Best Friends (26 page)

Diana went into Heidi's room and found the frail tabby, as always, crouched in her kitty house. Diana stared into the darkened interior. “It's worth a try,” she murmured. She scooped up Heidi and house and hurried toward the bunkhouse. A half-hour later, her hands and forearms swaddled in padded gloves, Diana sat quietly in Oscar's quarters, ready to intervene if the black cat made one menacing move.

Oscar ignored her as she carefully positioned Heidi's house a few feet away from his fleece bed. When she put down a large bowl of moist kitty food, Oscar devoured as much as his stomach could hold and then lay sated by his favorite toy. Heidi was as silent as a stone within her house.

Diana needed all her patience this afternoon. For two hours Oscar lay staring into the darkness of the tabby's hiding place. Finally, he stretched to his feet and stalked to the food bowl.
Damn, he's going to eat it all.

Sure enough the big cat took a mouthful of food—but instead of swallowing it, he walked back and laid the morsel under the timid feline's nose. His action reminded Diana of a suitor bringing a bouquet to his lady.

Oscar watched, satisfied as Heidi nibbled tentatively at his offering. He brought another mouthful and again poked it just inside her house, purring loudly. Soon the bowl was clean and Heidi had eaten her first good meal at Best Friends.

It was as if the tabby knew she had found a protector in this Saudi prince of a cat. Oscar, in turn, felt no threat from the timid little female and welcomed her companionship. As Diana watched, Heidi slowly emerged from her self-imposed prison and stared shyly at the proud black male. Oscar gently rubbed his nose against hers.

Chief Cat smiled. There would be no more solitary for these new sweethearts. It was another good day at Best Friends.

A
mra hobbled forward to greet the afternoon tour. The magnificent malamute's will was as staunch as ever, but the Sheriff no longer bounced forward like a teenager. No more did Amra surprise with a quick duck between unwary legs, and a heady flip from broad shoulders. Dogtown's official greeter never shirked his duties, but now the thinner hips of age sashayed forward with effort, accompanied by a steady panting under the clear shafts of a late-summer sun.

Shy Rhonda, as always, watched and waited for her love a few yards away, anxious eyes never leaving his great frame. Faith could have adopted Amra out many times over the years, but nobody had ever offered Rhonda a home with the malamute.

As time went on, the bonds of attachment between the two canines had deepened into a love as strong and enduring as the Rock of Gibraltar. Ten years later Rhonda still cleaned the eyes and ears of the one that had lifted her out of her doggie depression, still bestowed tiny licks of affection on the great head. The delicate little terrier mutt still eschewed the limelight for herself, but she was never far from the Sheriff's side.

Together plain Rhonda and the glorious malamute patrolled the perimeters of Dogtown, kept recalcitrant hounds in line, confiscated feeding bowls, and slept together, with Rhonda entwined in the protection of the bigger dog's massive paws, her little head beneath his noble jaw. Faith thought it would be like dividing conjoined twins to separate the terrier mix from her beloved.

But life has its own passages, and on this day the Sheriff performed his duty as always, too slowly making his way back to the shade of his favorite juniper. Dr. Allen had diagnosed arthritis in the spring and prescribed pain medication to relieve the malamute's stiffening gait. Best Friends made life as comfortable as possible for Amra over the next few months.

Not one of the Best Friends would inflict any undue suffering on an animal, and Faith, watching the heroic animal's labored movements, sensed something more serious was manifesting itself. She looked into the bewildered golden eyes filled with a pain she had never seen before, and Faith knew Amra was ready to cross over the Rainbow Bridge.

In the cool of the evening, Tyson carried the great canine to the clinic. A subdued Rhonda trotted beside them to where Dr. Allen was waiting. The veterinarian was not his usual jocular self this night. He looked at the valiant shadow of the dog he had known and didn't hesitate. Carefully he eased an injection into Amra's flank to alleviate the distress before preparing the X rays. Dr. Allen needed no tests to know that he was looking at the last hours of a living legend, but there was always the faint chance he could be wrong. Rhonda perched on a chair and stared fixedly at her sedated mate.

