We All Need Those Feel-Good Moments

**ADVISORY: This blog took a bit more time than usual... over an hour and a half since I got engrossed in the moving Taking Chance (incredible, be sure to watch with tissues or a sweatshirt handy). It's a normal Lisa diatribe, but maybe a few bits here and there worth something.**

Anyone who knows me, or knows of me, by now knows that I don't have a typical day from one to the next. Not that I know anyone who really does, but my life tends to stay on the merry go round. Sometimes I can set my own pace, other times, I'm at the mercy of the playground bully. Some days, I just have to close my eyes and hang on as tight as I can, and pray I can stand up straight enough to kick him when I get off.

Last night, I got to play Dress-Up Barbie. I was invited as a guest of Memorial Health to their table at the Addy Award (big kudos to them for winning a gold for their trauma funding video documenting reactions from Memorial's workers during the Imperial response). I am always nervous about these types of events. For the most part, I'm not a glamorous person. I prefer flip-flops, tank top and shorts. So when Lisa told me I was going to have to go formal, I freaked. I didn't get a chance to even look in my closet until 11 pm on Thursday. I had two choices, only because I've had to do it two years ago, twice in one year.

I was able to get a sitter for the dogs so I could just leave from work and go to the soiree, but it meant taking my clothes, makeup, brush and all that jazz with me to work. At 5, I asked my co-worker if she needed in before I changed, and in I went. If only there was a way our bathroom worked like Superman's phone booth. Twenty minutes later, I came out, and surpised the heck out of my boss. The dress was a little big, but I had it tight as I could. But as much as I startled him, I figured it wasn't bad.

I drove down, and walked in to the event. I was early, way early. And without a date. But, afterall, it's a Savannah event, and a few short moments later, I found my way to some friends.

The evening was fun, thanks in part to a dinner companion with as twisted a sense of humor as I have. And the food was worth all the dress up: lobster, filet mignon, and decadent brownies.

I headed home, exhausted, but still had to finish getting everything ready for our big event in Richmond Hill. We had to cancel the Bluffton event. Those are hard to staff most months anyhow, so I think folks were relieved to not have to make the drive. I got so busy working, I forgot I was still in a cocktail dress, until Hannah started batting at it.

Around 1 am I finally crawled into bed. Just like clockwork, Cookie (aka Samoa) woke at 2 to go potty. I had forgotten to take her out before I went to bed. My mistake, not hers, and I was paying for it in the cold.

Mornings always come too soon at the ranch. But for the last two months, I've been blessed to have two fabulous ladies take over my morning duties so I can catch a little extra sleep before work. Saturday mornings on event days are the worst; I'm usually by myself and have to get up extra early to get the dogs out, fed, cleaned up, and put in crates for our travels to whatever event plus play Tetris with the rescue-mobile before heading out, usually at 9 am.

So like most mornings, I got up, stepped on Vinnie's tail since he had changed the way he was facing since we went to bed, grabbed my robe and proceeded along my task list. By 8, I was somewhat dressed, and by 8:30, reinforcements had arrived. What angels! We assembled the vehicles, got crates loaded, and headed down to the Hill. There's nothing quite like a day of doggies, and more importantly, we had been welcomed with open arms by another group. There were other rescues there, all sharing stories about dogs, asking about some of ours they had read about. I had gotten Purina to send down water bowls, samples and shirts for the event, so we distributed them out.

The day was great: four solid applications and 27 canines came through our microchip clinic, including a few that tried to take my hand off. I drove home, excited about the prospects for adoption, but tired as all get out. Tina, my constant angel, came back with me and stayed behind to take care of the pups and make sure everyone's crate was nice and clean. I went to the office to check emails and start on adoption packs. It was then that I got an email that just brought tears to my eyes.

Many of you remember Hope, our Carolina Dingo mix who came to us with an embedded collar. A friend of mine fell in love with her photo in December not long after her beloved Rottie had passed. She offered to foster Hope for us when she returned from the holidays. She did... and fell in love with her. This week, she decided she was ready to make the commitment. In my inbox today, I found the most heartworming letter I could have ever asked for. I'm giving just a sample here, but treasure every single word she wrote:

Miss Hope is full of surprises! She is a powerful teacher. I expected her to be broken down, tired, and old beyond her years. After two heart worm treatments, intestinal worms, an embedded collar, ears tattered by flies, dog attacks, and years of neglect and abandonment, that would seem reasonable. But Hope has defied all odds. She glides gracefully through the air at lightening fast speed as she runs laps around her new back yard! She is young at heart, vigorous, and charged with energy. Her ability to give and receive love is amazing. As I write our story, she is curled up next to me on the couch, radiating a calm peacefulness.

"We all have a past. It’s impossible to make a way in this world without hurtful experiences... Hope knows about what it means to heal, and forgive and forget, and to feel safe enough to accept love. She has a strong spirit. Both of my dogs have enriched my life. I will never forget Train. His death was the end of an era for me. As I look into the future with Hope, it seems that she is picking up where Train left off. She is teaching me what it means to find my own strength. We are both rescues."

What an amazing day. That was until I got further into my emails to read something that just set me off. Two months ago, a woman was denied adoption for one of our dogs. In that time, our adoption coordinators have changed, and due to people's crazy work and family schedules and my having to go back to work full time, we're not as on top of things as we used to be. We try, but we make mistakes. This person engaged me in a couple of emails about a dog that we would not be releasing for adoption until next week. I initially had her confused with someone else and told her that we had cancelled the app for lack of response to our phone calls or emails. Then this week she started hounding me about meeting up with the dog. The pup was in the process of being brought back to me as she was not being nice in her foster home. I know I've been long winded, so to shorten it up, I was not as detail-oriented to this woman's emails as I probably should have been. She asked us about our adoption days this weekend, I told her when they were but also told her that due to the dog's attitude, she probably would not be there as we like to create a harmonious environment as much as possible. Then late last night, we cancelled one event. So in the email I received, I was critized for not telling this woman that since the event was cancelled where else I would have the dog she wanted to see available. Let's try to remember that on our adoption applications it specifies that applicants meet the dogs once their application is approved. We cannot bring every single pet to every adoption day; we just don't have the manpower to do so. I had grown very tired of the emails. So I went through our archieves and found that she had originally been denied on January 7th and sent a notice. So I informed her of this, and again stated that we are an all-volunteer organization and apologized that she felt frustrated. This was what I got:

"Just because you are a volunteer does not excuse your poor performance. You keep beating that drum, but I never asked you to work for free. If I need to pay for your services, then speak up and tell me, but don't act like the world owes you something. If you don't want to do it, then quit!

If you are doing this for recognition or a pat on the back, the you are doing it for the wrong reasons. The ones that suffer are the pets that you could be placing instead of reminding everyone what great deeds you're doing.

If your true intent is to place an animal in a loving home, then put me in touch with someone who can actually help me. If not, quit wasting my time.

Thank you for your time and I hope you find the recognition you think you so richly deserve."

So as I was driving Duke to his new home tonight, I pondered that. What would life be like if I did quit? I could have the convertible I missed so much, probably live back on the water, maybe go grocery shopping on a more regular basis, heck I might even get back into cooking for myself (I know, it's a stretch, but it could happen). A friend of mine was kind enough to take my call during my reflection time, and I became so engrossed in conversation, I missed the directions from my GPS, which reminds me of a female version of Ben Stein. I abruptly hung up on him, anxious to get Duke into his home, for what I thought might be my last adoption.

I noticed the homes as I drove in. Lots of front porch lights on, clean neighborhood, two story homes. The kind of place I might live if I didn't have to have so much land for 99 dogs. I parked, flipped on the interior light to find my adoption stuff, then got out to get Duke and his carrier. I gave him a little pep talk, reminding him that he had been a street dog hanging out with the wrong crowd and this was the ticket to change his life. He did his little feet stamping thing, whined a little bit, then settled down. We walked up to the house (I felt a little guilty walking through their perfectly manicured lawn, trying to remember what it was like to have grass at home before the dogs took over landscaping duties), and rang the doorbell. I thought I heard a small dog, but didn't remember reading about them having a current pet on their application. Instead, it was their youngest daughter who immediately opened the door and stretched her arms to get him. Yes, he was going to have it made... three young girls to dote on him every waking moment of every day. It's what every dog deserves.

I joined the family in the living room, all of us on the floor to greet little Duke to his new home. Before I could open his kennel door, the oldest girl reached out and handed me something. "This is so you never forget him," she said. I looked down. In the few short hours since I had seen them at our adoption day, this young lady had taken great time to draw me the perfect picture of Duke, along with his new crown and cape and a food bowl that said "The King." She mounted it to yellow construction paper and wrote the words "Thank You!" all around it in different colors. It took all I had not to start weeping. If she only knew how badly I needed that.

We finished the adoption, said our goodbyes, and I drove home, happy to have the recognition I "so richly deserved."

Lisa the Grump

We all have those off days. Yesterday didn't start out being one of them. I got to work, still missing staying home with the pups but thankful I still have a job, and settled in to work. No real pains to be dealing with first thing, which is always great. I took my truck over to Savannah Tire to have the tires checked. It's nice that they remember me, but even better that it was my first visit to not get a tire patched or replaced. I then headed over to Cha Bella to pick up my to go order, said hi to several folks I knew, chatted at the bar a little bit, and then headed back to work where I got to enjoy birthday cake for a co-worker's big day. All was well with the world. Well, until just after 5 pm.

