retaliation from this ball of white fur, which for so long had been a bundle of nerves and energy. Over time Buddy began to mellow. And it did not take much longer. Eventually I placed both of my hands on Buddy's sides and with much fear and trepidation on my part, Buddy let me pick him up. I would do this again and again, holding him for longer periods of time each time.

Once again I delivered Buddy to my house. The relationship between Buddy and me improved through the weeks and months, even to the point to where Buddy would rub faces with me as I held him.

Nowadays, Buddy talks to me when I approach him. He'll even run up to me and wait to be picked up. Face rubs are his favorite thing to do now, and if he ever throws out a paw it is to pull me back to him when I let him go. Always are his claws sheathed when he hits me with his paw.

Buddy, I love you so!

I snapped this picture months ago. It was a cold morning, and the camera kept fogging up, and Buddy wouldn't be still:



At one point I had to reach out and hold him steady. There was a day when that hand would have been dead meat:



I took the following picture after I brought him to my house to live. In his day, Buddy was a bruiser, as you can tell:



I took the following picture just a few days after I had my heart attack. It's great to still be here to get a hug from my favorite "Buddy:"

[Scooter's Mom]

You're a very good story-teller. Please keep writing.
I don't have much time to read much for pleasure these days, but just read this whole thread. I love that you're helping these animals... and they are helping you too.

Welcome to Pet Talk!

[Catty1]

WO - please read Five People You Meet In Heaven by Mitch Albom

And Please See "Pay It Forward"

[Willow Oak]

WO - please read Five People You Meet In Heaven by Mitch Albom

And Please See "Pay It Forward"

I have read a synopsis of the book. You are thinking about the episode I related regarding Princess and the other dog I turned loose. You are telling me that perhaps if I did not have those haunting memories I might not be driven to save animals the way I do today. Did I get the message you were sending?

Thanks.

[Willow Oak]

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.

[Randi]

I meant to reply before, but then something came up, and when I returned to this thread, there was another exiting tale to read.

Wow, what amazing stories! You have saved a lot of lives, and you have every reason to be proud of yourself! You know the meaning of "patience" - that is of course what's needed to rescue animals.

Your story about Buddy reminded me very much of how Fister came to live with us (John and I). It had to be on Fister's conditions, or not at all! I still have Fister, who is now 12 years old, but unfortunately not John.

I'm so glad you were in the hospital at the right time and all is well now - it really would have been unfair to all your furbabies, had you departed, and of course, you're not nearly old enough for that!

As others have mentioned, you should get a book published about your rescue work - you really write well!

I wish you all the best of luck and hope you'll keep the good work up! Give all your furbabies some scritches from me - Fister sends headbumpies.

[jazzcat]

I just now found this thread. What amazing stories you have and you tell them so well.

You have such a kind heart, I'm glad you got it fixed.

[Emeraldgreen]

I hadn't read any more of your posts after #14 until today and now I'm all caught up! Quite literally.

Your comment below really got me thinking.

I hope that someday I do stand before God. And above all else I want God to give me exactly what's coming to me. I don't want mercy. I want to pay for my crimes. I hope God does not consign me to burn for eternity, but I do want to do some sort of penance. I want something else. I want an opportunity to see and apologize to Princess and the other puppy. I want to tell them that I am sorry for what I did. I imagine in my mind that if that opportunity presents itself that I shall hear something like, "Gee, I don't remember." And if and when I do, then among God's creatures, those two precious ones will have proved themselves to be bigger and better than I.

I don't think a fiery eternity is in anywhere in your future. It seems to me that God began to offer you the chance to do penance right here on earth with every creature that appeared to you 'in the middle of nowhere'. The image of snow white Buddy in the forest is nothing short of magical. And as I read your stories I began to think of each animal that crossed your path as an angel sent to you in a broken state but in the end, they were the ones that would heal you. I don't believe in coincidence and I think each and every animal that you reached out to was a gift from God and perhaps from Princess and the puppy.

You didn't have to choose this path of caring or to open your heart up to these animals but you did and it seems like your reward is great with all of the unconditional love you receive from these wonderful beings.
Of course, they too are on the receiving end at a second chance at life and companionship and love. They are lovely stories of reciprocal healing.

I was particularily struck by the story of your heart condition and the manner in which you were saved. The mere moments that were a deciding factor in your living or dying immediately made me think of big, beautiful Sam. He too only had a few seconds that would decide if he would go on to live or not but you followed your heart and you guys are together and well. I think God returned the favour back on June 23rd.

Sharing your stories benefits us all because there is much to be learned through your trials. From them, I remember that I should trust my instincts, follow my heart and love with abandon. Thank you.