“It's bad, Faith,” Dr Allen pronounced, holding up the negatives so she could see for herself. “Amra has bone cancer. See these fuzzy areas? That's the cancer eating away the hind legs. That's why Amra's in such pain when he walks. We'd be doing the Sheriff no favor by prolonging this.”

Faith turned away. “He's not hurting now, is he?”

“No,” the veterinarian assured.

“Give me a few minutes.”

Faith walked the familiar lanes of Dogtown. The bustle of the day had given way to the sleepy peace of evening. The dogs still rushed their enclosures to greet Chief Dog, but with less rambunctious energy—their barking more form than content—then returned to their doggie dreams.

She passed over Victor's line in the sand and remembered the respect Amra always accorded the grizzled veteran. Faith stood on the very spot where she, Tyson, Michael, and John had first seen the splendid red creature propel himself into Dogtown. She smiled sadly on Homer's Hill, reminiscing how big and strong the malamute had been to upend the solid 220 pounds of Homer Harris. Most of all, Faith thought on the boundless love between Amra and his Rhonda, and with this thought came the inevitable question: What would happen to the terrier mix when her life's partner was gone?

Faith retraced her steps to the clinic. Her face was clear of tears, stoic with acceptance as she faced Rich Allen. The vet didn't need to ask; he just prepared the syringe. Faith lifted Rhonda onto the table next to her love. The little female whined and sniffed her sleeping spouse, then laid her head against the broad chest that had kept her warm for so many years. Faith cradled Amra in her arms and murmured words of comfort to the dog who couldn't hear, as Dr. Allen sent the Sheriff on his painless journey.

Tyson and the veterinarian wrapped the malamute's body in a white sheet, then lowered it to the floor beneath the table. Without a sound, Rhonda lay beside the inert form.

“Let her stay,” Faith decreed. “She needs to mourn, just as we do.”

David Maloney met his mother at the clinic the next morning. He and Faith buried Amra at Angels Rest under a juniper tree as the Sheriff would have wanted. Dr. Allen did not accompany them, feeling that he was perhaps too much a newcomer—Amra was part of the fabric of the Dogtown that Faith and David had helped to build from nothing. The vet was waiting outside the gate of the memorial park after their final good-byes. “Rhonda is hiding under the cabinets,” he said. “I can't coax her out.”

Faith understood. “Leave her be. She'll come to us in her own good time.”

For eight days, Rhonda hung around the clinic, meandering from room to room, looking for her mate. For eight days, Faith watched the widow's snuffling and listened to the low, continuous whimpers that would go on for hours. To Faith, the extent of Rhonda's grief was heartbreaking because there was nothing she could do for the bereft little terrier.

For eight days Rhonda broke everyone's heart. Then, on a cool hint-of-fall evening, she dragged out of the clinic and made her way to the juniper that had been the Sheriff's command post. “She's finally figured out he's not coming back,” Faith murmured.

Still, Rhonda did not run to greet Big Mama as of old. Rhonda no longer patrolled Dogtown, had no use for the habits of years. Instead she turned inward. Faith fretted. She had always had a soft spot for the loyal, loving mutt, and it was more than she could bear to see Rhonda's heartache. But nothing Faith did could rouse the grieving animal.

November brought days of crisp clarity and chilly nights. David placed a cozy kennel under Amra's favorite tree and Rhonda conceded she needed the warmth. A few days later Faith, at Francis's request, was personally escorting a party from Los Angeles, as part of the L.A. outreach program that devoted hours to the city's shelters. They had been very excited at the prospect of touring Best Friends with Faith.

The director of the sanctuary was explaining how they decided which dogs should be housed with whom, when suddenly a red terrier mix padded hesitantly toward them. With fragile dignity, Rhonda came forward to greet the visitors. She planted four delicate legs beside Faith and gazed into the faces of the enthralled group.

“Oh, she's so darling,” a woman exclaimed.

Rhonda immediately gravitated toward the source of the words, standing immobile, allowing herself to be petted, moving into the limelight she had always shunned. Faith stared at the dog that was no longer plain. Rhonda had taken on the mantle of her deceased mate, much as Eleanor Roosevelt had stepped forward in the wake of her President husband's death . . . and she was beautiful.