I invited a friend of mine to join me for the travel to Ridgeland, SC. I was excited: we were going to pick up the new CPR trailer. It's nothing real special, but will be a huge help for us on event weekends and food pick ups. The travel over was relatively easy. We met up with Karen at Maranatha Farm, the rescue selling us their old trailer since they had a new one. She took us on a tour of the property. We watched the dogs play in their pond, and I met little Cookie (now Samoa). Since she was already vetted and recently returned by an adopter, I offered to take her back to CPR so Tori would have a playmate her size. Besides, she's adorable and would be adopted quickly, I was just sure of it. Then the time came to hitch up the trailer. I had just spent two hours with U-Haul the day before getting this $400 monster thing installed. Well, getting it on the ball wasn't so much the problem as having all the lights working. We discovered that not only was the right brake light out on the trailer, but if you turned your headlights on, the other brake light turned off. But that was ok, after all, we at least had the side lights on the trailer working, unless the headlights were turned off.

We were losing daylight so I said a few prayers and down the road we went. It was probably the only time I've ever gone under 60 MPH down I-95 without there being an accident on the road. I refused to get out of the right lane, especially since I was lacking a driver side mirror. I found exit 5, and was very thankful to get off the Interstate without any incident. Daddy had agreed to help out with fixing the wiring, so I just had to get the trailer safely to Tybee. Not a big deal, so long as I could navigate through downtown and not get pulled over, especially since we didn't have a trailer tag.

Around 8 pm we made it safely to the marina. It took me a little bit to get the hang of backing up the small trailer, but I was pleased. Not bad for my first time, although I had helped back boats in and out at the boat ramps, but this was my first time on my own. I thought we were in the home stretch. I was wrong. The trailer seemed quite content to stay attached to my truck, not understanding that this was to be its resting place for a few days. The more it hung on, the more frustrated I got. I was wearing steel toe tennis shoes and kicking that trailer with all my might, trying to bully it into letting go of my truck. It didn't happen. I called my daddy. I was told I could wait an hour for him to get home or go and find the jack and a hammer on the property. I hung up and started walking around, kicking rocks in frustration, scaring the feral cats around the building. By some miracle, my friend managed to get it off. I'm not going to ask how; I don't care. It was almost 9 pm, I hadn't had dinner, and I was cranky. I also had two small dogs in the car who were really ready to be done with their travels as well.

I headed off the island, stopping to check our post office box and say hi to Mom and thank Dad for offering to fix the wiring. Mom realized I hadn't eaten, and feeling sorry for me, put her fries into a napkin for me to eat on the way home. They were really good. I dropped my friend off at his car, then started down the home stretch.

The arrival home was relatively quiet. The dogs had been taken care of by Sara earlier in the evening, so I just had to let them out for their last time of potty. I settled in to answer emails, picking and choosing as i really just wanted to throw myself in bed. I grabbed a quick hot shower, then curled up with my Hitchiker's Guide, read one chapter and fell out. That was until the storms came.

Did you know that many puppies and small dogs hate storms? It's not new information, but when the howls and screams woke me in the middle of the night along with pounding rain and thunder, I was reminded. I tried talking nicely to them, reassuring them it was going to be fine. Hannah and Vinnie took advantage of the situation, wrapping around my legs and leaning into me for extra attention, even though I knew full well they weren't afraid of storms. I gave out as many chew treats as I could find and trudged my way back to bed, hoping to sleep at least two hours.

Despite the weather being so beautiful today, I would give anything to be back in bed, if just for a couple hours.

Sunday Night at Barnes and Noble

I'm a geek. I have never had a problem admitting to that throughout my life. I taught myself computers, went to Georgia Tech during the summer in middle school, took Saturday classes, was in junior math my freshman year, exempted English in college, and would read four to five books a week for fun. As I've gotten older, I've found it's harder to find the free time, but somehow I do. Heck, I'd be in school again right now if it weren't for all those outstanding school loans (still waiting on my bailout).

Recently, I was sucked into the world of Sookie Stackhouse. Those of you who haven't read the books probably have at least seen or heard of her from the HBO series TrueBlood. There is no real reason for me to like her story so much. I grew up reading R.L. Stine and Christopher Pike, though was always turned off by vampire stories. I went to see Interview with a Vampire because it was a huge group outing in high school, but I had no interest in the Ann Rice books. But for whatever reason, I got religious about not missing an episode on Sunday nights. I actually went into withdrawal when the season ended. But I had rescue coming: my surrogate big sister got me the seven-book series for Christmas. It was great, except that now, instead of staying up until 1 or 2 am doing projects for the rescue, I was going into work hung over from reading till 3 or 4 am. I even ran out and bought book 8 in hardback and finished that in three nights and handed it off for someone else to read. I was once again a book addict.

For my birthday, two people gave me gift cards to B&N and Books-A-Million so I could purchase the next book in the series due out in March sometime. That's great, except now, I've gotten in the habit of reading at bedtime, and I had nothing to read. All my books that I love are still in storage at mom and dad's place because I have no real place to put them. (I usually read Pride and Prejudice, The Handmaid's Tale, and The Awakening once a year.) So after finishing my adoption around 6, I decided to head to B&N to spend one of my gift cards.

It takes me less time to get dressed and do makeup for an awards event than it does for me to pick out a book. I don't know why. Maybe it's a commitment thing: don't want to buy something and hate it. So I took myself down to the fiction aisle. It was swarming with new releases, mostly romance. Not really my thing. Maybe the reason I like the Stackhouse books is because of all the action. I do, afterall, prefer to see those when I go to the movies. So I started down the shelves. Just how many different times can you make a sequel off of Jane Austen novels? I think I counted 12, and they were from different authors. Sorry, but I just don't think anyone could capture me as much as she did for that genre. I kept browsing, squatting down, feeling the pain in my toes from my new boots (happily purchased on sale at Macy's last week), and trying not to care about the young girls squealing behind me about Twilight (yes, many of you are fans, but it just didn't do anything for me, sorry). I don't know what it was about these books, but everything was either a spin-off from a classic or something about a woman in her 40s or 60s trying to come to terms with life or get out of the murder of her husband/boyfriend/lover or husband/boyfriend's lover, etc. I could not find something that appealed to me: a 30-year-old animal lover, happy about not having children, living paycheck to paycheck, and rolling pennies for her Sonic habit (thanks Jake and Dan for contributing to my delinquency this evening - love those Mocha Java Chillers). So what author reaches out to my demographic? Apparently, none. But, I did find a nice compromise: Jimmy Buffett's Salty Piece of Land. What Parrothead couldn't be happy with that find? (But I was bummed to not find Swine Not.)

So I headed to the checkout, along the way finding a new release about a private investigator and his dog told from the viewpoint of the dog. Sounded good, and Stephen King gave a great review, so I grabbed it as well. But no trip to B&N would be complete without a run through of the Bargain section. This is where I pick up most of my dog and cat books, some great, some on sale for a reason. But there, completely out of place was one of my favorite classics. I debated... new mystery, or old friend? I was shopping on a gift card budget of $25, so I knew I couldn't have all three. (Besides, that's why there is half.com.) The geek in me won out, and I swapped out the tale of the pup for the classic The Complete Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

I trotted along to wait in line, happy to be spending someone else's money on my habit, and proud of myself for not grabbing a frappucino during my spree. That was until I got to the register to hand over my gift card and discovered I had grabbed the one for Books A Million instead. Sigh. I had already committed myself to the books, I couldn't wait to get home to read them, so I shelled out the $37 and sulked out the door. I found redemption at Sonic down the street as I DID have my giftcard to there. Nothing better than a good book and chocolate on a dreary Sunday night.

Community Service: It Runs in the Family

Most of you Tybee folks know my dad pretty well. For the rest of you, here's a small tale about Capt. Mike.

Growing up on Tybee, I was always known as "Mike's Daughter." It's something that I didn't really mind, but as I got older and traveled outside of the area, became quite a little quirk, and sometimes irritating that people couldn't remember my four-letter first name.

I chose to go to college six hours away from Savannah as I wanted my independence and to find myself. One weekend, I went on a camping trip to Cumberland Island. I had been gone for about six months at that point. On the ferry from St. Mary's over ot the island, I sat next to a guy who kept looking at me rather strangely. Finally, he asked where I was from. I said Tybee Island. Next question: "Are you Mike's daughter?" And I cannot count the number of times that has happened to me over the years, even once in an elevator in New York.

So why is my dad so well known? Well, the answer has changed a little bit over the years. He was originally known for being a troublemaker on Tybee, all because we were outsiders coming to start a business and increase tourism on Tybee. For the most part, that's water under the bridge. But my dad has always believed in giving back to the community. It's part of being raised a Catholic, something he instilled in me as a very young child. At Lent and Advent I was taught to save my change to give to children's charities. Mom and Dad would always match whatever I saved, making sure I knew they weren't just talk. I also worked in a soup kitchen, did other activities with the Girl Scouts, and later coached soccer for the YMCA as my dad had done for my brother, my sister, and me.

