by Cathy Scott
Everyone seemed to find his or her niche. Without fail, each new volunteer hit the ground running. When they arrived, many weren’t sure exactly what their roles might be, but as soon as they set foot on the grounds of the hurricane relief center, they fell into step and pulled their weight. After one day, it was as if they had always been there.
Kelli Ohrtman arrived at base camp with Animal Ark, a Minnesota-based group, to write a freelance article for a local magazine. Instead, once at base camp, she had barely five minutes a day to write (although she did finish the article) because she spent most of her time helping care for and treat the dogs. “I worked in the triage area,” said Kelli, who has veterinary technician experience and who eventually moved to Kanab, Utah, to work for Best Friends. “It was terrible. Our vet area was set up outside on a grass floor, and the love bugs were horrendous. Everything was covered in bugs. It was tough. Looking back, I can’t even keep the months straight.” She drove back and forth several times to Animal Ark’s shelter, transporting animals the group fostered. The pull to return, however, was strong. “I think I was home for a week the first time, and I said, ‘I have to go back.’ It felt weird being home when I knew work needed to be done, and I knew how many animals needed help.”
Christine Knierim, from Virginia, had planned to help with data-input records. Instead, when she arrived and saw the Pit Bulls in Pooch Alley, she devoted her time there. One dog in particular caught her eye. “I did not plan to bring a foster dog home when I went to Mississippi,” she said. She had lost her Pit Bull, Arnold, a couple of months earlier and didn’t want to try to replace him. “But after seeing all the kids who needed a place and knowing I had room for one, I couldn’t help it. And the morning I saw Mr. Bo Jangles arrive at Pit Alley, I just felt in my heart he was the exact one who needed me.”
Although many volunteers made new animal friends, Cathy Ramsey, a groomer, made new human friends—even one who lived near her but whom she hadn’t met until they volunteered, coincidentally, at the same time. Cathy said the experience changed her focus from grooming to running a rescue center. She and her husband bought acreage and moved from Texas to California to start a small sanctuary. “Katrina was a tragic event,” she said, “but out of that came people who opened their hearts for the animals.”
While at the triage center in Metairie in January 2006, Cathy groomed Rhett Butler, a nine-year-old Beagle, for his TV appearance on ABC’s Extreme Makeover, which filmed the reunion of Rhett and his family.
Working with the hurricane-affected pets was a life-changing experience for Sean Scherer, who was only twenty when he began his tour at Camp Tylertown in September 2005. He could not have predicted just how life-altering the experience would be.
Sean was scheduled to begin a two-year term overseas as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints at the end of 2005, something he was looking forward to and talked about for the nearly two months he was at camp. His work with the animals, however, had a profound effect on him, one that caused Sean to switch gears and return to college instead of going on the mission. In 2007, after completing his undergraduate work at Arizona State University, Sean went on to attend Southwest College of Naturopathic Medicine. He intends to become a naturopathic veterinarian. Hurricane Katrina, he said, changed his life.
After hearing about Katrina, Sean headed to Mississippi with his father, George Scherer, a Best Friends manager, to help wherever he could. By early November, just a month and a half before he was scheduled to leave for his mission, Sean made what he described as the most difficult decision of his life. He told his parents and his church, “I want to help animals. I don’t think I was meant for the missionary.” He didn’t leave the church, just the missionary tour, which was a major decision because LDS men, as an expression of their faith, are expected to serve two years as missionaries.
Those of us working with Sean watched him mature into a gentle caregiver, and we observed frightened and shy dogs respond positively to his touch. Many referred to him as the “dog whisperer.”
One night, Mickey Short, from Minnesota, was walking a dog at Ellis Island who’d just arrived from New Orleans. When the sound of a loud generator that operated the floodlights frightened the dog, Sean happened to be nearby. “I walked the first dog, and she started rolling like an alligator and spinning,” Mickey said. “The trauma of whatever had occurred through the storm and its aftermath seemed to be in every muscle of her body.” Then the dog stopped and looked back at Sean. “She hadn’t known him any longer than she’d known me,” Mickey said, “but she sure could read that there was safety within him.”