 

Something had changed in Rhonda's consciousness. Somehow the dog felt compelled to take over the duties that had always been her gregarious mate's. Still, she kept aloof from the other mutts, and Faith worried at the sight of Rhonda curled up alone under a tree that once had shaded a nest for two.

Michael, too, had been watching Rhonda's mourning. “I'm going to write about that little terrier and her mate,” he declared. “Rhonda and Amra are perfect examples of the devotion animals can have for each other.”

The love story appeared in the December issue. Within a day of the magazine's arrival in her mailbox, Dr. Sharyn Faro was on the phone from Atlanta. “I want to give that special little being a wonderful home for the rest of her life.”

Faith was protective. “We weren't really expecting anyone to adopt her. Rhonda's old, and all she's known is Dogtown. She's run free since she was a pup. She's liable to piddle indoors.”

Rich, warm laughter greeted her warning. “I'd have no problem living in a rugless home, Faith. Stuff isn't important to me. I have three senior dogs like Rhonda who all sleep on the bed. I have a huge garden, and every Tuesday we all get to go to my friend's three hundred-acre farm in the country for a really big romp. Rhonda will fit in just fine.”

“If you're really serious, there's a two-page adoption application to fill out, and I'll have to interview you.”

“No problem. Can you fax it to me? I'd like to pick Rhonda up next week.”

Next week! Faith enlisted Tyson and David and the three of them immediately went to work. The terrier had not been in a car since Faith had rescued her from the pound eleven years before. Now she was taken shopping three times a day. Tyson took it upon himself to introduce Rhonda to walking on a leash.

Yet Faith was not to meet Sharyn Faro for another two years. A friend of the psychologist was vacationing in Brian Head, a ski resort two hours north of Best Friends. She arrived with toys, treats, and a fluffy blanket to tenderly escort the new adoptee to Atlanta. Within two weeks a letter from Rhonda detailed her settling into her new home, and Faith immediately replied.

Over the next months, Rhonda wrote Best Friends about her delicious home-cooked meals, the swims in the lake, how her new person, Mama Sha, loved kisses. Rhonda proudly boasted that she accompanied Mama Sha everywhere and she was now the proud greeter of Dr. Faro's patients. “I get so many hugs and loving, if I were the Velveteen Rabbit I wouldn't have any fur.”

Faith could only marvel at the twists and turns of fate when Rhonda sent pictures of herself contently sleeping alongside her new doggie companions in the magnificent mansion, filled with antiques and Persian rugs, that she now called home. Rhonda's last days would be the best for which any animal could wish.
And no one deserves it more than you, little one,
Faith said to herself.

The photos reminded Faith of how she had anguished about letting Rhonda leave Dogtown, just before the arrival of the cat Tyson and his blind brother, Tommy. The memory brought back, once again, the classic tale of the man walking by the ocean, throwing back the starfish beached after a storm, saving them . . . one at a time.

That's the way it had always been for Best Friends. That's the way it always would be. Whether in an alley in Los Angeles or a compound in Saudi Arabia, Best Friends everywhere would forever come to the aid of the furred and feathered creatures with whom they shared the planet . . . one at a time.

It occurred to Faith that, in her way, Rhonda was the archetype for all animals. None are plain. None are common.

Through the eyes of love, all are beautiful.

by

MICHAEL MOUNTAIN

 

 

ALL GOOD THINGS

May 2000

 

Tommy and Tyson no longer walk everywhere with their tails intertwined, as they once had to on the mean streets of Los Angeles. Instead, they spend their afternoons snoozing in the sun, high in the rafters of their outdoor porch at the WildCats Village.

The two brothers are still not keen on being approached by people, but the new WildCats Village is perfect for feral cats like them who grew up on the streets but could no longer survive on their own. Their new home was completed a couple of years ago and was largely the gift of a member of Best Friends who lives in Arizona.

Benton's House is still home to the cats with special needs, although it is now under new “management.” Benton finally went over the Rainbow Bridge in June of 1999. The old dictator, with his little club foot, kept everyone in line right up to the end, and I cannot begin to imagine what he must be thinking of the fact that we invited members of Best Friends to vote for a new chairpurrson of his TLC Cat Club.