Once we moved permanently to Tybee, Daddy got involved with the Tybee Beautification Association, which meant I would, too - even if it did lead to my getting eaten alive by fire ants to discover I was actually allergic to them and had to have a note from my doctor to allow me to wear pants to school to cover my badly eaten legs. (From then on out, I always opted for the back river assignments instead of the dunes.) From there, he partnered with the county to take out underprivileged youth on our dolphin tours (he was even named Chatham County Citizen of the Year for that). Years later, Daddy got involved with the Shriners. He's always loved working with kids, and he's always believed in helping them as much as he can. He loves being able to tell the stories about the kids they are helping. In fact, I have a young cousin who is currently going through one of the Shrine's hospitals up north. Daddy keeps good tabs on her.

But yesterday, I got a surge of pride during my Leadership Savannah visit to the Savannah Impact Program (SIP). I never knew anything about this program. I had seen the building as I passed it on Drayton, but never thought much about it. Yesterday, I learned that one of their programs is to take in juvenile offenders and try to change their lives around. One of the ways is through a summer enrichment program. I was impressed with the presentation, and had made a mental note to talk to the guy afterward about having him meet up with my dad since we used to work with these programs regularly. But apparently, there was no need. A few moments later, I got to hear about how much wonderful support they get from Capt. Mike out on Tybee. A few laughs went up in the room, and I proudly raised my hand to say I was Mike's daughter.

I admit, I like that I have a name for myself now, and I chuckle to hear my mom tell me stories of him being asked if he's Lisa's dad. (Mom did make a comment last night about how "Poor ole mom is just in the background." We'll have to work on that I guess.) But times like that, I'm more than happy to sit back, and smile, and know that I am my father's daughter.

Please Understand, I'm Just a Volunteer

Apparently, it's a state secret that I don't get paid for my work with Coastal Pet Rescue. Well, it's true. I'm just a volunteer. Granted, I put in around 80 hours a week, but I do work a full-time job, Monday through Friday, 9 to 5 as well. But that doesn't stop my phone from blowing up or emails piling up with people demanding a response and getting irritated when I don't reply immediately.

Take today for instance. I was unavailable all day for Leadership Savannah. I tried to handle things as best I could via text message, but that wasn't enough. I actually had several irate voicemails on my phone for not calling people back immediately. I forwarded messages to our vice president who stepped in for me as best she could. But it was frustrating to say the least.

Even as a volunteer, I'm on call pretty much 24/7. That really puts a crimp in my social life, if I had one. My cell phone is pretty much an electronic leash. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do, but with the good comes a lot of emotional heartache, much of which I'm forced to keep to myself in order to keep people calm and situations under control. But it doesn't mean I don't feel hurt. Just ask my vet how badly I feel, or how many times they have left me in a room to cry by myself. A long time ago, I had a teddy bear, Homer, that I cried into anytime something happened. Days like today I miss having him, but he pretty much "died" when I was 24 after soaking my tears since 5th grade.

Yes, this is the life I chose for myself, I get that. I just wish people could have a little patience and understand that I don't have all the answers, I can't solve every single problem; I'm just a volunteer.

I Think I'm Related to Murphy

I left work today right at 5:00 pm. It is now 10:21 pm, and I'm just now sitting down to catch a breath. I had planned to be home hours ago, but as we all know, seldom do things in Lisa Land go according to plan.

I arrived home at 5:25, just in time to greet Sara, my Wednesday evening ranch hand. It has been so great having ranch hands for the last month. I'm actually in bed before midnight most nights as opposed to 2 am. We walked in the house and it hit me: I forgot to pick up Herbie from the vet on the way home. So back out I went. I arrived at the vet, luckily only a couple miles away, only to remember I was having a returned dog dropped off between 5:30 and 6. I shrugged and figured Sara would call me if there was a problem.

We left the vet almost right at six, along with some new meds for my vocally-endowed Poodle, who I might add has been here at the ranch since July 7th. We pulled in the drive just as soon as the other drop off. I ran inside, put Herbie up, ran out, grabbed Moo, found an empty kennel, and then set about packing the truck to relocate two foster pets to new foster homes. At 6:40 we were on the road to Hinesville. We made good time, leaving at just 7:15 to head to the other foster home on Isle of Hope.

I just about nailed my time frame at 8:15. Still not as good as our bus driver to Atlanta last week, but pretty darn good for me. I pulled into the driveway, got out of the truck, and heard a hissing sound. I wasn't sure exactly where it was coming from, so I went and got the dog out of her travel kennel and set to introduce her to her new foster brother. In doing so, I walked right past my truck again, and it hit me: my tire was going flat.

It's now 36 degrees, almost 8:30 at night. But luckily, I was at someone's home. I called Geico roadside assistance. I feel like I should know the voices on the other line by first name as often as I seem to call them. I relayed the problem, agreed that yes, I've had some bad luck with tires the last few months, and waited for Gordon's to arrive in 30 minutes or less (would have been great if they had a deal with Domino's as I was still hungry but now worried about my truck). We went inside to do the foster paperwork and see how the pups got along. About 9 pm, the tow truck showed up. I unlocked the cap from inside the car for him to access the spare tire. I stood shivering, but not balking as I've done this at least a dozen times before. He laughed and told me to go inside, he'd knock when it was ready. About 9:30, we heard a noise. I looked out the window to see the tow truck... driving off. I went outside, and sure enough, he drove around the block then off the isle. Well, at least my spare (which is a full size) was on the truck. Oh wait, the spare was also flat. Nice. I said my goodbyes to the pups and foster mom and limped on down to the BP. I found three quarters, shoved them in the air provider, then proceeded to bear through the chilly winds and inflate the tire, knowing that I was still a good half hour away from home.

I got in the truck, shook my head, and called Cat. Probably the only other person I know who is still up at this hour and could help me find some amusement in the evening. I was driving down Middleground when she realized I still wasn't home yet. It was almost 10 pm. I still had to get home, get another crate out of the shed and set it up to bring in the extra hounds that normally sleep outdoors. I already had a litter of puppies in the bathroom, and crates stacked in the kitchen. The last place left was the living room, which I had just reclaimed two days ago for the first time in about five months. Well, I don't really use the couches anyways, especially since one is broken in the middle.

So here I am, reflecting in my last moments of my 20s, drinking a Coke, and remembering that I have to be up at 5 am to do a 6:30 am appearance on WJCL's morning show. I think dinner is a lost cause at this point; maybe there will be better luck with breakfast.

There's Just Something about Savannah

To anyone who hasn't lived here, it's hard to explain, sometimes, the reasons so many people never leave. I left for a couple of years of college, and ended up right back. I often thought of moving down to Florida (would always be south or west, never north), but never did. But my lunchtime today is a big reason why.

It's cold today. No doubt about it. I hate cold, that's why I live here. All I have thought about since I got to work is hot cocoa (which I grabbed at McDonald's after fueling up this morning) and hot food. I saw someone mention chili on Facebook, and of course, now I wanted some. I usually head to Wendy's. The chili is good, but most of all, fits my budget. I thought it might be nice to have an alternative, so I called Bunny to see what Cha-Bella had soup-wise. I wasn't 100% that's what I wanted, but why not give the place a chance, after all, they are hosting my fabulous birthday suaree this Sunday (6 to 8 pm, Trainwrecks go on at 7 pm, in case you missed the event notification).

I arrived at Cha-Bella and was immediately greeted with a hug, not from Bunny but Susie, the young blond who had often been my server at New South Cafe, back when they were conveniently located near my office. I just adore Susie. I always tried to sit at her tables if I ever took anyone there. She always has a smile, speaks well, gets the orders right, and takes excellent care of her tables. So seeing her just made the lunch all the more special.

Bunny came to greet me, and without missing a beat, asked me for a media contact. Apparently, Cha-Bella was going to be hosting 30 students for Junior Achievement this afternoon, but nothing was sent out to the media. I whipped out my cell phone like I was Inspector Gadget and clicked the speed dial to WJCL. Britt Middleton answered the phone. I identified myself and got a very warm greeting. I explained what was going on, then handed the phone to Bunny. She handed it back, Britt thanked me for the heads up and hung up. I've only done a couple stories with her, but she talked to me as if we were old friends. I just love that feeling. Plus, it's kinda cool to think I have connections to help someone who has helped me out so much. I often feel like low lady on the totem pole, always asking for help for the puppers (and kitters, too).

I followed Bunny to her office and spent my lunch with her, catching up like good girlfriends do, talking about my birthday party and getting older. She got a phone call as well, from another person I knew pretty well. It was a surprise to him, so she ended up handing me her cell phone so I could catch up a little bit. I don't know if they ever had the conversation he intended as she had to run to finish a catering proposal.

The time finally came for me to return to work. But of course, as we were leaving, we saw another friend by the fire. We walked over, and Brian greeted me with a kiss on the a cheek, and a hug, wishing me a happy birthday. That just made my day! Of course, he asked about the puppies (kitties are implied, though I never have them at my house) as well, as it is only polite since that is how everyone knows me.

I said my goodbyes and skipped the five blocks to my truck. It was cold, but I was surrounded in warm wishes from good friends. And that, folks, is why I keep living in Savannah.

