Most recently I have read two different blogs by two extremely talented writers whose only commonality is their love of rescue dogs. Their dogs to be exact. Ann Handley dot com has a heart warming story of “Georgie” the spaniel who made a miracle recovery.
Gala Darling dot com tells of her pit bull rescue and his full recovery and the love and charm you can clearly see “Hank” has brought into her world. I realized that I had a story of a rescue dog as well, but there was no miracle recovery. I don’t have any picture to show about the fuzzy wuzzy happy ending because the love of this dog is interwoven with the passing of “Elsie” my Mother.
Here is my rescue dog story:
Funny thing about rescue dogs, the love factor I mean. My Mom in 2000 was working for the SPCA fund drive in her small community. My parents already owned a dog, a lhasa apso named “Asa”, and my Mom raised $600 dollars and was the highest earner for her district.
She also came home with a dog, from someone who gave a donation but said they just couldn’t keep their dog and would my Mom take “Treasure” with her. I can still remember the conversation over the phone of the dogs barking and my parents telling me the story of my Mother's fundraising ability and how happy my Dad was that it only cost them one rescue dog.
Ah, but that was Elsie in a nutshell, A Spirit with a heart as big as the ocean. “Treasure” the rescue dog moved right in and took over “Asa’s food bowl immediately. "Asa", aka “Houdini” because he could escape from any yard if he really wanted to, was just as smitten by the charm of “Treasure”. They were instant friends.
In 2002 my parents' home burnt down and my Mom died in the fire, (small bungalow by the ocean, my Father was in town and the dogs in the back yard). You know all the classics of a tragedy, Volunteer Fire Dept. low water pressure, it all burnt, all gone. A neighbor kicked the back door in but the smoke and flames were too intense and “Treasure” the rescue dog ran into the burning building. The Fire captain told us they found the remains of a dog beside my Mom and they offered to give “Treasure” a special burial spot by the fire station that we agreed to. So my Mom didn’t die alone. Elsie's rescue dog went with her.
Later I found out that “Treasure” was the name my Mom gave to the flappy black long haired poodle/terrier and whatever else nobody quite knows…and that the person who gave the dog to my Mom had called her “Sparky”. I actually read it in the front page of the local newspaper about my Mom's death and the rescue dog, because I guess the previous owner for whatever reason wanted the newspaper to know “Treasure's” other name. I never could quite figure that out.
It's sunny today as I look out the window getting ready to post this story. I just got off the phone with my Father; he actually called me back from a earlier try to ring him this morning.
“I just got back from that dog exercising me, he is relentless as you well know”- “Will not give me a day off and not settle for less than three miles a week”, my 87 year young Father huffs out. “Gosh, Dad he is just a puppy, I mean he is only fourteen and just finding his stride, big laughter…Those lhasa apso dogs were built for the Himalayas”.Dogs, I thought to myself, new day, new deal, nose into the wind, “its this way – lets go find it and smell it….. follow me”.
Photo: “surf” randall friedman
Joy,
Rena
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