Ann Fischer
Was it "just a coincidence?" In retrospect, I really don't think so.
Sandy Norkaitis, Carolyn Becker, and I had just finished a round of golf at a course in Fenton when Sandy noticed a tan fluff wandering around the parking lot. Knowing that I am an Animal Person, Sandy led me a pathetic little thing - disoriented, dirty, and panting - and said "Bonnie in the pro shop likes dogs. She'll know what to do." I scooped up Cindy Sue, as I came to think of this mutt, and began an unexpected and illuminating journey.
Bonnie-in-the-pro-shop clucked her tongue. "How sad. I'll look up the Humane Society number for you." While she ruffled pages, I remembered a fellow Zoo Docent who is married to a veterinarian and lives in West County. Thinking his hospital was also in West County, I called. After I'd explained the situation, a pleasant receptionist put me on hold for the first of many times that day. Finally she came back. "The doctor will look at the dog. But we're located by the airport. [!] It might be better to go somewhere close in case the owners are looking for it." Good advice.
With directions from Bonnie-in-the-pro-shop to an animal hospital in Old Town Fenton and a couple of towels for the seat, Cindy Sue and I set off. We even finally found the place. "How sad," said Tammy, the hospital's receptionist. They couldn't take the dog, "of course," but they did identify her sex and "breed" and the fact that she was old - her tongue lolled out of her mouth because she had no teeth to keep it in. And I could use their phone to call the shelter "not too far away" for directions. Ah... problem solved.
I tied up their phones for the next hour in increasing frustration looking for a place for Cindy Sue. [Shelter A], "not too far away," answered brusquely, put me on hold three times and concluded that they didn't have room. The clear, unspoken subtext: they especially didn't have room for an old dog. But, they said in conclusion, try [Shelter B]; it's really not that far away.
Someone at [Shelter B] answered the phone, put me on hold several times and eventually declared that they didn't have room either. Besides, they didn't take strays. What did they take if not strays? Puppies and kittens, maybe, but not Cindy Sue, who had settled silently on the counter, charming the staff and trusting that someone would take care of her.
Tammy was now deeply into this process as well. (Perhaps she wanted her phones back?) "There's South County Animal Control ('the pound'). And there's a Franklin County Humane Society," she said, dialing another hospital to get the number. The number that hospital provided proved to be the main Humane Society facility - not near Fenton but in St. Louis City.
Tammy put on her best hospital voice and dialed. In fact she dialed four times, each time being put on hold for many minutes and then shunted to voice mail. Desperation was setting in. This place was on my way home, but what if they didn't take old dogs either? I couldn't turn her loose in a parking lot.
Finally I turned to people I've trusted and loved for years - my own pets' veterinarians on Skinker Boulevard. Nowhere close either, but perhaps they could tell me what to do. A new voice answered the phone. I went through the now familiar drill. "How sad," said the voice? "Perhaps there's a Chihuahua rescue group you could contact." First ray of hope. Would they take a mixed breed? "Probably...Just a minute, please hold." Here we go again...
After a few minutes the voice came back. "My name's Mindy. And actually this is my first day, so I had to ask." Pause. "I will take the dog." What? "I will take the dog. I have Chihuahuas at home, and she'll fit in. They're used to dogs I sometimes foster for Stray Rescue. Just bring her here."
Forty-five minutes later I turned Cindy Sue over to Mindy, who took one look at her, said "Awwww" and gathered her up to show the others. Not quite sure what I should do beyond saying thank you, I wandered back to my car, sat down and cried.
Buster/Chester, our fat orange tabby, was scheduled for dental work the next day, and so bright and early I looked for Mindy. "She did great," was the report. "She slept on my bed and even ate a bit."
But wait, there was more. "We have clients who just had an old dog euthanized and might be willing to take her. They have her for the day. I'll let you know." Cindy Sue had found a home. I later learned that the new family had recently lost not only their dog but also a close human friend. Cindy Sue (whom they call "Mouse"), a perfectly huggable size and full of trust, was a godsend for them.
What in the world to make of all this? Had I just been caught in a sit-com? How could it be that the only place I knew to call had a new employee I'd never met who was just the person I - and more importantly Cindy Sue -- needed to find?
I think there are several lessons in this small, everyday incident:
- The problem of pet overpopulation is real. Animals who are not treasured pets do not face happy prospects.
- Angels are real. Kindness and compassion can crop up anywhere. And yet somehow it always astonishes to me to meet them up close and personal. The solution to this problem lay not in the institutions meant to handle it but in the willingness of one person to say yes.
- It is when a situation is most out of my control that I am most aware of God's grace.
- Is it blasphemous to talk of God's grace in connection with dogs and cats - or any other animal, for that matter? Not in my book.
P.S. If you're ever in a similar situation, don't overburden the angels at Kingsbury Animal Hospital. Try Stray Rescue of St. Louis, 771-6121.