Monsters Among Us ....

For the past day or so, I have been using writing, both for the original Class of 1963 blog and the Las Vegas Reunion linked blog, to distract me, and my thoughts, from something terrible which happened over the weekend, and with which I am still trying to come to grips. I even alluded in a "Comment" yesterday to Nicki's "Traditions" post that as children, we were not aware that real monsters might lurk in the houses we visited to Trick or Treat so long ago. But my mind and my heart are unsettled, and torn, and I feel that there is a genuine warning, or at least a cautionary tale, to be rendered so that perhaps someone will not make the awful mistake that I recently made. What is upsetting me so is something that has happened to one of the innocents ... the sweet little dog Noah ... perpetrated by vile people ... "monsters" among us.

As some of you know, I made a recent trip to Clarendon; a few know that the trip was made to deliver Noah, a little shelter dog we had adopted, to my daughter Shannon, who had said she would take him when problems arose with Noah and our cats. We had become concerned because of the cats, who were afraid of him, and at whom he had begun to bark and charge. We think Noah just wanted to play with them, rather than hurt them, but we were not completely certain of that, and we felt a responsibility toward the cats as well as to him. So when Shannon said she would take him, we thought it was the best of all possible solutions. And so I went to Texas.

When I arrived after a two-day trip, Shannon told me that her friend and co-worker, Wes (cursed be his name!), really, really wanted to have a little house dog like Noah, and would I let Wes take him? Despite many misgivings, and with Shannon's assurances that he was a "good guy", I met with Wes and talked with him for a while about Noah and my concerns, and he assured me that he and his family would take wonderful care of Noah. I made him promise me, several times, that if for any reason it didn't work out, anything at all, he would return Noah to Shannon, who would try to integrate him with her dog ... but if that failed, for Shannon to call me and I would return for him. Wes agreed, as did Shannon, and Shannon confirmed to him that all he had to do was call her and she would take Noah ... and he agreed again ... and so, despite my misgivings, I left him in Wes' hands and returned here. But my mind remained uneasy about Noah, somehow, and I called Shannon every other day to ask her to call Wes and get a report about how Noah was doing. The word always came back that he was doing "GREAT!" And still I worried, although Yahn tried to tell me I was being silly.

Last Friday afternoon, I got a call from the Shelter Rescue group from whom I had adopted Noah, and had my heart nearly torn from my chest. Our sweet little Noah was in Phoenix (Phoenix, for god's sake, when I had left him two states away, in Clarendon, Texas) where he had apparently been abandoned, tied up outside an animal shelter that had been closed for four months. He was in kidney failure, obviously had not had enough to eat or enough water, and had sores on him because someone had shaved ALL the hair off him ... down to the skin, still raw and red in places ... even around his face and mouth!

I called Shannon to ask what the HELL had happened, particularly in light of the reports of how GREAT Noah was doing. She called Wes and then came back to me with some story about how the dog had run away and Wes didn't know what had happened to him. IF true, Wes apparently didn't care either. I asked why he hadn't called her, so they could go out driving and looking for him, maybe post fliers, and she apparently got the equivalent of a shrug from that s-o-b. I don't think Shannon really thought there was any problem and I do believe that she would never have been a participant in such an outrage.

I doubt that we will ever really know just what happened. Nevertheless, somehow Noah ended up in Phoenix ... someone had removed his collar and tags that I had left with him, probably to keep him from being identified. So there would have been NO tracing him at all if it had not been for the microchip implanted in his neck, which traced him back to the Rescue Shelter, which called me. We left for Phoenix early the next morning, and brought poor Noah back that same day, and every time I look at him, I start to cry.

Noah left here a happy, sweet, darling little thing who wanted nothing more than to love "his" people, and to be loved by them. He is now afraid, his eyes full of hurt and fear, even his dreams tormented by the terrible things that have happened to him. We are trying so hard to nurse and nurture him back to love and trust and health, but I fear it is going to be a while before he reaches that stage. He was happy to see me at the vet clinic in Phoenix, and he now sits again with me in my (our) chair at night ... but what has happened to him is unspeakable ... and I am just hoping so hard that he will recover and be a happy, loving little dog again. I feel so guilty for having left him in Clarendon ... I should have followed my heart and, if Shannon had changed her mind, brought him back with me. But I was misled by a glib young man who ... even if he or someone in his family didn't do such horrible damage (but I think they did) ... didn't think or care enough about an innocent soul to return him to good hands, and just drove (perhaps literally) Noah away.

I know some might say, "Well, jeez, it's only a dog" ... but it is the violation of trust and innocence as much as the actual things Noah may have suffered that is making me literally sick at my stomach and dark in my soul. I cannot imagine ... indeed to some degree I am pleased my imagination is not that depraved ... how anyone with a soul or a conscience could do such a thing to a helpless animal, or a helpless child, or anything or anyone who cannot defend itself. And I can't help thinking of Noah alone, in the dark, with no food or water, possibly with predators around him, unable to even flee if danger came. When we retrieved him and began the long drive back to Las Vegas, he was so afraid that he wouldn't lie down to rest, and would just fall asleep in the car, standing up. Yesterday he began lying down, although he sometimes thrashes and whimpers in his sleep. I don't know when (or if) Noah will recover fully ... and I don't know how long it will take before I am able to consign this event to a proper place ... in the past ... in my mind. And I don't know when my heart will stop breaking to think that I put him in such a situation.

Noah is "home" now, where I so wish he had never left ... and will stay with us ... and the cats. We will find some way, and I will not give in to any other entreaties to find him another home. I made a horrible mistake ... albeit with the best of intentions, but then you know where Good Intentions Road leads ... and Noah and Yahn (who also feels terribly guilty because he urged me to find another home for Noah) and I, and the cats, will have to deal with those repercussions for a long time to come.

If you haven't microchipped your beloved animals, I recommend doing so. We "did" the cats about a year ago, and it only cost $20 per cat. Our kitties are strictly "house cats", and our little Noah is a "house" dog, but there is the odd chance that one of them might escape through a door inadvertently left open. And as Noah has proved, the microchip can greatly facilitate the return of a lost and loved pet.

And I do so ask you to say a special prayer, or at least send a good thought (for that is a prayer, in essence) to little Noah, who SO did NOT deserve what has happened to him. And know that there are "monsters" all around us ... even in the guise of nice young men ... and be wary.

Perhaps this is not a proper story for a blog dedicated to the Class of 1963. But I thought that maybe if I could write about it, it might help ... even possibly help bring someone's cherished pet home someday. And maybe it will ... somehow, sometime .... And finally, when you consider donations to charities in the upcoming holiday season, or anytime, please think to give at least a small portion to the agencies who rescue the innocents, who surely must rely upon, and be lifted, and rest "in the arms of the angels ...."