Rescue Me

I grew up in a small town. I mean, really small. Our population usually hovered somewhere around five hundred, but it didn't count the many of us that lived outside the city limits. We lived in what most people there called "the middle of nowhere." Our house was separated from the main highway by a large field and a long gravel drive. That drive is where my story begins.

For years, people would pull into the end of our long driveway to drop off their unwanted animals. This would usually happen at night or in the early morning hours. I rarely noticed a new stray as I went to school. I was always running for the bus and didn't notice much beyond getting down the drive and onto the bus, but the afternoon was a more leisurely stroll.

It wasn't uncommon to step off the bus and be greeted by an animal I'd never seen before. The friendlier among them were just happy to find someone who might help them. The more frightened might lurk on the edges of the road in the line of small trees there until I coaxed them out.

I've run into my house, dropped my books, and fetched something from the kitchen before running back out and down the road with it. More often than not, my departure barely raised an eyebrow. Occasionally, I'd hear a groan from one or both parents. They already knew what was happening and I had no time to explain. My priority was getting back to whatever animal I'd encountered on my way home.

What I didn't want was for them to go back to the highway. Nothing good happened there and I've done what I could for those animals too. I've tended small wounds from those clipped by cars and I've buried those who didn't make it. I'm sure I loved some of them more in their death than they were loved in life.

I was never able to keep the animals. I had my own pets, and my parents would constantly remind me we weren't taking in strays. My parents were liars.

Of the three pets I had at home, all were rescues. One was a gray manx I'd begged my parents to let me have after my neighbor's dog killed her mother in the woods. The kitten was barely four weeks old, and I had to feed her with a dropper until she was big enough to eat on her own, but we spent many happy years together. She was the love of my young life.

Another was a German shepherd who had been shot by a different neighbor for chasing cows. He had only grazed the dog's hip and scared him. He ran to our house, and I cleaned up his wound. Not realizing it was his owner who had shot him, we attempted to get him home but were told they couldn't have a cow chasing dog on their farm. By this time, we no longer had cows, so I kept him and prayed he never forgot that he couldn't go back to his original home. Luckily, he never did.

Then there was an old tabby with one milky eye and a limp. She turned up at our house very pregnant and injured from being clipped by a car on the highway. I took her in and took care of her. I rehomed her kittens after they were born, but no one wanted an "ugly" cat, so she ended up staying. She didn't like being inside, so she hung about the house and barn mostly, but sometimes she'd sit in my lap on the porch and sleep contently. It was all the love she knew how to give and even after having her for years, she never had more. I often wondered what sort of horrible life she had led before she ended up in my heart.

The only pet I ever owned during my childhood that was purchased was a stock dog. Part of my grandfather's property was purchased by a man and woman who didn't have children of their own, so they enjoyed having me around. They had just gotten a new puppy and I was in love with it. They decided to get me as a birthday present, so after clearing it with my father—who was strictly opposed but gave in—we went to pick one out from the same litter where my neighbors got theirs.

I sat in my neighbor’s truck between him and my father, all smiles at getting another pet. We didn’t have to go far. The seller only lived a few miles away. When we arrived, the seller told us he only had three left, but one of them was on the ugly side and he’d probably just sell him for half-price if he could sell him at all.

After looking over the three puppies that remained, I picked one up and smiled broadly. "I want this one," I told them. They both furrowed their brow at the puppy I was holding. It was the one the seller had described as ugly. He was the runt. Even worse, he had horrible markings. He had a solid white head and a solid black body. He looked like a bald eagle.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather have one of the other puppies?" my neighbor asked hopefully. Though he was only paying half price for the puppy because of its "lack of quality," he couldn't understand why I'd want a puppy that even the seller said was hideous.

"I'm sure," I told him.

He paid for the puppy, and we returned to the truck. Once we were settled in and back on the way home, my neighbor shook his head and commented, “I don't know why you insisted on that one," he said with a little chuckle.

My father just smiled and asked me why I chose it, though I suspect he already knew the answer.

"Because no one else would have wanted him and he'll end up at the pound," I replied.

I could see the expression on our neighbor's face as he finally realized why I'd picked the ugly runt of the litter. He just nodded and laughed to himself, as did my father.

"What are you going to name it?" Dad asked.

I looked at the puppy still wrapped in my arms and then back up at him, "Precious," I replied.

They both laughed. During the three-mile drive back home, there were periodic chuckles as one or the other of them would mutter “Precious” under their breath and snicker, but Precious and I didn’t care. He was happily trying to lick my face as I giggled. We were already in love.

I consider myself fortunate to have known so many animals in my lifetime. Whether it was for an hour, a lifetime or only in passing as I gave them a final resting place. In addition to cats and dogs, I've loved possums, mice, hamsters, chickens, birds, goats, mules, and cows--among other creatures. I've done what I could for those who needed me, but the honest truth about it is that I needed them just as much.

For all my fond memories of home, I was also isolated. As much as I loved my family, they were quite dysfunctional. These animals and the ability to care for them was often my saving grace. It taught me how to love unconditionally and let go when they were ready to move on. It taught me to give to another who had nothing to give back to me. The comfort I did my best to afford these animals was given back to me tenfold in my darkest moments.

There is no greater gift than having an animal you saved go on to live a good life. You can buy the most expensive pet in the world, and they may love you just as much as any rescue I've ever met, but you'll lack the bond that comes from having helped an animal who desperately needed you.

So, go to the animal rescue and meet your soulmate. You'll know them by the way they pull at your heartstrings the moment your eyes meet. I’m currently in love with two black cats that wreck something in my house daily. I don’t care. They still own my heart, which still holds dear all of the ones who came before them.

I've fallen in love hundreds of times. You can too.