Pet Rescue Barbie

It seems I have a reputation for loving pets. But when Dutch Dooley called a couple weeks ago to schedule me for an appearance on Kix, it was his greeting that made me laugh. Instead of saying, "Hi, Lisa," I got, "Is this Pet Rescue Barbie?" Apparently, someone had been doing his research.

The Barbie thing goes back to high school. Those who knew me then will remember my hair came all the way down my backside and was nearly see-through blonde from working every day in the sun at the marina. In retaliation, when I got to college, I cut it to just above my shoulders and dyed it strawberry blonde. It was supposed to wash out in 28 washes, but took 4 years.

For a few years, I shed the Barbie image. I was not as skinny as I had been, and working inside meant no more year-round tan. But as I got into pet rescue, it came back. First, from a 60-year-old woman I met down in Florida when I was doing a pet rescue transport. She laughed when she saw me drive up. Apparently, I was the youngest person she had ever met doing these things, and she was amazed. I had lost a lot of weight then, and spent a bit of time at the pool in my apartment complex. She said something to the effect of "what's a Barbie doll like you doing out here so early on a Saturday morning?" I don't remember her name, but I can clearly remember the 6 toy poodles and shih tzus we piled into my car for the ride to SC to meet the next hand-off.

On a local message board, I became known as the Pet Chick. I took no offense, and actually called myself that quite a bit in conversations. But then, later that year, an email circulated around, advertising the great new K-9 Rescue Barbie. And thus, Pet Rescue Barbie came to life.

So here's to our sixth anniversary tomorrow (and my 30th birthday).


K-9 Rescue Barbie

This Christmas season, give the latest, hottest new Barbie -- K-9 Rescue Barbie. She comes with her own Ford Aerostar van, and various size dog crates inside. She has a cell phone that's barely working due to over use and underpayment.

Barbie herself is decked out in jeans, grungy athletic shoes, and a t-shirt that says "Dogs are Better Than Any Other Living Thing on Earth". She comes with a road atlas of every town and state in all of North America, and a compass on the dashboard of the van. She also has a map of every McDonald's in the world.

Optional is the special Rescue Dog Barbie laptop computer with the names and addresses of every other dog rescue person on earth, in case she gets somewhere and a contact fails to show up.

Running buddy, "Lucky", the three-legged, blind Shih Tzu doll is available for an additional $49.95.

For $89.95, you can complete the set with "Pissed off husband at home, Ken," and the various foster dogs at $20 each.

Prices for accessories are:

* Fake snow falling on Barbie's van: $12.95
* Flat tire for Barbie's van: (see Barbie's Road Service")
* Barbie's First Aid Kit: (human): $11.75, (canine): $69.50
* Barbie's Speeding Ticket: $95 (Mississippi--$195)
* Barbie's coat-that-she-had-to-buy-in-Minnesota: $85
* Barbie's Vet Bill for Lucky in Vaughn, New Mexico: $63.45
* Barbie's contact, Rhonda, who she had to give gas money to in Mesa Verde,Texas: $20
* Barbie's bill to get her contact, Luis, out of jail in Bakersfield, California: $500
* Barbie's bill to get Luis's dogs out of the pound in Bakersfield, California: $265
* Barbie's hotel/kennel bill in Laughlin, Nevada, while she waits for her contact:$532
* Barbie's overalls that she has to buy while in Minden, Nebraska, hunting down lost coonhounds: $49.95
* Pizza for Barbie's suspicious looking hitch-hiker with sick puppy: $15
* Vet bill for hitch-hikers sick puppy in Des Moines, Iowa: $143.29
* Barbie's doggie wheelchair for "Klause" the rescue dachshund in Leavenworth, Kansas: $143
* And Barbie's van detailing/fumigation from hauling parvo/kennel cough puppies: $187
* Barbie's resume to get new job when she gets home from run: $29.95

And let us not forget her sister doll - Cat Rescue Barbie, who comes with
the same equipment, (substitute "cat" for "dog"), also:

* Folding ladder in vehicle: $129.95
* Have-a-heart trap: $29.95
* Cans of tuna for baiting trap: $11.95
* Long handled fishing net: $39.95
* Case of Simple Solution: $259.95
* Black light (to detect cat urine): $29.95
* Tee shirt that says "The More I Know About Men, The More I Love My Cat" $19.95
* Running buddy "Jeep" - 3-legged tailless cat named after vehicle that claimed her missing appendages: $89.95
* Vet bill for Jeep $397.95
* Friend Edith, 87-year-old feral colony feeder, who calls begging favors when her arthritis acts up and she can't get out. $59.95
* Food for Edith's colony cats (after all, Edith is on Social Security) $139.95
* Friend Margie, do-gooder with pristine home and one spoiled cat, whose idea of being a rescuer is to pick up strays and take them to Barbie for rehab, vetting, fostering, and placement. $89.95
* Vet bills for Margie's rescues $892.95
* Mother Sadie, who calls weekly to ask Barbie when she is going to get rid of all those smelly cats and give her some grandchildren already $89.95 (telephone extra)
* Shrink who talks Barbie out of killing above-mentioned persons each week $500
* Vet who makes house calls and doesn't blink at unannounced visits and odd-hour consultations: *priceless*

The Story of Me

There is nothing quite like growing up with the dream of changing the world. I often thought people were born leaders or had a destiny to make an impact. I never thought of myself as one of those people.

As a child, I spent my days outside, climbing trees, fishing in the creeks, camping, and almost anything involving the outdoors. Not atypical for a Southern tomboy growing up on Tybee Island, a small seaside suburb of Savannah. I was the youngest of four children, with a fairly large gap in ages, my siblings all being 11 and 14 years older than me. My parents both worked corporate jobs that kept them away from home, and subsequently me, for a large portion of the time. So I grew very close to my pets, confiding in them my hopes and fears, all the things I was afraid to tell anyone, or at least didn't think anyone had the time or interest to listen.

My first dog, Peaches, ran into our house on Thanksgiving when I was in second grade. She was a mutt, part Poodle, part everything else. She was filthy but friendly and decided this should be her home. Against my mom's protests, my dad decreed she could stay, and my oldest sister, Sandra, and I named her Peaches.

Back then, we didn't know much about spaying and neutering. I wasn't home to see Bob Barker preach about spaying and neutering in between his duty as host of “The Price Is Right”. I often wished he had been talking about people and not just pets. So a couple months later, Peaches had a litter of nine puppies. Four months later, she was hit by a car, leaving us to care for the litter and find homes for them all. And thus began my journey into animal rescue.

I honestly don't believe anyone goes into rescue on purpose. For me, it was just a habit. After the puppies, we took in another dog, Shadow, that I found discarded into a dumpster as a puppy. Shortly thereafter, Daddy brought home Bandit, an orphaned baby raccoon. I still harbor ill feelings for the damage she brought to my favorite teddy bear and having to sleep in a baseball cap since she loved to play with my hair while I slept. And then there was the never-ending procession of stray and feral cats that found their way to our home on Tybee. I went off to college and took care of strays here and there, but it wasn't until I got married that I realized I needed to do something.

I made the mistake of marrying young. I was happy that I had waited until after college, something that I wanted to be sure I accomplished for myself. My family didn't have the money to put me through school, so that I would qualify for scholarships. It meant a tremendous amount to me to be able to say I went to college for me, not because it was what was expected or pushed, but because it was what I wanted. But while I made great decisions with regard to my education, I continually floundered in my personal life. I was too young to know what was best for me, and married the first person that offered me a life I thought I wanted.

I found myself incredibly miserable. I was only 23. I had been cut off from most of my friends, I never saw my parents, and spent many nights crying myself to sleep. But what I rediscovered was my love for animals. I took to rescuing more and more, taking them to the vet and finding them homes. I started a website to get the word out about the homeless pets. In January 2003, I started the paperwork to make Coastal Pet Rescue (CPR) a formal organization, at the advice of my veterinarian, Dr. Pam Fandrich. On February 5th, the incorporation papers were signed, and CPR officially had the same birthday as me.

It was amazing to me to see CPR take off like it did. I now had an outlet outside of my marriage that made me happy, but most importantly, gave me the reason to get out of bed in the morning, something I had lacked for most of the previous year. I met other women through the rescue, women who had stories similar to mine and, like me, had managed to find themselves again. I gained the strength I needed, and that October, left in the middle of the night to start a new life.

For the next two years, I lived out of a suitcase, a short while out of my SUV, and moved four times. But all the while, I never let go of CPR.
Even on the darkest days, when I thought it would be easiest to pack the truck and leave town, I stayed because of my commitment to rescue. I came to know some fantastic people and the support for my organization grew. Marjorie Young of Carriage Trade PR became a mentor, teaching me the ropes of public relations to increase our support. And my parents, who had been absent from my life through most of my marriage, helped me to purchase a place big enough for me and the dogs I so desperately wanted to save.

