Greg lingers for an hour or so, taking pictures and chatting with families who will join the thousands of others who already believe he’s an angel or a hero, or both. It’s been a very tiring day, and Greg and Tommy have hundreds of miles to go before they sleep tonight—somewhere by the side of the road in central Pennsylvania.
Greg climbs back behind the wheel and sends one final dispatch to Facebook. It’s the way he signs off at the end of every Gotcha Day: “Thanks for following this week’s journey. It was great having you along on the ride. I’m 700 miles from a hot shower, a real bed to sleep in, and loved ones that miss me. See you on my next Rescue Road Trip. My name is Greg…I help Save Lives!!”
EPILOGUE
A FEW MONTHS AFTER MY TRAVELS WITH Greg ended, I checked in with a few of the families we’d met on Gotcha Day and, in some cases, visited them and their dogs. I wanted to follow up to see what had become of some of the other dogs I’d met while on the road with Greg. Their journeys didn’t really end when Greg delivered them into the arms of their new families; in some ways, they were beginning anew.
• • •
“Willis is loved by everyone he meets,” Phil Gambutti told me by phone from his home in Pennsylvania. “Everyone comments on how happy and friendly he is. He knows we are his family.” Poor vision doesn’t seem to hinder this little marching drummer boy in any way.
“He likes to sleep right on my pillow,” Phil said, “but he’s small and needs help getting up on the bed. When I try to help him up, he runs away and makes a game of it.”
The Gambuttis are in regular touch with Tilani Pomerko, the young vet tech who fostered Willis for a year and who was heart-broken about saying good-bye to him. They’ve even invited Tilani to visit them and Willis in Florida, where they live for part of the year.
“We have no regrets at all,” said Phil. “I am so glad Mary Ellen found Willis and that we could get him up here. He’s such a good friend.”
• • •
When I called Glenna Mooney in South Walpole, Massachusetts, about Bijou, pulled by LAA from the Saint Martin Parish shelter, he sounded just like the little powerhouse who clung fiercely to me when I cleaned his kennel in Danbury and rode in my lap all the way to Putnam.
“When we got in the car on Gotcha Day, the ride home was tough because he just pressed against me the whole time,” she told me. “He’s only twenty pounds, but he’s a forty pounder when he wants to snuggle, and he’s a cuddle dog at every opportunity.” Bijou and his canine big brother, Rico, a rescue from Puerto Rico, became fast friends, partly because Rico was grieving the loss of the Mooneys’ other dog, Loki. An American Eskimo dog the Mooneys raised since puppyhood, Loki was fourteen when he passed and had been Rico’s companion since Rico arrived at the Mooneys’ several years ago. He was depressed and lethargic, and would go outside only to do his business. But once Bijou arrived, about six weeks after Loki died, he regained his energy and started eating more. “Rico licks Bijou’s face every night at bedtime,” Glenna told me. “He’s so attachable and adorable.”
About a week later, I went to visit Bijou to see for myself how he had settled in. Rico doesn’t just lick Bijou’s face at bedtime; he plants his dog kisses on him all the time. Bijou was a bit shy around me; he didn’t appear to remember me, but was obviously very attached to Glenna and Bill, often putting his paws on their laps and staring at their faces. The transition has been a smooth one, and the Mooneys are as smitten with Bijou as he is with them.
• • •
I spoke to Brenda Byers-Britney a few months after Sadie joined her, and she told me she and her daughter, Elizabeth, had been the first ones to arrive at the parking lot in Rocky Hill on their Gotcha Day. Brenda and Sadie’s original family, the one who had to surrender her because their son developed severe allergies, communicated beforehand, and the two families remain in touch on Facebook.
Sadie had no seizures the first two and a half months she was with Brenda, but in mid-August suffered three within a half hour. Brenda rushed her to the vet, where she stayed overnight. She was concerned perhaps something else was wrong, but an MRI showed no other problems. For a week she was fine, then had another seizure in the bed she shares with Brenda and then several more.
“She loves chewing on knucklebones—she can do it for hours—but I noticed they caused her to poop more often and wondered if she was passing her medication too quickly,” Brenda told me. Her vet said it was possible but seemed skeptical. Brenda discontinued the knucklebones and Sadie has been seizure free since.