Mickey told Sean, “She wants you.” Sean sat down on the grass and told Mickey to sit down, too, so they’d be at the same level as the dog, and the dog relaxed. “Sean just has that way about him,” Mickey said, “and dogs read it. That’s why he is a whisperer.”
In the following essay, Sean describes his time at camp:
We are all truly human, and it is embodied in our souls to fall in love. In my case, it was with a dog. I was working with new arrivals one day and a huge Rottweiler named Chopper came in. He was way too sick for us to do anything with him, but I saw a special spirit in his eyes, so I took him to the veterinarian. The vet said he was extremely dehydrated. We put him on fluids right away.
After starting the fluids, the doctor found an enormous soft lump on the side of his rump and started examining him. She found that the lump was filled with a greenish brown puss and she couldn’t figure out what it was. So, we sent the blood work off to a clinic and waited for the results.
Every night and day I would go in and sit with Chopper, to be with him. He couldn’t even move, he was so weak. I would go in his kennel and lift his head into my lap to massage his face. I could see it in his eyes that he loved what I was doing and appreciated it. Without moving or making a sound he emitted an aura of love. After two days of this, I passed by his cage and he popped his head up to bark at me and get my attention. He did it to spend another bit of time [with me].
The next time I talked to the vet she told me hesitantly that he was dying, that he had cancer and heartworm [disease] and would probably be dead soon. Hearing that hit me so hard, I lost my breath for a moment and felt that sincere love and desire not to lose him, not to lose that spirit that was embodied within that immobile body.
It was hard to come to the realization that he might be gone soon, but I decided that he wasn’t going to die without getting the most out of life. I was going to love him regardless. I thought about the attachments that we make with living things and the way they seem to dissipate when you lose the physical being you love. I realized that the only truly noble thing to do in this kind of situation was to love regardless of what the future may bring, because that is truly when love should exist, right now.
As time went by with Chopper it seemed he wasn’t making any sort of turnaround, until one beautiful day when I walked by and saw him standing up in his crate asking for a walk. So I took him out, and walk he did.
Limping but determined, he strutted as though nothing had happened, as though he were truly a dog. Over the next few days, he kept getting a little tougher and more determined. He was getting better! Then I asked the vet about him again and she said, “It’s amazing. Chopper is going to be all right.” So I got to witness the miracle of survival and love intertwined to create an amazing bond between two different species. I had the honor of placing Chopper out into the general population here. It was an uplifting joy to proudly walk him to his new home.
Being here has been an all-around uplifting experience. I have met incredible people and have experienced incredible things. I have seen the spirit of many dogs completely turn around. I work with the intake crew here during the day. I handle all of the dogs that come through, so if somebody should be bitten it should be me, but these scared dogs do not want to bite, and I haven’t been bitten during the processing yet. Some dogs come in very scared and stupefied wit
h their new situation. They wait in the corners of the runs, waiting for someone to approach them. Often they growl and sometimes they snap, just like you would expect of such a displaced creature. I have found that gently wrapping their heads with a blanket and holding them closely to your body for a long time creates a new safety net that the dogs rely on. They start hugging your body. I release the blanket from their heads and the once snapping, so-called aggressive dog is calmed and comfortable with his or her new life. This is one of the most amazing things that I have ever experienced. I feel like such a part of the whole nurturing process for these animals.
At night my duties change. I become a computer guy, working with all of the database information and pictures of the animals. Most importantly, I get the opportunity to work with some of the most amazing people that I have ever met. Here at the Best Friends rescue center, you get the honor of seeing the essence of human kindness that is often overlooked in our society.
Sean was one of many volunteers, along with Mickey, who each day watched the dogs and cats arriving at Ellis Island, lost and frightened, and then witnessed them come back to life as the pets began to realize that the worst was over. It was a sight to see. The animals recognized that they were finally out of the storm, out of harm’s way, and in safe hands once more.