I discovered there was still so much more I needed to know. Coastal Pet Rescue was no longer just a hobby, it had become a business. I was working a full-time job and spending 60 plus hours a week keeping CPR afloat, but decided I really needed to go back to school. I enrolled in the Humane Leadership bachelor degree program through Duquesne University. The program was in partnership with the Humane Society of the United States, and I would be taught by people actually in the fields of animal welfare and business administration. I was even lucky enough to be in class during the Michael Vick investigation, with my instructor being the lead veterinary forensics investigator. The more classes I took, the stronger CPR became. And, over time, the better leader I became as well.

I graduated the program in December 2007, Magna Cum Laude. My parents flew me to Pittsburgh to walk in the graduation ceremony while they stayed home at Tybee. Even in the 27 degree weather, I could feel the warm thoughts and support from home.

As I said earlier, I never believed I was a leader, but something happened with Coastal Pet Rescue. In 2005, I appeared in TIME magazine, was named the Jiffy Lube Heart on Wheels national winner, and featured on CNN.com. Awards followed in 2006, as I was named to the top ten Purina Pro Plan Rally to Rescue Ambassadors, received a certificate of recognition from the U.S. Department of Agriculture, had a flag flown over the US Capitol by Congressman Jack Kingston, and was named to the REAL Hot 100 list. Local recognitions came in 2007, such as the Top Ten Working Women of Savannah, eWomenNetwork Emerging Leader of the Year finalist, Hands on Georgia Gallery of Service, and WGNU's Women Inspiring Women. I was named a Savannah Hero by the Georgia Equality Association and CPR was named as one of the top five non-profit organizations changing the world by South Magazine in 2008. I even became an instructor for the Red Cross's Pet First Aid and CPR classes and redeveloped the curriculum.

Today, I take pride in being known as a leader. I like being able to mentor the young girls that volunteer with us, helping them to see that their small actions can grow to be something much larger. There are always people around that want to tell me there are better ways to spend my time, that I'm not on the right path. But then there are all the others that, time and again, help to reaffirm the path I've chosen, even if it hasn't been smooth sailing all along.

Making Tough Decisions

The reason we have the "one at a time" in our tagline is because realistically, we can't save them all. But it won't stop us from trying to save the ones we can.

It was nearly 9 pm when I got home from my board meeting last night. Ryan was in the house, having already bathed all but one puppy with dish soap to kill the fleas. They had been fed and most were curled up together behind my toilet. Not exactly the place I would have chosen, but they felt safe in their little refuge. One puppy was still left in a box. You could see the fleas running all through his white fur. One eye had some discharge, and his gums were pale. He was half the size of his siblings, most definitely the runt. He made a little whimper, not much, but just enough to say he wasn't sure what was going on but knew he had no control. I figured from the bloated bellies of the other puppies that he was suffering from hookworms and roundworms on the inside and all the flea bites weren't helping either. I put him back then ran outside to finish packing Betty's van for the expo so they could get on their way back home to the islands.

I came back inside and decided to go ahead and bathe the little one. I already felt like he wouldn't make it through the night, but decided to at least try and make him as comfortable as possible. I put him under the water and he began to drink just as fast as his tiny tongue would let him. We finished the bath. I warmed some puppy milk for him and we dropper fed him. He finally got the idea and decided he could take it from the bowl himself. It was now 10 pm and I had so much left to do for the expo. I sent Ryan home to get some rest since he would have to be up at 4 am. His boss isn't near as forgiving as mine if I come in groggy. Of course, that's the biggest reason I didn't go forward with my acceptance to the Coast Guard Academy.

I went about my evening, finishing prep, refilling water bowls, and checking on little Rybo every 30 minutes. He seemed to be sleeping fine, as all the other puppies were. I put him in a cage by himself with a big fluffy blanket and left him water and puppy milk just in case he wanted more. I checked on him again before I crawled into bed at 1:20 am. All seemed to be well.

The first wake up call was at 3:48. Not uncommon with puppies. I got up, and Rybo had finished off the milk I left him. I picked him up, swaddled in a small towel, and held him against my heart, knowing that often comforts lonely puppies. In 20 minutes he was back asleep. I put him down and walked out of the bathroom, stepped over a few dogs stretched outside the door, and crawled back into my bed for a cat nap.

The next wake up call came at 6:30. I wrestled with myself about getting out of my warm bed into the cold hallway since the windows and doors only block the winter air but don't keep it out completely. At 6:50 I decided to get up and go check on him. This time, he was squealing. I picked him up and held him again. It seemed to help. I warmed up some more milk and put it down in his crate then put him back in. He was quiet for a few minutes. I walked to the bedroom and decided to go ahead and start my day since sleep was just not going to be possible now. I took my kids outside to do their thing, then let two more of the bigger dogs out. It was now almost 7:30. I went back in, and knew something was wrong. He was in the corner of his crate, trying desperately to get out. I went to pick him up, and that's when it all started going downhill. For the next thirty minutes I watched the puppy version of the Exorcist while I waited for the vet's office to open.

I knew it was my responsibility to make the decision in his best interest. He was suffering, and I had no idea how long this had been going on before I got him or how it would affect him later if we pulled him through once. I got ahold of Crossroad Animal Hospital. They've been my personal vet for nine years and have treated our CPR pets for six. I told them I just needed to come in and have a puppy put to sleep as soon as possible. I have enough of a relationship with them that they understand these decisions are not reached lightly and must be urgent if I have. I arrived a few minutes before 9, gave a very quick rundown, and off they were with little Rybo to ease his suffering and send him to the rainbow bridge.

Driving to work wasn't easy. I hurt for Rybo, but I was still so angry that someone let this happen. I understand it's part of the circle of life, but it never gets easier the more I do it. I pulled out my camera and looked at his pictures I shot last night. I hope he has finally found some peace.

Just Another Night

Dear Mom,

People suck. I know you raised me to not use such language, and you sent me to parochial schools to have a stronger vocabulary. But tonight, I truly have no more words to use.

It was just another day. Go to work, run by vet's office to pick up a dog, run home, drop her off, head to a board meeting, then come home to finish up everything for our three-day event. Except that in the midst of all this, I had a phone call to take in eight five-week-old beagle puppies. Just what I need. But when I heard the story, there was no way I could say no.

The phone call came from Ryan, a young soldier who not only serves his country well but also gives free time to help out with the dogs. In true form, he starts out with, "I'm really sorry to bother ya, but I need your help." As it turns out, one of his soldiers woke up this morning, walked out the door, and found a cardboard box on his doorstep. He went to go throw it away... until he heard whimpers, and discovered eight young puppies. Keep in mind the weather was in the very, very low 20s last night, and all these puppies had to keep them warm was each other and a dirty, flea infested stuffed teddy bear the heartless jerk left with them.

So Ryan and I spent a couple of hours this evening bathing puppies, force feeding the runt some puppy milk, and working to keep them in the best condition possible until we can get to the vet in the am. The good news is, despite their being cast out for no fault of their own, they are still eager to held, to play, to be part of a loving family someday.

So sorry, Mom. I love you, and I will promise to do better, but people suck.

Lisa the Rescuer

I am very proud to say that I did watch history today. I enjoyed sharing the experience with my other friends on Facebook. But as I was just driving back home tonight, at yet another late hour due to rescue stuff, my mind drifted back to the whole Joe the Plumber thing. So it made me think about Lisa the Rescuer.

In just two weeks, I will be 30. Like most of my friends, I'm still figuring out where I'll go in life. I'm well educated, with three college degrees, but can't find a job to pay me my worth, or at least what I was told I would be worth with higher education. I have crap for health insurance, which I would love to cancel since they won't pay any of my medical bills but yet if I do cancel, no other company will insure me. What's the purpose of health insurance again? I struggle each month to pay the bills and have to make the choices of which can be a few days late over another. No, it's not the best way to live, but for most of my friends in similar situations, it's life. Just last week I tried to call one of my student loan holders to get a deferment because I couldn't make the payments. I was told it would be a $50 charge to apply for it. The payment was $65 a month. If I don't have the payment to make each month, how in the world would I have the funds for an application fee? What sense does that make? Do they know how hard it is to grocery shop on $20 a month? It's a darn good thing I learned to love peanut butter and honey sandwiches as a Girl Scout. Oh, wait, I can't buy peanut butter either because its contaminated now. I live in a house that is mostly cold because the walls and windows are paper thin, the roof leaks in places, and my shed has tarps on it since it is mostly rotted through but keeps our rescue supplies locked safely. (The floor is worthless, too, but that's partly the dogs' doing.) But for now, I at least still have a home. I find myself scrambling for odd jobs each month just to pick up a little more to make it by. Sometimes I do, others I don't. I know the consequences, but little choice exists.

President Obama has called for Americans to give more of themselves and give back to the community. Great idea, except how can people be expected to do that if they have to pick up multiple jobs to make ends meet? Or jobs with odd or long hours? We lost so many volunteers in the last year that had to relocate for a better job or take a second job. I myself would love to be able to quit my job if I could figure out how to make it by and do the rescue full time. It's my passion, and it does provide a great service to the community, but the reality is that community service doesn't keep the electricity on and the mortgage paid.

I recognize that there is no easy answer or quick fix. I just want to feel like those of us in our late 20s/early 30s that are still searching for our way will be considered just as much as the Joe the Plumbers or youths of America. I'm just hopeful there will be a voice to the President's ear for those of us in between.