Bosco, Brenda’s 120-pound chocolate Lab, and sixty-pound Sadie run and play together. “She’s a crazy dog,” Brenda told me. “I’ve always had Labs, and she’s the fastest runner I’ve ever seen.” Sadie was so mellow and sedate when I rode with her on transport, it was hard to imagine she’s so active, but like many rescue dogs, her personality revealed itself over time.
“It took a little while, a week or so, for her to feel at home, but every day it got better,” Elizabeth told me. “My mom is the caretaker; they’re her babies.”
• • •
The Frampton family of Cumberland, Rhode Island, adopted Trudy and Popcorn (now Rudy), her companion, at the Rhode Island adoption event.
“It was divine intervention,” Elizabeth Frampton told me several months later. The Frampton’s fifteen-year-old son, J. W., was born blind. Ten surgeries by age two restored some of his sight, but he remains legally blind. They also have two daughters, ages twelve and thirteen. “I don’t feel any bias about disabilities,” Elizabeth told me. “I was an advocate for ten years for the rights of blind children in the state educational system. And I’m very comfortable with animals. We already had two rescue dogs when we adopted Trudy and Rudy.”
They didn’t have to adopt both, but seeing how attached they were, they didn’t want to separate them. “Rudy really is Trudy’s guide dog,” Elizabeth adds. “They run up and down—we have a large piece of property—but if Trudy wanders too far for her comfort or mine, I tell Rudy to get her and he does.”
Still, it’s been a huge undertaking. Early on, the Framptons thought they might have to re-home Trudy and Rudy. There were other major stressors in their lives at the time, but they ultimately concluded they’d made a commitment and it would be unfair to the dogs to move them again. “It’s a work in progress,” says Elizabeth, “but we’re making progress.”
• • •
A few months after he’d been adopted at the Rhode Island adoption event, I drove to Cranston, Rhode Island, for a reunion with T-Bone, who conspired with Willis to keep me up most of our third night on the road. His new family is Diana Ducharme, an attorney, and her children, Luke and Tara McInerney, fifteen and eleven. A third daughter, Lauren, is attending college in Maryland.
Two years ago, the Ducharmes adopted Penny, a little terrier mix, from West Virginia. T-Bone, now Bo, is their second rescue dog. “We were committed to rescue dogs,” Diana told me. “There are so many discarded animals. It’s the right thing to do.”
Penny is a fluffy little dog, and Luke wanted “a big boy’s dog,” as Diana described it, but she insisted they get an adult dog, one that was housetrained and would be a calming influence. Penny is a handful. Tara didn’t want another dog; she was concerned Penny would be jealous, and since Penny required a lot of attention, she wondered how they were going to take care of another dog.
But Luke prevailed and when they went to the adoption event it was late, 3:30 p.m., but there were still over a hundred dogs available from various rescue groups. When they saw Bo, he was lying calmly on the floor.
“He seemed to have a good character,” Diana told me, “and he was calm. I explained we needed quiet dog, and the people we spoke to said he was very quiet.”
Five days later, Diana realized he had probably just been exhausted because Bo has a lot of energy and hasn’t been the calming influence she had hope for. It took some time for Penny to adjust, and Bo showed some aggression when Pe
nny got near his food, so they have to feed them in different rooms. Bo is still a bit rambunctious—he jumps on people and has torn four of his dog beds apart—but very affectionate. They love him and are committed to working with him to improve his behavior.
• • •
As for Tennessee, the yellow Lab mix surrendered by a homeless man in Louisiana, his new family, the Doyles,28 renamed him Walter. “It’s been smooth overall,” Jim Doyle told me.
The Doyles had previously adopted two other rescue dogs, one, like Walter, came through Labs4rescue. “There’s no need to purchase a dog when there are so many rescue dogs available,” Jim told me. “Getting a rescue was a no-brainer, and going to a breeder wasn’t an option.” The Doyle children, a nine-year-old girl and an eleven-year-old boy, are actively engaged in Walter’s care; they walk him, feed him, and give him water. They’ve grown up with dogs all their lives—the Doyle’s oldest rescue dog has been with the family since he was a puppy and is now fourteen.