The election was actually won by Julius, a friendly orange kitty with neurological problems, whose back end is never quite sure which way his front end is trying to go. (No matter: He always manages to end up where the treats are!)

But Benton would never have approved of democracy, so I'm sure he's delighted that Patience—an otherwise very polite black-and-white kitty with hormonal problems and a Charlie Chaplin moustache—promptly stole the election, took over as top cat, and installed herself as chairpurrson. (The other cats seem quite happy with the arrangement and Julius is considered her co-chair.)

Tomato the Cat just completed one of his investigative reports of this scandal in
Best Friends
magazine and concluded that rigging the election was probably the best outcome. Julius, he agreed, is very telegenic, which is important in this media age. “But,” he added, “his elevator does not quite go to the top. So a little help from Patience will not be out of order.”

(Tomato himself actually went over the Rainbow Bridge, too, a couple of years ago. However, he insists that this was just the first of his nine lives. He sends in a column for every edition of the magazine and seems to be very much alive in the hearts and minds of all of us who appreciate his quirky ways.)

Meanwhile, at the Cat HQ office, Sinjin, the furry, one-eyed pirate who was rescued one Thanksgiving evening back in Part One of this book, still rules supreme, demanding treats at all hours—utterly disdainful of all the media hype surrounding chairpurr-sons, magazine columns, and the like. Real power, he believes, resides in the kitchen. As does he.

Over at Dogtown, Ginger the Chesapeake still does the rounds each day, albeit a little stiffly. She likes to wear a woolly jacket on all but the warmest of days as she continues to keep an eye on the tennis balls and bring any surplus back to her Federal Reserve Tree, the big old juniper that still shades her comfortable doghouse.

Ginger has outlived all the other dogs who were the founders of Dogtown—even her own pups, Cheshire and Mace. When they went over the Rainbow Bridge, a few years ago, two young black spaniel mixes, Francesca and Butterfly, moved in with Ginger. They race around every afternoon, just as Cheshire and Mace did, gathering up tennis balls and issuing the occasional challenge to the top dogs of other neighborhoods around Dogtown.

Since the day Faith rescued her from that dreadful puppy mill all those years ago, Ginger has watched Dogtown grow from its small-town beginnings to something approaching urban sprawl. More fences, more add-ons, a training school, adoption compounds, Old Friends, New Friends, Little Dogs, and an expanding clinic, where Dr. Allen presides over the Big Fix for people from all over the region who need to get their pets spayed or neutered.

Last year, it was becoming urgent to start building a new residential “suburb” for Dogtown. And once again, it was our dear friends Homer and Dolores to the rescue.

“Oh, we just want to do something nice for the dogs,” Dolores told Faith and John as Homer put down his pen at a corner table at The Village during staff lunch one summer day when they were visiting. Homer was transferring half a million dollars into a special account to build a new Dogtown—ten sparkling new octagon homes with big outdoor areas for about 300 of the dogs, along with a new clinic and other facilities.

“Do you think our members will put up the other half million it will take to finish this?” Homer asked.

Steven smiled. He could already see the headline in our next newsletter: “Those Doggies Are Feeling Like a Million Bucks!” (Thank you, again, dear members and friends. The builders are just starting work as I write this.)

Every day brings a new round of dogs, cats, horses, birds, and bunnies into the sanctuary. With lots of special care, good food, and a trip to the spay/neuter clinic, most of them are soon able to go to good new homes.

And for those who aren't quite ready for a new home—and, in some cases, may never be—Best Friends will be their home and their haven for the rest of their lives.

Most of the animals who come to Best Friends now come from rescue groups and shelters all over the country. And, with the Best Friends Network operating all over the country too, good fortune works in some remarkable ways.

Take Missy, for example. . . .

Missy's life got off to a rather bumpy start in Kansas City when, as a ten-week-old kitten, she was thrown into the back of a truck. She was rescued and cared for by a local group, but Missy's brain had been damaged and she could no longer walk properly. That was when they called Best Friends.

