How a stray dog changed my life forever in the summer of 2013.
Back in the summer of 2013 life was looking pretty bright for me! I was newly married and had just moved back to Texas after my husband finished law school. While he studied for the bar at my parents' house, I was tasked with finding us a more permanent place to live in Houston, where his new job would begin in the fall. Dressed in my most professional blazer and skirt, I drove around one hot Saturday afternoon hoping to attend some open houses and get a feel for the neighborhood. Before I could tour a single home, I saw a dog running in the ditch alongside the road, clearly in distress. As a lifetime dog lover, I did the only thing I could think of — I pulled over to help. Hank rushed over to me and before I realized what was happening, he had jumped into the driver's seat! I called my husband:
"Ummmm, I have a dog in my car, what should I do?"
Growing up in Austin, one of the first cities to reach a 90% live release rate, the benchmark for no-kill sheltering, I figured that we could find a shelter or rescue to take him in and I'd be back on the road to the next open house.
Very quickly, we learned that Houston was not yet a no-kill city. Far from it: in 2013, tens of thousands of animals lost their lives in Houston's municipal shelters. But what about private rescue groups? We called several and got no response, and drove to the nearest non-profit shelter that was open on Saturday.
The receptionist took one look at Hank on a makeshift leash, with his large, visible tumors and missing patches of fur revealing angry red wounds, and said "do you want us to euthanize him?" I was taken aback— "can't you help him?" I asked incredulously. She laughed, more of a scoff, and said, "we don't take in sick dogs, plus he's old and black, he'd never be adopted."
I thanked her for her honesty and marched Hank back out to the car and called my husband,
"We have a new dog, I'm taking him to the vet now."
Hank had been on the street for a while, but with a medicated bath, some prescription meds on board, and some TLC from the staff at West Alabama Animal Clinic, he was like a new dog. They vaccinated him and had even better news: his tumors were full of fat, unsightly, but not life-threatening. I canceled my plans with friends in Houston and drove Hank back to my parents' house in Austin sporting a fresh new bandana and a big smile on his face.
I know so much more now than I did then. I always keep an extra slip lead, collapsible bowls, water, and treats in my car to be ready in case I find an animal in need. I would have looked harder for Hank's original family (he was already neutered and loves people), but with no microchip, no tags, and no place to stay with a dog in Houston, I did the best that I could at the time to save his life.
Many of my friends and family raised their eyebrows when they heard about Hank.
Why would you bring home an old, sick dog? Do you know anything about him? He's just going to die soon anyway.
But what I saw was a loving dog who was begging for someone to help him, and I couldn't say no. On that day, my whole perspective changed. I realized how few resources there were for homeless pets and the people who wanted to help them.
As soon as I got back to a computer, I googled "no-kill" and began my journey into animal welfare. Hank lived with us for another four and a half years before he eventually succumbed to a tumor — this time a bad one — that caused his liver to fail. Hank welcomed countless new fosters into our home and showed many of them how to dog. He completed his bucket list, which mostly consisted of trips through the drive-through at What-A-Burger and leisurely strolls along the beach.
I have more happy memories with Hank than I can relay in one post, but none of them would have been possible if he had entered a shelter that day. He was a great dog, but more than that, he opened my eyes and my heart to the plight of all homeless dogs and cats. That day, I vowed that I would use whatever skills and resources I had available to help animals in need, and support others to do the same.
Sometimes I still think I can hear the shuffling of Hank's too-long nails in another room, or expect him to emerge suddenly from the darkness of my yard with gleaming eyes. Hank's body eventually failed him, but his spirit will live on forever as I go to work every day to help dogs just like him. I dream of a day when anyone who wants to help an animal in need can quickly find a local resource to help them do just that.
Most people love pets, but hundreds of thousands of dogs and cats are still losing their lives in America's shelters every year. Adopt or foster a pet and find your own "why" to care about homeless pets in your community.
Comentários