“He had a few accidents in the house,” Jim told me. “I’m not sure if it’s because he wasn’t used to living in a house, but he’s not a chewer and he doesn’t get up on the furniture. One challenge is that he jumps up on people for attention and we’re working on that.”
• • •
Not all of the stories had happy endings, of course. Alicia McCarty of the Forgotten Dogs of the Fifth Ward Project in Houston sent an update on the boxer mix pair, since named Gavin and Gwen, we found living under an abandoned house the evening we spent together. “She only had three babies survive the litter she had a couple months ago, and people have stolen all of them,” she wrote. “I hadn’t seen the male the last two times I was out there and was worried sick. When we got there last night, my worst fear had become a reality. The male was injured pretty badly, and it was obvious he had been hit by a car. We are afraid he might lose the leg but won’t know until we can get him to the vet.”
Gavin survived but will have lifelong health issues and is with a permanent foster. Gwen found a forever home in Houston.
Alicia also wrote about Kaiser, the old dog she wanted to help die in comfort. A week after my visit, Kaiser’s owners allowed Alicia to take Kaiser home with her for whatever time he had remaining. Alicia and other fosters cared for Kaiser until he died on November 22, 2014, having spent nearly his entire life on the street.
• • •
I also received news from Keri Toth about some of the dogs we’d seen the day we visited the two open-air pens that serve as the animal control facility in Colfax, Louisiana. There were three black Lab puppies there that day; all died within days of parvo. A small terrier, the sister of the dead dog Keri spotted in the doghouse, also had parvo but survived and, as of this writing, is being fostered by Greta, as is Handrietta, the dog she was sure was sister to Handley, one of her dogs. Others also survived and, again, as of this writing, are listed for adoption with Labs4rescue or Mutts4rescue.
But there was distressing news about the pregnant basset hound–rat terrier mix, the one Keri and Greta were going to buy cedar chips for so she’d have a soft place to deliver her pups.
“All of her puppies died within ten days,” Keri wrote to me. “We found the last one had crawled through the chain link and made it partially down the hill in the woods behind those kennels. Its eyes weren’t even open. [Some]…were killed by the other dogs in the kennels, since there is no real separation. [We] went to the kennels and found [the mama] crying and whimpering and digging at the fence on the concrete. We helped her jail break by using all of our might and pulling the fence up slightly and letting her squeeze through. The next thing is heartbreaking. She ran down the hill, picked up her deceased baby in her mouth, brought it to us, and started cleaning him as if he were alive. We picked him up; she jumped up to take him back; the whole time she was crying. She got him back and lay down, curled up, and tried to nurse him. So I took her home with me. Her name is [now] Tillie.”
Tillie found her forever home in Marston Mills, Massachusetts, a few months later, and Keri reports that she is “doing awesome in her new home up there…loving life.”
• • •
And what became of Teddy, the poor, fearful shepherd mix we tried to board in Alexandria, the one that nipped both Greg and Mr. Robin in the hands? Teddy stayed at the Haas Animal Hospital for a while as Keri tried to help him overcome his fear and get him ready for adoption.
“For two months…he adored me and I adored him,” Keri texted me many months later. When she thought he was ready for a new home, she brought him to an adoption event where he got spooked and bit Keri in the upper arm, delivering a serious bruise.
“I couldn’t bring myself to euthanize him,” Keri wrote, “and he showed he was very sorry afterward.” But after some other close calls where he tried to bite people, Keri realized it would be dangerous to try and place him in an adoptive home.
“I decided to euthanize him,” Keri wrote. “I sat on the floor crying, telling him how sorry I was. I am so sorry, Teddy. He was wiggling and trying to find out why I was sad. He was kissing all the tears off my face and nibbling on my hair. I loved him so. I was [angry] at the people who dumped their irresponsibility onto us. Angry that they weren’t feeling the pain and heartbreak. I was second-guessing myself, as was the staff. [Dr. Haas] loved him too. He was kissing her face, sitting like a gentleman, so I wanted to try him again [and] bring him home.