Respect My Sanity, Please

There is a reason we have a voicemail service for the rescue. Yet, people, whom I've yet to uncover, think it is perfectly fine to give out my cell phone number to people I don't know. And it's never Ed McMahon who wants to give me a million dollars.

My day started this morning at 4:30 am as I had to do my media appearance with WJCL. Add to the fact that I despise cold weather and I wasn't exactly a ray of sunshine. I normally have a rule that I don't answer my cell phone from phone numbers I don't recognize simply because they are usually calls that are going to want me to solve a problem without any regard to my personal life. Sure enough, I got one as I was leaving home at 8:30 am.

Phone vibrates. Phone number looks familiar. I answer it. "Hello?"

"Hi this is [name withheld to protect the inconsiderate]."

Silence. Note to self: be better about sticking to the rules.

On the other end, the voice perks up, almost smiling. "I hear you like huskies?"

Silence.

"I'm pregant and I have these two huskies..." She was saying a bit more but all I heard was "I need you to take care of my dogs because I didn't have the forethought to pick breeds that would be easier to manage when I wanted to start a human family but they were so cute as puppies I just didn't care."

"We're full right now," I said, as dry as possible.

"But I'm pregnant."

"We're not taking any more dogs in until mid-February," I said.

Smile gone, rudeness sets in, "You're kiding me!" I could tell she was incredibly inconvenience. I mean really, people just can't have a baby and a dog, that's just preposterous.

"Nope," now just out cold, and irritated, and I was trying to get to work.

"Well, will you give me the number to someone who will?"

"You can look up other rescues online or try the humane society."

"Fine," and then click.

Yes, this is how people are to me. I'm supposed to solve every problem for every person if it involves a pet. Now don't get me wrong, I'm happy to take the phone calls from concerned individuals about dogs being left tethered or kittens living under a house. But if you know me personally, have some respect for my sanity and call me first and ask my permission to give out my number. Otherwise, if I find out who you are, I may give yours to every telemarketing agency I can find.

Another Night of Heartbreak

The phone call came at 9:32 pm. All I had to do was look at the caller id and know what was coming. I have over 300 numbers stored in my phone, so I know who I have to answer and who I can call back later. This was one I had to take.

I answered, very softly, and the response was just the same. She really didn't have to tell me, but Dr. Hassan is an incredible vet and a kindred spirit. She gets what we are doing, and what it puts us through in the process. Add to the fact that she's been sick and gave up her time to go in and check on our puppies tonight, you see that she has just as much compassion as we. It was a short conversation. No need to rehash what I had just heard a little over 24 hours ago. Sonny had gone off to join his brother at the Rainbow Bridge.

Just a couple hours ago, I had gone down to Wendy's for some chili and a frosty to read my book. I needed a little down time and sitting here wasn't going to let me clear my head. Reading engrosses me in something else so I can't focus on all my responsibilities. I needed that tonight. But something in me told me when it was time to go home, and sure enough, not even ten minutes later is when the phone call came. Why can't I be this predictable with the winning lottery numbers?

I felt incredibly sick when I hung up the phone. Let's face it, Wendy's food isn't known for its nutritional value, and my constant up and down emotions for the last four days isn't helping either. What I wouldn't give right now for some hot cocoa and warm, snuggly pajamas. I don't know why, but those always made me feel better when I was a kid. I guess that's one of the pitfalls of living alone: times like this, when you need a hug or comforting, you're on your own to pick yourself back up. I've done it plenty of times before, I know I will again. But for tonight, I'll just hold the last puppy in my arms, saying my prayers of thanks that he didn't fall ill and is still well enough to chew his toys, dance on his back legs and pee in my lap from excitement.

We Are Changing Lives

By now, most of you know what a bummer of a day I had yesterday. So my trip to check our post office today brought a little more sunshine to me.

I only get out there about twice a month to check it, so our mail sometimes accumulates. I've gotten used to not getting any donation checks but every few months. So imagine my surprise to get three today, two of which were from previous adopters.

In 2003, the first year Coastal Pet Rescue was official, I took a senior Cocker Spaniel in. Now, at this very moment, I'm having trouble remembering if I got her off the street or from someone, but I can remember she's one of the two dogs responsible for chewing up the foot board of my cherry oak bed which to this day still has not been repaired. I ended up adopting Honey to a young military couple. They vowed they would take her with them wherever they moved to. They did. I remember getting the email when she passed a year or so ago. So it was a surprise to open up my mailbox today and find a $50 donation and a letter with photos:

Lisa & Coastal Pet Rescue,

This holiday season we just wanted to thank you once again for rescuing Honey back in 2003. She brought us much joy while she was with us. Even though she has passed away we still love our Honey Bunny very much. This holiday we would like to make a small donation in memory of Honey Bunny. We know it's hard to find a loving home for older dogs like Honey so we hope that this will help support an older dog while he/she waits for their forever home.

Sincerely,

Aaron & Mandy

It's hard to believe that all these years later, this family is still thinking of us, but it really makes me feel so much better. I'm often criticized for taking animals that are older, have medical issues, or need a lot of care because "it takes away from animals that are perfectly healthy and will be euthanized." I got news for those folks: I've yet in nine years to take in a stray pet or one from animal control that was perfectly healthy. So you go about doing things your way, and I'll go about doing things mine. (Sorry, it's all the sugar from my M&M McFlurry talking.)

My next envelope was a $100 donation from an adopter two years ago. My sweet Deuce I could never, ever forget. We were in Garden City trying to trap a mom that had recently had puppies. Three of us had been working on this individually for a couple of weeks, and decided to try a teamwork approach. It was not a fabulous neighborhood, and people were anything but friendly but at least they weren't bothering us. We had canned food and slip leads and comfortable tennis shoes for the adventure as most of where we were may as well have been a protected jungle. About two hours after we were there, a yellow lab male found us. He was skinny, very skinny, and incredibly friendly. He followed us everywhere. I decided I could spare a can of food for him. He devoured it. I scratched his head and told him to go find his home, but he wouldn't leave us. Two hours later we decided it was time to pack it in. I opened up my truck door to put my supplies back, and there he was, trying to get in the truck. I have to say, it was a first. He was turning himself over for rescue. Wanting to do things the legal way, I decided I would turn him over to animal control and mark him to be pulled out in five days. Easier said then done.

On the thirty minute ride to animal control, this dog sat with his head my shoulder the entire way. They always seem to know a sucker when they find one. So when we finally arrived, I left him in the truck. It was a Sunday afternoon, only one person at the animal control shelter. I walked in and asked her, "Hypothetically, if I find a dog, can I just report it instead of turning it in to the shelter?" She laughed and said yes. I agreed he would not be put up for adoption for ten days, but I knew no one would come for him, and no one ever did.

I named my newest rescue Deuce. I'm sure I had a reason for it, but at this moment, I don't recall. I do remember that his first day home alone, he took down two of my blinds, knocked over my speakers, and drooled all over the front door (I can pinpoint damages in my home like most people can scars on their body). After that, we went to crating. He was already housebroken and as loyal as a lab could ever be. I was getting attached; this dog followed my every move, was incredibly well behaved, and got along well with Hannah and DaVinci. But I resolved that I would just wait until the right home came along. And it finally did. We drove Deuce to a lovely home on Distant Island, SC. He immediately took to the couple, making himself right at home. I couldn't blame him; they were on deep water, had windows all the way down the backside of the house so they could enjoy the view. When we walked outside and he got loose from the leash, he immediately ran to the husband to plead his case for adoption. It worked.

I still keep in touch with them and get regular updates. Many friends of their family sent us donations after the adoption to honor the memory of the lab they lost just prior to adopting Deuce. So to get their donation check with a sticky note that read "THANK YOU for finding him for us!!!" today was just a boost I needed.

The Rainbow Bridge

There is no denying that running the rescue can take a high emotional toll some days. Today was definitely one of them. We had to put two puppies from a litter of four in the ER vet on Saturday. They stayed overnight as well as Sunday night. I was there a little after 7 am to pick them up and transfer them to our regular vet. A few hours later, we were sending in one more puppy as well. We have been through this process before. We know the chances we take, but we always try to at least take a chance.

My mind is such a flutter tonight. I've gotten to know these puppies pretty well over the last few weeks. They were left behind because a neglegent owner left her unspayed dog with someone who let her get pregnant then dumped her and the puppies at the shelter. The owner came back for the mom, but left the pups. They were about six weeks old. They sat in the shelter for a week before that, and then sat two days afterwards until I was able to get them. It seems like a short period, but that's all it takes to contract deadly diseases.

Right now, I want so badly to have someone to blame. When I walked into the vet's office after work tonight, I didn't feel good. I could just sense it wasn't right. And I was correct. I was walked back and asked to make a decision on him. I hate being the one to make those decisions, but that's what I've been doing the last six years. Before me was a puppy I didn't know. Just a few days before, he had been bouncing around with his brothers, eating at my shoe laces and attaching himself to my pants leg as I tried to walk. But this puppy before me was not him. He was already gone. I couldn't let what was left continue to suffer. I turned towards the wall, banged my fist once, and just let the tears flow. It's a rare thing to see me cry. I pride myself on being strong. But in that dark hallway, looking through the door at my puppies, I just filled with anger and extreme sadness. The vet techs gave me my time as I stared. I couldn't stop and I couldn't stop the tears. Finally I told them to let him go. I was escorted to an exam room to wait and they closed the door behind me. I put my head in my hands and just continued to cry, alone. I would have to compose myself to call his adoptive family and tell them the news. But for now, I needed my time to grieve.

