Animal Rescue / Dog Underground Railroad Article (Hey! We love them)!

[Guest guest]

A Journey On the Dog Underground Railroad,

by Jon Katz

 

 

Most people would have driven by without slowing, but

" Patsy Beckett " (a pseudonym) is a dog rescuer, so she

noticed the young border collie tethered to a tree

outside a Northern Florida farmhouse. Beckett made a

point of passing the farm on her way to work the next

day and for weeks thereafter.

Each time, she saw the dog--whom she christened

Fly--either sitting forlornly or straining at her

rope. " She was a beautiful dog, very alert, keen, "

Patsy said. At one point, spotting a neighbor outside,

she stopped and asked about the dog.

 

When Fly first arrived, the neighbor said, she was a

playful, busy pup, but she bothered the farmer's cows

and sheep and obsessively chased chickens, cars, and

trucks.

 

Evidently, the farmer didn't realize that border

collies aren't born knowing how to herd; it requires

long, painstaking training before they'll go whizzing

around on command. Pressed for time and money, farmers

have little patience for creatures that have to be fed

but can't be sold. But having paid $200 for Fly, the

farmer figured he could at least use her as a

watchdog. So, day and night, rain or shine, heat or

cold, the dog lived out her life attached to a tree,

barking and circling some of the time, lying down and

staring at the road the rest.

 

The neighbor, disturbed by the sight, had actually

called the police. But tethering was not illegal, the

cops said. She was fed; she wasn't beaten; there was

no crime.

Beckett made a few telephone calls. One night, when

the farmer's truck was gone from his driveway, she and

a friend from her rescue group parked their creaky

Windstar on the highway out of sight, crept up and cut

Fly's rope, and walked off with the startled but

friendly dog. " You will never be treated this way

again, " Patsy promised her. A few hours later, Fly's

collar was replaced, her tag destroyed, and her

picture posted on a mailing list about rescued

dogs.

 

Fly's life had changed forever. She was now in one of

the country's most interesting animal subcultures, the

dog rescue system--a semi-underground network of

devoted pet lovers willing to do practically anything

to help neglected and abused dogs find good homes.

 

Type " Dog Rescue " into Google and you will get

4,650,000 hits. Nobody knows precisely how many people

are involved in the rescue movement, but it's

reasonable to assume there are tens of thousands, in

every city and state. (If you doubt this, visit

petfinder.org, one of the rescue culture's primary

communications networks.)

Some rescue groups are highly organized, experienced,

well-funded, nearly professional. Others are small

amateur operations run out of garages and back yards.

Their members may identify strongly with animals as

victims, sometimes because of traumas and

disappointments in their own lives. Others simply love

animals and want to help them. Most participants are

middle or working-class women, it appears. And since

it's hard to rescue, treat, and re-home a dog without

help, they're obsessive e-mailers and communicators.

In fact, the growth of the phenomenon is closely tied

to the digital age. The Internet has made every dog a

potential national adoptee.

 

If Americans find themselves homeless, laid off,

abused, or in need of urgent medical care, no van will

pull up in their driveways to whisk them off for

treatment, place them in temporary housing, then drive

them around the country to find them appropriate new

homes and visit them regularly to monitor their

progress and make sure they're OK. With dogs, though,

it happens every day.

 

As of this writing, Fly is in Virginia en route to

upstate New York. More than a dozen people and groups

have already been involved in her rescue. Fly spent

her first couple of nights in a private home in

Jacksonville, as messages seeking help and transport

were posted on eBay and mailing lists where

rescuers congregate.

 

There's even a secret list that collects the

names of dog abusers, so that rescue groups can avoid

them as potential adopters. There were scores of

responses to the Fly posting, from all over the

country.

 

Next, a transporter with a minivan met Fly at a rest

stop near Jacksonville and drove her to Atlanta. The

well-funded rescue groups pay for gas and expenses,

but most others can't. The woman who drove Fly, I

learned, has spent thousands of her own dollars

rescuing dogs and knows the cheapest vets, the most

generous pet-supply stores, and the most vigorous

animal-rights support groups along the East Coast.