Faith and Judah reckoned we could find a place for Missy in Benton's House, but then we had to figure out how to bring her here from Kansas City.

Then Carolyn called. Carolyn lives in Wisconsin and used to be a flight attendant with United Airlines, which means she has lots of travel perks with the airline. “If I can ever help out by flying an animal anywhere, just let me know,” she said.

“How about right now!” we replied.

The next day, Carolyn flew to Kansas City, picked up Missy, and brought her to Best Friends.

A few weeks later, Sandy, a member of Best Friends from Baltimore, Maryland, came to visit the sanctuary and spent an afternoon in Benton's House. She fell in love with Missy, called her husband, Chris, who agreed that their home would be perfect for Missy, and promptly applied to adopt the little cat. While Sandy and Missy were on their way home, Chris built their new baby a special playpen where she could be safe and happy. And that's what we mean when we say that, thanks to the kindness of members of Best Friends everywhere, dogs and cats like Missy all get to live “happily ever after.”

More and more people are going to their local shelter with the idea of adopting a dog or cat who really needs a good home, rather than going to a pet store or breeder to find the cutest puppy or kitten. (Stores that sell pets help keep the puppy mills—like the one where Ginger once lived—in business.) Not long ago, fancy “purebred” animals were very much the pet of choice. But that's all changing now. More and more, it's the dogs and cats who have had the hardest luck, not the best breeding, who tend to find first place in people's hearts!

Also, more and more are getting their pets spayed or neutered so that they're not adding to the problem by producing puppies and kittens at home. And more and more people are coming to understand that once we bring a pet home, he or she becomes a full part of our family.

So, things have come a long way from when Best Friends was still in its early days and “happily ever after” stories like Missy's were few and far between.

Back then, seventeen million homeless cats and dogs were being destroyed in pounds and shelters every year. Most people thought of this appalling carnage as being simply one of those “necessary evils” in life—something terrible that you just couldn't do anything about. (Isn't that exactly what otherwise good, kind, and decent people once said about slavery, child labor, and all the other “necessary evils” of the nineteenth century?)

Today, thanks to the growth of the new “no-kill” movement, only about five million dogs and cats are being killed in shelters each year. That's a whole lot better than it was, but it's still five million too many. So, in communities across the country, this grassroots movement is working to bring an end altogether to the killing of homeless pets.

People often comment on the fact that the love our pets offer to us is unconditional. Animals, they note, don't care how we look or what our problems are. They just accept us the way we are and love us for it. But here at Best Friends, I am even more impressed by the love that people show the animals who touch their hearts. It is an equally unconditional love.

When Sandy adopted Missy, when Lydia rescued Tommy and Tyson, when Homer and Dolores bought the Welcome Center and the horse pastures, when Tom arrived to conduct the Dogtown “orchestra” with his pooper scooper, when Ron and Bonnie Heginbotham shipped Oscar from Saudi Arabia, and when Samantha Glen called me to ask if she could help the cause of “No More Homeless Pets” by writing this book about Best Friends, they weren't looking for anything in return. They just wanted to help the animals.

But, like anyone else who has rescued, helped, or given a home to a cat or dog in need, they discovered that there are enormous rewards in this cycle of love.

Throughout history, prophets and teachers from every culture and creed have taught the simple, universal, and eternal Golden Rule that as we give, so do we receive. This simple rule of thumb is the key to success and happiness in our lives.

There is no better application of the Golden Rule than to help a homeless pet. In doing this, you are giving the gift of life itself. And since there is no greater gift, there can be no greater reward.

That's because in giving life, we receive life. In rescuing an innocent creature, we find a lifeline to our own lost innocence. In offering a helping hand to nature, we discover a connection to our own basic nature.

If, among all of us who care about the animals, we can bring about a time when there are no more homeless pets, this will be a remarkable achievement—but it will be more than that.

At the beginning of a new millennium, in a world that races to embrace new ways of living longer and feeling better in its endlessly elusive quest for human happiness, doing something truly good for the animals would represent a whole new attitude to life.

It might mean that we are not only at the start of a new technological era, but of a new spiritual one, too.