Dr. Sheller came in to talk to me. She was soft in her tone, told me about cases she had had before. I know the statistics, I know the survival rate is not always good. I lost six puppies last year, and I remember every single one of them. But it never gets easier. We talked about the remaining two, how one had improved so much, he tried to remove the catheter himself. The other was doing well but not as good as they wanted him to do. She wanted them to both stay overnight.

I walked out in silence. Sweet Amy at the front desk made a small gesture that she was sorry but didn't say anything. Most animal lovers never have to. We all love our pets and understand how terrible we would feel if it was one of ours. I grabbed my paperwork, got in the truck, and headed home.

I don't even remember the drive home, but I made it. It took me nearly two hours to do the feedings and medicines and cleanings tonight, something that usually takes half that. I finished and finally called all the families to update them on their puppies. I saved the worst for last. It was probably the hardest phone call I've ever had to make, and yet the gentleman was so kind to me. I was very calm and collected, but I'm sure he could hear a tint of sadness in my voice. I apologized profusely, but I really didn't know what more I could say. As I had been told at the vet's office, we did all that we could, we just can't save them all.

--- Rainbow Bridge ---

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together.

Author Unknown


--- The Reason ---

I would've died that day if not for you.

I would've given up on life if not for your kind eyes.
I would've used my teeth in fear if not for your gentle hands.
I would have left this life believing that all humans don't care
Believing there is no such thing as fur that isn't matted
Skin that isn't flea bitten
Good food and enough of it
Beds to sleep on
Someone to love me
To show me I deserve love just because I exist.

Your kind eyes, your loving smile, your gentle hands
Your big heart saved me...

You saved me from the terror of the pound,
Soothing away the memories of my old life.
You have taught me what it means to be loved.
I have seen you do the same for other dogs like me.

I have heard you ask yourself in times of despair
Why you do it
When there is no more money, no more room, no more homes
You open your heart a little bigger, stretch the money a little tighter
Make just a little more room to save one more like me.
I tell you with the gratitude and love that shines in my eyes
In the best way I know how
Reminding you why you go on trying.

I am the reason
The dogs before me are the reason
As are the ones who come after.
Our lives would've been wasted, our love never given
We would die if not for you.

By Kim Senke-Rocka
Associate Executive Director
Heart Bandits American Eskimo Dog Rescue

Dog House 1, Lisa 0

Have you ever had a conversation with a person to tell them something and get a weird silence? That's been me the last two days trying to explain my black eye.

I grew up as a tomboy. I'm used to pain. I have scars all over my legs from climbing trees, swimming around oyster banks, and doing stunts with my bike. It wasn't unusual for me to return to our boat at the end of the day, covered in red welts from pine cone wars at the tree house. And yes, I was even in a scrap or two with my cousins. It all just builds character.

But when you are a month away from your 30th birthday, people expect you are no longer building forts in the marsh, jumping your bike, hanging out in oak trees, or throwing pine cones. I honestly wish I could have had even one of those as the start to my story, but no, I have a black eye because of a dog house.

Actually, I take that back. I have a black eye because Jazzabelle had to show us a new trick on Sunday. I had two new volunteers over for orientation to work the ranch once a week. I paired them up with Joey, my volunteer that comes every Sunday to take care of the dogs for me. I was inside working with a new volunteer managing our records. Joey came in to tell me that Jazz was on top of one of the kennels. I had to think about that a minute. All our kennels have mesh tarps on top to provide shade and keep cool in the warmer months. I asked how she got up there. I was told she used her dog house, jumped from it to the next kennel and was barking at Teddy from the roof. I walked outside, and sure enough, there she was. There is nothing this dog won't do. It's been a couple years since we had Cheyenne jump on top of one of my neighbor's roofs, so I guess at least this time it was on my own property.

I got Joey to follow me in the kennel to shift the dog house to the other side, where there was no gap in the tarp to allow an escape hatch for Jazz's new trick. In the process, I had to move a piece of pvc pipe, which we pound into the ground to discourage digging. This one was now located in the path of the dog house relocation, which could be blamed either on Jazz or her kennel mate Amber, but no one was answering my questions to accept blame. I pulled at it, it didn't come. I pulled again, and it gave way... smack into my left eye. I could feel my eye start to water, but I had to get the dog house moved while I still had help. I just squinted until we were done. I headed into the house and could just see a little bit. It didn't look that bad. But this morning, I really felt it, still feel it.

So there you have it. No exciting story about Savannah nightlife or great camping adventures. Nope, I got beat up because of a dog house.

Just Another Saturday

The holidays are always a blur to so many people. But for me, most days are a blur. For example, this morning, my barking alarms went off before my radio alarm. I was going to have to be up early to pick up Gizmo from his overnight at the vet after his neuter yesterday, then scheduled three adoption interviews today. But after telling the dogs to let me snooze and hitting my actual alarm a few times, I realized I was cutting time close. I shoved all the big dogs out into the play yard, threw on the nearest sweatshirt covered in paw prints, my dirty tennis shoes because DaVinci still hasn't learned that ladies go first through doors, grabbed my keys and ran out the door. I completely forgot to brush my teeth, which I remembered as soon as I was greeted with a "hello" upon entering the vet's office. Luckily they keep a tin of peppermints on the counter, which I immediately grabbed and chewed. I was feeling good about it until I remembered that I hadn't brushed my hair eithere. Another Saturday morning and I'm 0 for 2.

I got Gizmo in the truck and headed home. Now, I'm a big dog person, but for whatever reason, my home has been inundated with lots of small breed yappiness, I mean happiness, recently. While Gizmo is a cute bundle of energy, he's one of those dogs that I was very excited to see get applications. So it was no surprise that before I even picked him up from the vet's office I had already scheduled his adoption. But I admit, I took a little joy watching him try to navigate through the front door with his lampshade (Elizabethan collar) around him, considering all the nights he woke me from deep, well, whatever slumber I might have been trying to steal.

So we got back to the ranch. I had to load a second crate in the car for Sonny's adoption interview, then grab a slip lead for the monstrous Teddy for his adoption interview as well. It's really sad. Teddy is such a wonderful, spirited dog, but is so overlooked because of his size and older age. But he's the only dog at the ranch that will play catch and fetch with me, so I think he's awesome.

An hour later, we were on the road, using the GPS mom and dad gave me for Christmas. I scheduled the adoptions for 1 pm, 2 pm and 3 pm. The first adoption was love at first sight. Sonny was in their arms, they signed the papers and sent me back out on the road quick than Domino's Pizza.

I typed in the address for the next interview, which turned out to be only a few streets away. I called the family to make sure they were ok with an early arrival. The wife answered and said she would be delighted to have us come sooner. I was even more thrilled than she as this was for Gizmo's new home. We arrived, got out of the truck, and I'm pretty sure little Gizie knew he was home. He played them from the moment we got out: wagging his tail, his little tongue sticking out because he was missing front teeth to keep it in, and even flopping over on his back to show how cute he was even for a two-and-a-half year old. He sauntered into the house, and stretched out to feel the cool hardwood beneath him. Gizmo just kept smiling, taking in his new digs and pretty much telling me it was time for us to part, that I could show myself out. It took just a little longer than the first family to get the contract signed, but I saw the look on the wife's face when she first bent down to pet him and knew she loved him right away.

I darn near skipped back to my truck. Two for two. I climbed into the truck and turned to scratch Teddy behind the ears. I gave him a pep talk. We were going to meet someone that wanted to meet him, but I didn't think it was going to be an actual adoption. I think Teddy is a great dog, but it's hard to get other people to see everything I see sometimes. I was now an hour ahead of schedule, so I called and of course, the potential adopter said come on over. Teddy was on his best behavior, or as best he could be. With so many new sights, so many new smells, it really is hard for a dog to control himself on a leash. We went inside and he settled down, sprawling his long legs on her kitchen floor. He indulged her petting and belly rubs, trying to comprehend why we were here and what was going on. It went about as I expected: she remarked what a beautiful dog he was, but his strength was a bit much for her I could tell. She wished us well and we headed back to the truck. I gave him a kiss on the head and told him we'd work harder for next time.

It was now after 2:30. We were headed home... almost. A text message went off. A foster family I needed to run some meds to was hanging out at Chili's. Since it was on my way, I decided to meet them there rather than have to run downtown again. I really hate driving. It's amazing the trips I used to take in college. I guess I do too much of it now and just hate it. We said our hellos, then I decided to grab a sub at Larry's on the way back. It was now after 3 and I hadn't yet had anything to eat. Teddy kept eying me, I could feel it on the back of my head. Every few traffic lights I'd give him a small bit of bread. I was proud of him for today, so I thought he deserved a treat.

