Dog Rescue—The Dark Side

Dog Rescue—The Dark Side




In a rational world, Emily and I would’ve been a match made right up there with raspberries and cream. Instead we both got sucked into the tornado and it was a long, surreal ride till we touched down back in Kansas. Or thereabouts.

After months of trolling dog rescue websites, I spot Emily on one and submit an application. A few days later I get an e-mail from Carla, the woman who runs the rescue, telling me to call Emily’s foster family and set up a meeting. Carla’s e-mail makes me uneasy. It reads like gibberish—unfinished sentences, misspellings. Like it was written, and forgive me if I’m wrong, by somebody who didn’t take her meds.

Oh well. We’ve adopted rescue dogs for the past thirty years and never had a problem. We’ll adopt Emily and move on. What’s the worst that can happen anyway?

Let me tell you about the dog who scooped up my heart and trotted off with it. Emily is a young Lab-Sharpei mix. Looks like a Black Lab except for the smallish floppy ears. Got a white star on her chest and a sprinkle of white on her toes and chin. A shelter picked her up on the street with a couple of puppies. Her past is unknown. You can only guess—hadn’t been spayed, doesn’t know basic commands and—the heartbreaker—doesn’t know how to play with toys.

She’s got an abundance of puppy energy, but there’s also a serene elegance about her. The combination is irresistible. Emily’s a tad wary at our first meeting, but after checking me out she warms up. Later, while I’m chatting with Jane, her foster mom, she’s snoozing on my feet.

My husband Max meets her a few days later. I send Carla an e-mail saying we’d love to adopt Emily. The e-mail we get back makes the previous one look like Shakespeare. From what we can glean she seems to be stalling. Bizarre. I thought she wanted to find a good home for Emily. Well she’s found one, damn it. I go from being merely put off by Carla to being ticked off.

Clearly, Jane and her partner have been providing a positive environment for Emily. They’re doing everything they can to facilitate the adoption. I tell Jane I’m feeling nervous about Carla. She confides that she’s had her own disturbing encounters with her. Suddenly, our relationship shifts from foster mom and potential adopter to allies against some weird gnarly antagonist.
Emily has an infected tooth. It looks awful. Jane says she thinks Emily broke it trying to chew her way out of a crate. Carla’s big on crates. Emily isn’t. Carla tells us that her vet, the one who had spayed Emily to get her ready for adoption, extracted the tooth.

??#%@+??&/%$???

I’m not a veterinarian but even an aging rhino could see that the tooth hasn’t been extracted. Jane can see it. Jane’s own vet can see it, the one who removed Emily’s spay stitches a few days ago. So while Carla’s jerking us around, Emily’s medical needs get stuck on hold.

Jane and I decide to wait a few days before trying to figure out what to do next. Carla may be a dicey character and we don’t want to do anything that might jeopardize the adoption. Then Jane gets an e-mail from Carla. Now she says the tooth hasn’t been extracted after all—she’ll have her vet take care of it.

What’s that line from The Wizard of Oz? “I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.” But one thing is clear. I don’t trust Carla or her shady vet. I don’t want him touching Emily. Why hasn’t the guy been de-frocked or whatever it is they do to hack vets? Carla lies. What else is she capable of? Now we’re really scared for Emily’s safety.

I e-mail Carla again, say that Max and I are completely committed to adopting Emily but we’re worried about her tooth. Would she mind if we have our vet, Dr. Brown, examine Emily at our own expense? Dr. Brown has been treating our dogs for over ten years and we have absolute trust in her.

Carla says she doesn’t want Dr. Brown to examine Emily. My concern for Emily soars. I’m totally creeped out by Carla. Is she unscrupulous and irrational? Does a bear poop in the woods? And isn’t “poop” the operative word?

Emily’s in pain. I decide to go ahead and have Dr. Brown check her anyway. I don’t bother to tell Carla. I make an appointment and ask Jane to bring Emily to Dr. Brown’s clinic. We tell Dr. Brown the whole story. She’s says she’s run into characters like Carla more than a few times. They can do bad things. She agrees the tooth needs to be extracted.

It’s crazy to wait around for Carla. In three seconds I to decide to ask Dr. Brown if she’ll do the surgery. She agrees. We all realize at this moment that I’m crossing a line. I don’t have any legal rights to Emily. And Dr. Brown’s crossing a line. I’m grateful beyond words. Jane’s in, too.

The surgery is scheduled for next week. We all sense Carla is somebody you don’t want to cross. We even consider boarding Emily at Dr. Brown’s until the surgery to make certain she’s kept out of harm’s way. But, hey, isn’t that more paranoid than a couple of reasonably sane people need to be? We decide against it.

Jane and I write an e-mail to Carla telling her what we’re going to do. Max and I will cover all Emily’s medical costs and will pay her $250 fee in full. (We don’t say, “Even though your inflated fee presumably includes providing a ‘medically sound’ dog.”) Then something like thank you for your dedication to the dogs blah blah blah. Please don’t contact us again, best wishes.

