One evening as a newlywed, my  husband called me from work and said that he was bringing home a rescued puppy.  This puppy, said he, was very sweet and had been treated abysmally. He had heard that the rescuer was searching for a home and of course he could not turn the pup away.  So I prepared a little box for the pup, stuffed it with comfy old blankets, and awaited the inclusion of our new family member.  It was a long evening until the pup arrived, and I finally gave up and went to bed.

Slurp! I got a lick from a giant tongue on my face as I was quickly awakened by a monstrous-sized dog. Some pup! This was a half-husky, half shepherd mix that was one of the most beautiful creatures I have ever seen.  Despite his enormous size and paws, he was a very gentle young dog.  However, the little box appeared ludicrous compared to his enormity, and I knew I had been hoodwinked. But it worked.

Pete had a golden color and longer hair than a shepherd, more like a collie but solid golden.  The fur near his chest was proud and bold, and his ears were upright and attentive. If ever there existed a dog who was loving and appreciative, but filled with spirit, it was Pete. The picture that most captures the younger me in a happy, relaxed state is one with Pete. He brought happiness along with those enormous paws.

Another late evening (I was catching on by now), I received another call from my husband relating that he had found another little critter for me to adopt.  This one was a newborn kitten, and by newborn, I mean newborn as in left wet without the umbilical cord being cut.  My husband stumbled across him while working as a night watchman (he was a student at the time). He did not believe the poor little thing had any chance at all for survival, so he threw him in the water by the dock. To his amazement, the kitten started swimming.  Still believing that the kitty could not make it, he got a mop and held him under, thinking he was sparing him a slower death.  But the kitten bobbed up and started swimming again, so he scooped him up and brought him home, complete with instructions that the kitty needed to be fed every hour round the clock. He said if that kitty wanted to live that badly, he was going to give him the chance.

We used a toy baby’s bottle, made a hole in it, and fed the kitten goat’s milk.  I kept him on a warmed bed beside me and fed him hourly, round the clock.  I had to rub his tummy gently with my finger to help him expel waste.  This was some very intense bonding between Skeet, the kitty, and me. Pete was pretty interested in what was going on in the box, but he only peered inside and never touched the kit at all. As the kitten grew, Pete would raise up on his hind legs to catch a peek at him; before long they were sharing food dishes and playing together gently. Skeet was understandably attached to me and would stay at my side most of the time.

Pete had a very large fenced yard in which to roam at the time we brought him home. The six-foot high fence, however, could not contain him. I would see him circling around and around, until he would build up enough momentum to clear the fence. We then put up wiring on top of the fence. I recall looking out and seeing Pete looking like a mountain goat walking on the top of the fencing. No matter how many walks he went on, he yearned for more space. Eventually, despite our own broken hearts, it seemed kindest to give it to him. We found some people through friends that owned a large ranch in Northern California and they happily took Pete with them. Last we heard, he was in heaven with the large expanse of acreage and nature around his new home.  We were not destined to be his permanent guardians; we were his transition.

Skeet was another story. He wanted nothing more than to stay very close to me, forever. That is what I wanted, too. But we had to move at one point, and Skeet found that very difficult. We kept him indoors in the new house, but couldn’t find him anywhere. After a long search, he was discovered in a kitchen drawer. Somehow he had squeezed in from under the cabinet. He took up the entire space and I still cannot believe he jammed himself in that drawer, but it must have felt safe to him. Just like abused kids, this abandoned, nearly killed little spirit was wounded and insecure; he needed containment.  To look at him, all you would see is the most common gray Tabby; you would miss the tremendous spirit that kept him alive.  He rewarded me for the devotion I gave him every single day of his precious life.  He was that kind of loyal. I once heard it said that heaven is having all the dogs you ever loved come running up to you, to keep that loyalty and affection forever. I would add to that, not just the dogs, but all the critters. That would truly be heaven….please consider rescuing a shelter animal.