Witnessing that daily transformation drove the volunteers.
At the end of each day, around six thirty, the cook assigned that evening would call out on the bullhorn that dinner was ready. According to Best Friends founder and animal consultant Faith Maloney, dinner at Camp Tylertown was “a time to gather and talk about the day. New volunteers are arriving every day, so this is often their first chance to size up their coworkers and get the feel of the place. Advice is handed out, like how to avoid stepping in a nest of fire ants or how many sweaters to wear in the mornings before the sun comes up.”
The conversation at the picnic tables often turned to “Where are you from, what do you do there, and why are you here?” Faith pointed out that during her three days at base camp, she met “people from all walks of life, all ages and skills, and all parts of the country.” One was Beth, an executive whose last name wasn’t known, who was on company time as a way of promoting volunteerism among its employees. “I saw her earlier in the day clearing out a messy shelf area and sorting out supplies,” Faith said in November 2005. “She headed up the team that cooked dinner that night and was about to recruit clean-up volunteers from the newbies.” Camp Tylertown, Faith said, “has had a profound effect on so many people. Animal lovers are special people, and this has given so many of us a chance to help animals who need that help so desperately. I’m seeing some lifelong friendships in the making.”
Also helping the animals in a big way was Nydia Alexandra, a nurse and Buddhist nun, who said that caring for the pets of Katrina was monumental in her life. “It definitely was a life-altering experience,” Nydia said, “just to be in the midst of intense situations, but then have these animals, the smallest things, so grateful. If we had to do treatment, almost all of them just looked up at us and simply let us do it. It filled my heart.”
At times, though, the work was overwhelming. “Sometimes,” Nydia said, “I had to have a good cry just because it was so intense and there was no escaping or running away from it, because they needed our help. We started early and worked late. I will never forget it. It really was extraordinary.”
So extraordinary, she said, that “it’s something that changed all of us and does bind us all, the depth and the breadth of the experience. It was huge.” Afterward, “when I came back to work at the hospital, I was sort of shell-shocked.”
Still, Nydia wouldn’t change a thing. “I would do it again. I was really grateful to have had the opportunity to go. I’m sure when the next disaster hits, we’ll go and do whatever we can do. It’s so bonding because you have this little window of time and space to make a difference for as many as you can.”
A lung illness didn’t deter volunteer veterinary technician Chandra Signmund, who first worked with Alley Cat Allies and later Best Friends at Celebration Station, running the cat triage with Mike Bzdewka. She traveled to New Orleans for three tours. Chandra adopted a cat named Noni after the owner told her he could no longer properly care for the cat. As the owner handed the cat to her on a New Orleans street, Chandra promised that she’d find her a good home. Chandra kept her word. At the end of February, she took the cat with her to Long Beach, California, to live with her and her husband’s other two cats. After she returned home, Chandra discovered that her lung problem appeared to have been caused by the particles in the air following Hurricane Katrina.
For Jan Martin, a veterinary technician, volunteering meant jumping around from area to area at Camp Tylertown to do whatever was needed. She volunteered in October, went home, and returned for two more stints. She made friends with people she’s still in contact with. “The way I describe it,” Jan said, “is that we were a group of people who, had we not met in that particular event, probably wouldn’t socialize with each other. But we were thrown together, and we all had a common goal.”
Jan took home a kitten named Ziggy. All the pets rescued and taken to either Camp Tylertown or the Celebration Station triage center had their photos and information listed on the Internet. So, once home, Jan regularly checked lost-and-found sites, hoping to find Ziggy’s person. No one came forward. “He came in one night with two other kittens,” she said. “He was rescued from an elementary school in St. Bernard Parish. The next day, I did his blood work. He was a mess. He was covered with muddy water, and he didn’t make a sound. He is just the sweetest little kitten. Then he got really sick with the upper respiratory infection.”
