I have mentioned before that I subscribe to a site called Pet Warmers and I think Logan does too. This is the latest story and it had me crying first tears of sadness and then tears of joy this morning. Sue especially, get out your hankie!
CLOSE TO HEAVEN
I first heard about Darcy at a meeting of our local rescue organization.
One of the volunteers was talking about a German Shepherd who kept
escaping from her home, and who was subsequently picked up and taken to the
local pound. Her owners would always appear, pay the fine, and take her
home again.
What made this cycle so horrendous was that every time the dog
escaped, she bore new signs of abuse. She'd been "accidentally" hit with a
baseball bat which had caused a detached retina, rendering her blind in her
left eye. Moreover, a pot of boiling water had been "accidentally" spilled
on her.
The woman seated next to me turned out to be a cop. "I know that
family," she said, shaking her head in disgust, "The kids are always in
trouble."
"You know, " I murmured, "If you could somehow get that Shepherd to
me, rather than the pound, I can make her disappear."
A week later, I got a whispered phone call that said, "I've got her."
Hearing about Darcy did little to prepare me for actually seeing her.
She was a big Shepherd, though it was hard to judge her actual height since
she came into the house crawling submissively on her belly. Most of her
back was without hair, blistered with burns. Since she had no vision in
her left eye she had to turn her head far to the left to see.
My kids arrived home from school and stood inside the door, rendered
speechless by the sheer horror of what had been done to this dog. The
first one to move was my foster son, Bill -- the quintessential tough guy.
He got on his knees beside Darcy and put his arms around her. With tears
in his eyes he looked up at me and asked, "Mom? Where do these people
live?"
"I don't know, and wouldn't tell you if I did," was my answer.
"I just want to go over there..." he said earnestly, "with a baseball
bat and a pot of boiling water." The other boys vigorously agreed.
I pointed out that all of them going to jail would not help the dog.
We'd already taken the most important step by taking her in. Now we had to
help her heal -- physically and emotionally.
We showered Darcy with good food, love and attention and praised her
smallest victories. Soon she stopped cowering to the floor every time a
sudden movement was made. My vet thought it was unlikely her hair would
ever grow again on her back. The burns had been too severe. Eventually,
though, the area healed to smooth bald skin.
Darcy took to obedience training like the proverbial duck to water.
Like so many abused dogs, she reveled in the process of learning things and
doing them repeatedly for praise. She completed Novice classes and was
halfway through Open training when we set about trying to find her a
permanent home. Much as we loved her, I wanted her to have more than
sharing her life with eight other dogs. I wanted her to be the only dog,
with kind people who would give her their undivided attention. We began by
contacting friends from German Shepherd clubs.
Three months went by before we got a call from Mr. Smith. He was very
wealthy, had recently lost his old Pointer, and was looking for a dog to
adopt. We warned him about her loss of vision and the hairless area on her
back. He didn't care. He wanted a friend, not a model. His estate was
beautiful -- a lovely big house, and pastures for his horses -- it seemed
too good to be true.
Mr. and Mrs. Smith fell in love with Darcy. Before handing over the
leash, I told them, "I want this dog to have a family who spoils her
rotten. In her one year on this earth she's been through total hell. The
rest of her life should be as close to heaven as possible."
We knew we'd made the right choice when we heard the following story
from their vet.
When the Smiths brought Darcy in to be spayed, Mr. Smith stayed beside
her until she was under the anesthetic. Then, Mrs. Smith arrived to be
there when Darcy woke up. They didn't want Darcy to think for one moment
that she'd been abandoned.
Two years went by before we got a call from Mr. Smith.
"She just swiped a piece of cake off my desk," he laughed, "and it
occurred to me that I should call and tell you how much we love this dog."
He told us how she ran beside him every morning when he rode his horse
and how she was an angel with the grandkids. He thanked us for bringing
her into his life.
That was many years ago. Darcy died in her sleep last year at the age
of thirteen. It was a peaceful passing. She was ready to go. She'd
already lived her happily ever after.
[ August 20, 2001: Message edited by: Pam ]
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