The night before Emily’s surgery, Jane calls us. Her voice is almost unintelligible. Carla and a sheriff pal showed up at their house and seized Emily. The sheriff was a bully, just like Carla. They felt blindsided and violated.

I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. My shock, rage, grief, and fear for Emily shoot off the charts.
Oh I get it. Welcome to dog rescue—The Dark Side.

If Carla cared a rat’s tail about Emily she could at least have waited till after the surgery. I can’t stop crying. I drink a glass of wine. Then a second glass. I look out the window. A pale half moon floats amid a sea of stars. Shiloh, our Golden Retriever, ambles over to me. He’s a rescue, too. He leans against my legs. I hug him hard and long. His stillness is extraordinary.

I try not to think about Emily with Carla, stuck into a crate in the back of some grimy truck, trying desperately to chew her way out.

I can’t think of anything else.

All I want to do is hold Emily. Take her someplace lovely and green where she can bop till she drops. Teach her silly tricks. Teach her how to play. Dogs are the ones who usually remind us to play. It’s one of their gifts. I want her to see that life is good, that not all the world is a dark scary place. Where’s that Yellow Brick Road when you really need it?

Next day Jane and I turn into a pair of manic researchers. We hit the Internet, send e-mails, make phone calls. We contact Animal Rights organizations, try to find a local animal rights attorney. Maybe it’s not in the cards for Max and me to adopt Emily, but we’ll do whatever we can to make her safe.

The consensus is that our only recourse is the humane society or law enforcement. After Carla’s sheriff stunt, law enforcement is a wash. And Jane thinks Carla may have some kind of connection to the local humane department, but she files a complaint anyway. Can they check up on her? The supervisor acknowledges that they’ve had run-ins with her for years, he’ll do what he can. We’re heartened. Carla’s shrewd and devious, but we’re on a mission—warriors for justice, beauty, and all things dog.

A few days later we learn that the humane society has done what they call a “Welfare Check.” Without even bothering to investigate Carla in person, they scanned some paperwork on her and concluded “All is well.”

And the ruby shoes. Where are the ruby shoes?

I call a friend for guidance. She's had decades of experience doing animal rescue. She says I have to do the unthinkable. I have to let go. I have to let go of even the hope of keeping Emily safe. She says people like Carla are treacherous—nobody wins against them. And once they target you the harassment might never stop.

How do I let go of Emily?

I hug Shiloh again and again. I’ve got to stay positive or this anger will eat me up. Tagore wrote, “Faith is the bird that feels the light and sings while it’s still dark.” A mantra my mind can latch onto every time it starts veering off into that swamp of fear and rage.

I miss Emily. I’ll probably never see her again. Never see that soulful little being who appeared in my life for such a short time and then was violently yanked out of it. “Faith is the bird that feels the light and sings while it’s still dark.”

Next day Jane and I talk options. We can’t let go. Not yet. What if we could find someone else to adopt Emily? Someone with no connection to any of us so Carla and her sheriff crony wouldn’t have any excuse to harass them. Or maybe someone else could adopt her on paper then down the line turn her over to Max and me. Okay, I’m a dreamer.

“Somewhere over the rainbow…troubles melt like lemon drops….”

We check Carla’s website. She put Emily back up for adoption. Seeing her picture makes me melt—and seethe again. There’s got to be a way to get Emily away from Carla. And soon. Please God, Buddha, Wakan Tanka, the Unified Field Theory….

Just in time an angel appears. Jane called her friend Sally who runs a ranch nearby. Sally’s outraged by the story and agrees to try to adopt Emily. She’s already got more animals than she can handle and won’t be able to keep her for long, but it can buy us some time.

Sally immediately writes Carla asking to adopt Emily. She understands completely—the urgency, the kind of person we’re dealing with. Her letter is a work of art. Within days Carla agrees to let Sally adopt Emily.

I write Sally a check to cover Carla’s absurd fee (while holding my nose) and her son goes to pick up Emily. He’s appalled by what he sees. Carla’s place is filthy, dogs are in tiny cages, Carla looks strung out on who knows what. And Emily’s collar was fastened outrageously tight.

But she’s home safe with Sally! Amazing. I can breathe again. Maybe once we recover from this saga we might be able to do something to shut down Carla’s sleazy operation before she does more damage to the dogs. At best she’s a case of good intentions gone terribly terribly bad. Maybe drugs blew some of her circuits. But people make choices. All that counts now is that Emily’s safe.

Last week she had the surgery to remove her bad tooth—like two months overdue. Thank you doesn’t begin to say it. Max and I had to jump through a few more technical hoops, but Sally legally transferred Emily over to us. Not even the Pope can take her away now. Emily belongs to us. And we belong to her.

Somewhere over the rainbow? Shiloh and Emily are asleep at my feet—that somewhere is right here.