In the Beginning...

I actually couldn't really say, though I do have an idea. Sallie is one of two, the other being Ellie. Yes, they are dogs. And this is their story, as it unfolds. "Last Minute Rescue Request." That was the subject of the email. It came in at 12:50 AM on June 2, 2009. As I set about this chronicle of my impressions, which are sure to be indulgent and long-winded, I decided to go back and read that first email that caused my paths to cross with the dog splayed out at my feet. I searched "URGENT" and at least a dozen hits came back. A sad realization about the uncertain, or rather, certain fate of so many forsaken among the ranks of man's best friend. But no where among the hits was that first announcement of the heroic act of a man who truly understands his mission to protect and serve.


So then I searched "Wadley" and wadded back through screen after screen of messages from people all over this country who, like me, refuse to look away, because it is just a dog. Wadley is a town in Georgia, just up the road from where I call home. Wadley is poor and rural. Folks gather every Sunday after church at the Waffle King before picking up groceries at the IGA. Dilapidated houses sag with the strain of decades of wet heat and slow times passing. And somewhere, in a field, in the heat or the rain or whatever condition the forces might cast, lay Sallie and Ellie.

A police officer discovered the dogs chained to stakes in that open field. Grave conditions. It is rare to see an old dog in this part of the country. And had that police officer not intervened, Sallie and Ellie would have been no exception. I couldn't describe the story of their rescue any better than Jillian, so I defer to her account. Chain Reaction.

So back in June, Sallie and Ellie were delivered to Dr. Sarah Ford at the Burke County Animal Hospital and there they stayed for three months. There was plenty to do. Shots, skin dips, spays and heartworm treatment. But three months in a kennel at the vet's is a life on hold. We have been searching for their tomorrow all the while.

And at least for Sallie, a huge step to tomorrow stands before us. She has been accepted into foster with a kind soul in Oregon. Yes, Oregon. Sallie and her foster mom are as far apart as the continental states allows. And I have often been asked, why so far away. Because it is what it is. There are rare opportunities in Georgia for a dog such as Sallie. Where the Pit Bull is concerned, the South is inundated with fear, stigma, irresponsibility, reckless disregard, neglect, cruelty, and malice.

Tonight I stood in the front yard, cleaning out a van full of kennels, used to transport animals to and from spay-neuter clinics for a local animal rescue. A man passing by demanded to know what I was doing with so many cages. I explained. He was perplexed. So I asked if he has a dog, could he use assistance to have that dog see a vet and get fixed. Yes, he has seven. Seven Pit Bulls. But he'd think about it. Was unsure he wanted them fixed.

There is a "culture" that has "adopted" this breed. And the things they do, or don't, perplex me to perhaps the same degree my mission to rescue did him. I guess we always think we are right when we see a problem for its moral dimensions.

Yesterday Sallie came home with me. Her present accommodations are not much. I have three other dogs and two cats and have decided to keep her away from the others unless and until I know there are no demons in her head. Sallie is living in my office. We walk in the morning and twice at night. She is grateful and at ease. Perhaps she never lost her faith in humanity. Perhaps I need to work on recapturing mine.