We returned to the ranch only for me to discover that two dogs had torn apart the chainlink and chicken wire from their kennel doors and were running free in the yard. At least they were getting along. I put Teddy up, giving him a kennel that still had a cot since Amber had taken it upon herself to shred his two nights ago. I called Gary, my resident handyman guy for advice to fix the doors. Then I headed for my toolbox and rigged what I could, moved a few more pavers around, and stood back. If nothing else, it might annoy them enough to stop trying to break out for a little while. I headed back into the house and began the rounds of cleaning crates, refreshing water and administering meds.

Saturdays are usually event days, and Sundays are my reserved office days. But since I have four new volunteers coming tomorrow for training at the ranch, I would have to get everything I could done today. I was making good time, writing thank you notes, processing reciepts, updating pet pages, when I got a phone call from an adopter. Their puppy wasn't feeling good. An hour later, they were headed to the ER vet. Luckily, it was just coccidia and hookworms, even though they had been dewormed a week ago - which was just fabulous since watching them go potty for the two days before was like watching the Play-Doh go through the fun factory spagetti style - so the pup would get on fluids and stay overnight. They prepared me meds for the other puppies. So I called the other families to check on them. I decided to go to Richmond Hill to grab one and take him with me just in case. He got a shot, then his meds, and then we were on our way. It was now 8:30 pm and I was making a house call to Sonny. His family was very understanding. I gave him his meds, scratched his head, left my number and was out the door, headed, once again, back to the ranch.

What I failed to cover during this long night trip was my almost emotional breakdown. The work we do is very demanding. I was a nervous wreck when I found out the puppies were not feeling well. The last one here was doing fine, and they had just been to the vet yesterday morning before they were to go home. It broke my heart. We work so hard to make sure the adoptions go smoothly. I don't want adopters to spend their first or second nights worrying about their pups. It's supposed to be a happy experience. But we can't always catch everything. I had already told the ER vet we'd cover the expenses, it was the right thing to do. But I still felt awful. I needed to talk to someone, so I called the person I normally call. No answer. I called her other number... no answer. I called a third number... still no answer. Then I gripped the steering wheel hard. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream. I know so many people, so many who call me when they need something because they know I'll come running, but when I need someone to be there for me, I have no idea who to call or if anyone will even answer. I couldn't start crying. Walking into the ER vet or into an adopter's home with a puppy is a bad sign and gets people thinking the wrong thing. The puppy in my arms was yapping and licking my face, what sense would that make? So instead of having a breakdown in the truck on the way to the ER vet, I had a twenty minute conversation in my head self-talking out of a nervous breakdown just so no one would really know what was going on. Then to feel better, I went to, yet again, Arby's for a mint chocolate swirl shake. It's a very good thing there is not one near my house or I'd be a blimp again.

I got back home about 9. Time to take everyone out to go potty, re-feed some of the dogs, and give nighttime medicines. As usual, the noise level elevated as I walked through the door and tails wagged, always a good sign. Hannah was perched on the leather couch, her new favorite spot since I took the baby gate down just before Christmas. Though it was really helping to shape my abs, thighs and buttocks, carrying 40 pound bags of food over the gate into the kitchen had gotten old after a year and a half. I took great joy in medicating Peaches' puppies. Just a week ago I had been worried they wouldn't survive. Now, I was holding them in my hand, looking at their eyes wide open (between yawns) and feeling so much joy every time I held them.

Chores now over, it was time to head to the office to check email and finish up stuff for the volunteers coming tomorrow. That's when I got a message from my friend Cat. And for whatever reason, even after all these years and so much time apart, she's still a big cheerleader for me. She was encouraging and comforting, and of course, humoring me. I tease her so much for being a Yankee, but she is one of the greatest people I know. I suppose I always hold a special place for her as she was the one who nominated me for the Top 10 Working Women in Savannah list two years ago. So I gave her my rundown of the day/evening. After suggesting I approach Arby's for a sponsorship to support my habit and giving me permission to scream and cry, she told me something that really just made everything else melt away: "hey man, i'm an ideas person and you inspire ideas, what can i say." I've never thought of myself as inspiring. What I do with the rescue has always been looked at as a hobby, though very expensive and time consuming. But it made me feel like maybe I do have a chance at leaving an impact on this world, something I've always wanted to do. I thanked Cat for the conversation and for understanding me. Then in true Cat form she said something that just made me laugh: "well...it's either my incredibly incisive psych 101 or...you spend so much time talking to animals that there aren't any people who can live up to them." Everyone should be so blessed to have as good a friend as Cat.

So at the end of the day, here I am: a hopeless animal fanatic spending a Saturday night blogging about her day with the animals, checking out her friends on Facebook, watching "The Wedding Date" and chatting online with a close friend. I suppose there are worse ways to finish out a crazy Saturday.

A Year in Review

Well, here we are... 2009. It was a ruff 2008. We managed to rescue 143 canines and 67 felines despite the odds against us.

We started the year out with several litters of puppies, many of which had the fatal parvovirus. We managed to save most though six puppies didn't make it. The losses were hard to take on our foster families, but we trudged on through. The litters of puppies were followed by litter after litter of kittens. Then it became adult dog after adult dog needing heartworm treatment. We rescued pets from Animal Controls in Chatham, Effingham and Liberty County, and then found ourselves rescuing animals that became victims of the economy. Junior was left at animal control after being hit by a car because his family couldn't afford his vet care. Hope was found by a landlord cleaning up after an eviction. She had an embedded collar in her neck from living more than a year on a chain and was left at the emergency vet. We picked her up and took charge of her care, which ended up also involving treatments for heartworms. We continued to take cats and dogs turned over to us by people having to downsize or relocate. A week before Christmas, I got to go trap two Shelties that had been abandoned when their home in Ardsley Park was foreclosed on 45 days ago. It still amazes me that no one ever knew they were there.

No doubt the economy played a huge role in our struggles this year. Our donations went down, and I mean way down. A lot of us were paying things ourselves as best we could. We even went one month without any adoptions, and here it is now January, and we still have dogs and cats that have been with us since July. Even Dutchess has been with us since last January when she was a puppy found thrown out on Pooler Parkway.

So what is my hope for 2009? Well, I did play the lotto when it hit 207 million, but we can all see that didn't pan out. I didn't even win enough to buy another ticket. So we're going to have to look at our strategies. Can we afford to keep our doors open? Do we have to limit the number of intakes each month? How can we recruit more foster homes to meet the intake demands? Will people ever get the hint that spaying and neutering is the only way to reduce pet overpopulation? Perhaps only time will tell. Till then, I'll keep saying my nightly prayers that good people will continue to support us as much as they can.

Being a Proud Second Mom

Ok, so I don't have kids. Right now, that's a good thing as I sure don't have the room. But on Saturday morning, I opened up my home to two moms and their litters because I just have a hard time not giving them a chance after all they do to keep their puppies alive and stay with them.

One of the litters are three two-week-old puppies. Each pup fits perfectly in the palm of my hand. Their mom, Peaches, is only about 9 pounds, so you can imagine how tiny her babies are. But after I got them home, I discovered they had upper respiratory infections. Our vet was already closed so I called a rescue friend of mine in Bluffton. She nurses litters all the time, so I knew she'd have answers. I ended up loading mom and puppies back in the truck and driving to meet Karen at Petco in Bluffton. She took a look at the pups and gave me some pediatric amoxicillan for the babies. They would get it once a day and mom twice a day so she could pass it on to them through feedings. So back to Savannah we went.

I put mom up then set about to give the babies their medicines. They were so tiny, and even at that size, incredibly squirmy. You would think I could have better control, but I didn't. After a few minutes of a struggle, I finally got one cradled in my left arm, dropper in my right hand, and just watched as the baby nursed every little drop. It was so incredibly cute to watch him. When the dropper was empty, he made one more attempt to suck, then realizing he wasn't getting more, opened his little mouth as wide as he could and let out a big yawn. His little sandpaper-like tongue stuck out just an itsy bit, then he closed his mouth and settled into my arm. His eyes were sealed shut from the discharge, so we headed back to the bathroom where I got a warm, wet rag to gently remove it. He fussed just a tiny bit, but it was worth it. Even after I got it all out of his eyes, I noticed that his eyes were still shut. One of the other babies had his eyes opened already, and the little girl had started to open hers but she also had discharge that was helping to keep them closed. I took the little boy back to his mom, and proceeded to start the medication cycle with the other two babies.

For the next two days, I kept my eyes on them. I got them a snuggly bed that had been Hannah's when she was a baby. I put a small blanket on top of them, making sure they kept warm. Each time with the dropper they got a little better. Mom, however, did not. They really get their squirminess from her. She's 9 pounds of fireball when she wants to be, and medicine is not her thing. But by Monday afternoon, none of the puppies had runny noses, and my little crusty-eyed baby had finally opened his eyes! I just about squealed when I noticed it at medicine time yesterday afternoon. Poor Ryan was standing right behind me. Of course, he's just as much a sucker for little puppies as I am, which is why he volunteers at the ranch a couple times a week and takes puppies for playdates on the weekends. But I was just so proud of these babies. They had come so far; there had originally been seven in the litter, but only these three survived the two weeks at animal control. But now, they have a bright future ahead of them. No doubt there will be a rush to adopt once they are available. But for now, I'll enjoy playing second mom to them, watching them grow, seeing their little milestones. It's one of the pure joys of the work we do in rescue.