Now at home with Jan and her family, Ziggy, who has recovered, is “more than just a reminder of Katrina. He’s just one of the most amazing cats I’ve ever known. We bonded so strongly.” As a vet tech, Jan had worked at base camp with both dogs and cats. Sometimes, especially when the pets arrived in bad shape, it was difficult. She didn’t return to her job as a vet tech at a for-profit animal clinic. “I didn’t want to go back and work in a hospital immediately,” she said. “I felt like it was so money-driven.” Jan no longer felt at home in a hospital environment. “I got more gratification from helping for no pay,” she said.
The pull to continue helping was so strong for one volunteer that he extended his stay at camp by seven months. Chuck De Vito, an engineer from Minneapolis, had planned to stay less than a month when he took a three-week leave of absence from work. Instead, he quit his quality-assurance job with a biotechnology company to remain in the Gulf region until May 2006. He arrived at base camp in a minivan on September 17, nineteen days after the storm. When he made the decision to stay longer, he called his boss to say he wouldn’t be returning. He also left the farm he’d shared with two other people where he had helped care for a mule, three miniature donkeys, rabbits, goats, chickens, and a pot-bellied pig.
“I was originally set up to come here with the Red Cross, and I saw a link to Best Friends on CNN’s Web site,” Chuck explained. “I said, ‘You know what? I’m going there.’ ” And he did.
For the first few months he lived in his van, which he’d equipped with a nylon lean-to and a bunk he’d built. When the weather started to cool, he ordered a large tent. By then, he was caring for an aging Chihuahua whose owner was never found. Chuck named him Bang Bang. “We found him under a car in New Orleans on September 29,” Chuck said. “He’s content and happy, and he’s glad to be with me. He is old and missing his front teeth. I think he’s homely looking, but I adore him.”
Chuck helped rescue some of the toughest and highest-profile cases, including Himie, the Rottweiler found with a message in a bottle taped to his collar. Another of Chuck’s cases was a dog called Boyfriend, so named because animal expert Sherry Woodard was the only one the dog would allow near him; everybody called the dog “Sherry’s Boyfriend.” And there was Tripod, a three-legged Staffordshire Terrier
who chewed off her own leg to free herself from the mechanism inside a sofa bed. Tripod was a favorite of the volunteer caregivers. “Tripod was one of the ones I adored,” said Catherine “Cat” Gabrel. “There were only one or two Pit Bulls we couldn’t handle. But Tripod just warmed your heart. You just wanted to pull her up on your lap and hold her. Tripod was always easy to handle.”
She wasn’t so easy to handle during her rescue, however. “It took four of us two hours to get Tripod and Boyfriend,” Chuck explained. “We had to barricade them using a kitchen table and a refrigerator to keep them confined so we could get them.”
Because he was involved in animal rescue in New Orleans, “That experience really imprinted on me, and I decided I couldn’t go back to that other life for a while.” After a few weeks, Chuck took on other jobs, including power-washing endless numbers of plastic transportation crates. “Crate washing is like a never-ending pile of dirty dishes, but I pretty much do whatever anyone asks of me.” Then there was trash detail, which he worked with Best Friends’ former human resources manager, George Scherer. “If the head of human resources can do trash detail in the morning, then I can do the trash detail, too,” Chuck said.
Still, to him, the experience was extraordinary, especially with the new friends he made. “I haven’t experienced this type of thing since I was in the military,” he said. “It’s the kind of closeness people have that you don’t usually experience in the real world.”
It was the same for Don Arnold, a Vietnam veteran who had not left his home state of Maine since his release from the United States Marine Corps in 1975—that is, until Hurricane Katrina struck. He was watching news about the hurricane in early September 2005 when his phone rang. It was his friend Ronnie Lott, a veterinarian who had retired to Florida. “He called and asked if I was crazy enough to go down to New Orleans with him to rescue animals so he could treat them.” They planned to be gone two weeks. “I stayed eight months.”