 

In Atlanta, rescuers sought help from a friendly vet

tech, one of many. The lowest-paid of veterinary

office workers, techs collect urine and fecal samples,

draw blood, work brutal hours, tend to sick animals

overnight, and are often the most fervent animal

lovers in a practice. (Many vets help rescued animals

when they can. Rescuers are savvy about figuring out

which vets waive or reduce fees for needy animals.)

 

The Atlanta tech treated Fly's rope-burn sores. Fly

received medication for worms and fleas, and shots for

rabies and distemper. A non-profit mobile veterinary

service agreed to spay her for a rock-bottom $60.

 

A different transporter picked her up for the trek

north to Charleston. Dog rescuers often know one

another, sleep in their cars or on volunteers' sofas

and guest beds, and hand off their charges in parks,

fast food parking lots, malls, and motel parking lots.

Another rescue specialist, known as a " fosterer, "

would keep Fly in her Charleston home for a couple of

weeks, to settle her down, watch for health and

behavioral problems, and evaluate her needs.

Professional rescue groups never adopt out an

aggressive or sick dog. Some of the smaller, amateur

groups aren't as careful.

 

Constant travel can be traumatic for a dog, especially

one who's never lived in a house or traveled in a car,

but border collies like keeping busy. The canine

underground railroad almost seemed fun for Fly, lots

of things to see, an exciting turn in life devoid of

activity. She was anxious, but she also enjoyed the

treats, the attention, and the opportunity to chase

balls and Frisbees. Nobody yelled at her. On the

contrary, everybody loved her.

 

At each stop, messages describing her health and

moods, the things that made her anxious, what she

liked and what she didn't, and which diet was

appropriate were posted online. A growing library on

Fly was being assembled daily for her rescuers and,

eventually, her new owner. Meanwhile, " re-homers " were

grilling potential adopters, making sure the next home

was the right one.

 

Fly was being reborn. Soon she would probably even get

a new name. Patsy checked back with her friends in

Florida. The farmer had not reported the dog missing

to the police or local animal authorities. He seemed

fine with the idea that she was gone, and he would

never hear another word about her.

 

There is no universal pattern to the movement of

rescued dogs, but many dogs move from the South to the

Northeast.

 

Spaying and neutering laws are reducing the number of

adoptable dogs in cities like Boston and New York, and

ideas about neutering and animal abuse are different

in some parts of the rural South, say rescuers. There

are more potential dog lovers with money in the North.

 

It's easy to see why dog rescue is a mushrooming

culture. Turning a troubled person's life around is

difficult, but rescuers with commitment and time and a

few dollars can radically alter the fate of a dog. And

there are millions of dogs--nearly 10 million in the

shelter system, many others mistreated in private

homes--in need of rescuing. We will not run out

anytime soon. The fact that so many thousands of

people devote themselves to this effort raises some

important questions about our society's priorities,

but there's no doubt it will continue.

 

Dog rescue remains a gamble, of course. For all the

good will, hard work, and noble motivation, nobody can

really predict with certainty how a traumatized,

dislocated dog will respond in a new environment.

 

I will find out soon. Fly is doing nicely, I'm

advised. She will arrive at her new home--my

farm--later this month.

 

 

 

 

Jon Katz's is the author of The Dogs of Bedlam Farm:

An adventure with three dogs, sixteen sheep, two

donkeys and me.

 

 

 

" The cat did not respond. She did not believe in paraphrasing anybody. If

people pursued this same feline wisdom, there'd be a lot fewer

misunderstandings. "

From Kinky Friedman's

Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Guest guest]

The article by Jon Katz angered and upset many of us who are active

in legal canine rescues. The dog in the article is not rescued; it

is stolen. In my home state (Virginia), that's a felony. I bet if

anyone had bothered to go offer to take the dog off the farmer's

hands for a few dollars, it could have been done legally. I also

find it amazing that Katz admits that he's receiving a stolen dog.

 

I'm glad that the dog in the article is headed for a better life,

but I wish it could have been accomplished legally. I also wish that

Katz would use his talent to promote legal canine rescue. There are

thousands of people devoted to breed, all-breed, and mixed breed

rescues who save dogs every day without breaking the law. Just ask

my foster dog and my three adopted dogs.

 

Take care,

 

Bobbi