At Least They're Committed

We tried to let her sleep downstairs, but Raul wouldn’t have any of it. He’s too territorial. So at 2 a.m. Lily burst into our room and plopped her on the bed. It was dark and I couldn’t see her save for the faded streetlights reflecting off the cone.

“Is she OK?”

“Yeah,” Lily said. “She’ll be fine.” The door snapped shut and Lily was gone.

The black bundle whimpered three times: a new place; new people; no littermates all in such a short time during her short lifetime. Resigned, she curled up atop the covers between my legs and crashed.

This morning I maneuvered out of bed, contorting my torso in order not to wake her. It didn’t matter. When I stood over the 5-pound, 8-week-old nestled in the comforter she rolled ebony eyes with quarter moon whites cautiously up at me.

“Hi baby, how’re you feeling? . . . Let’s see . . . ” I gently picked her up. Sweet little girl. Poor, poor little girl. The flesh on her right shoulder is exploded outward, tattered bits of black skin framing a half-dollar sized pink, sinewy wound. “Oh, that’s bad!” She only rolled her eyes.

“She” is one of the hundreds of puppies that find loving families through Lifeline Puppy Rescue in Brighton each year. I doubt we’ll ever know what happened to her. She was brought to the rescue in poor condition: her coat dull, half starved, her jagged backbone arched above skeletal ribs, the shoulder wound closed and infected.

The vets saw her right away, treated her wound, got her on antibiotics and pain meds, a special diet and hydration. The white cone around her neck keeps her from licking, though I’m not altogether sure she could reach it in the first place. Then she came to us to heal. Lily works at a veterinary clinic and the kind vets there are always willing to help our poor little lost souls. I’m just, well, a highly nurturing foster mom.

She seemed so shy, so lost, so confused, listening carefully to my every word but responding with nothing more than a wary stare . . . until Beulah arrived. Beulah, a dog that was and still is so painfully shy she was nearly unadoptable, bounded into the room in her usual obsessive compulsive manner and hopped on the bed. Lo! The puppy’s eyes lit, the cone around her face and her slender tail smacking into the bed, the dresser, the suitcase in excitement. A friend, a mother, someone she could identify with in more ways than we’ll ever know. Her tail wags now when I talk, she cocks her head and physically responds to my words. That quickly; that easily.

I’m always touched and amazed at the resilience of these small abandon creatures. Unlike humans, these special guys and gals are willing to put the past behind. I can’t count the times we get litters of pups that have had to scavenge for food after being weened; who were left to die. Yet in a matter of hours bellies are full, tails thumping, spirits and heads high.

“She” will be no different. In a week or two she’ll be better than new; she’ll be acclimated toward people, socialized and at least partly house trained. She’s going to be a wonderful, loyal, life-enhancing addition to someone’s family. She’s resilient; she doesn’t know how not to be. She’s going to be fine.