“Then someone came into the clinic,” Keri continued, “and Doc [referring to Dr. Haas] was sitting [in the waiting room] telling them what was going on. I brought Teddy up. He put his head in Doc’s lap. She stroked him and he kissed me. Then I saw a sudden change in his eye, a look of instant confusion.” Keri wrote it was a good thing she had a good grip on his collar because Teddy suddenly and with great force lunged at Dr. Haas’s face, growling, and snapped, missing her face by less than in inch.
“He sealed his fate,” Keri wrote. “It was still very hard as we put him on the table. He kissed all of us, all the employees, and wagged his tail until he slowly went to sleep.
“I went outside and cried and dry heaved, a gut-wrenching cry, true weeping. Angry that I had to make that decision. I am so sorry, Peter, it’s not a fairy-tale ending. I tried for months. I tried. I loved him like no one ever did.”
• • •
Last, but not least, of course, there is Salyna. For her, there was a very happily-ever-after ending.
Early on the morning after Gotcha Day, following a fitful night’s sleep, Judy and I drove to Warwick, Rhode Island, about an hour’s trip, for the adoption event where twenty of the dogs we’d transported, and the forty Keri and Greta had driven in the van, would be up for adoption. I had no idea what these events were like and was surprised to see hundreds of cars and long lines of people waiting for the doors to open at 9:00 a.m.
Organized by a group called Always Adopt, and held at Balise Toyota Scion of Warwick, a large car dealership, more than a dozen rescue groups were represented. A volunteer handed out little maps showing where each rescue group was set up in the massive service bay. Most of those here had already completed adoption applications—though not for a specific dog—and been preapproved, they weren’t just people who happened by and were picking up a dog on a whim, though some were.
I’d thought about Salyna all night, as had Judy. We were torn. Our youngest child was now in college. We were empty nesters. Did we really want all the work that goes with raising a puppy? Did we want to be tethered to home just at the point in our lives when we had more freedom? How would Albie adjust to a puppy? But we were both smitten. Our hearts were saying yes; our heads, no.
As I waited in line, Judy went inside to use the restroom, where she discovered she could just wander into the meticulously clean service area where the rescue groups were preparing to greet the hoards waiting outside. She called me from the entrance and waved for me to follow. Once inside, we headed straight to where Keri, Greta, and Bethany Hickey, the major domo o
f Mutts4rescue, were set up with sixty dogs, all now familiar to me from our days on the road together. I scooped Salyna up and held her in my arms, just as I had for many hours over the past several days.
Judy and I were flummoxed. We didn’t know what to do. Salyna was an unusually beautiful puppy—even in a sea of adorable puppies—and mellow too. Her black nose and dark eyes—she looked like she was wearing black eyeliner—stood out starkly from her yellowish white fur. Within minutes of the doors’ opening, half a dozen people rushed up and asked, “Are you adopting her? If not, I will.”
None of these people knew anything about her, not even where she’d come from. I’d ridden with her all the way from Alexandria, Louisiana, where she’d boarded the transport in the pouring rain. I’d held her in my lap on the drive to Baytown, Texas, and walked her in the heat of the afternoon in Cajun country. For three sleepless nights in the trailer, I had visited her kennel, given her little treats, changed the newspaper when it was wet or soiled, and let her lick my fingers. On the third night, she had curled up in my arms for hours until the faint sound of chirping birds signaled the arrival of Gotcha Day. Even though we hadn’t filled out an application, because we had previously adopted through Labs4rescue, Keri told us, we were preapproved to adopt at this event.
Apparently those were the magic words we needed to hear. We didn’t change her name, just the spelling, to Salina. Right from the start, she and Albie would go off leash on our walks in the woods. She followed him everywhere and could be trusted not to run away. She and Albie play, occasionally growl at each other, and compete for attention. She’s an instigator, and even when she weighed a quarter of what he weighs, she would give as good as she got. On car trips, he allows her to rest her head on his back and sometimes falls asleep sitting up because she’s taking up the entire backseat.
Rescue Road Page 21
