ONE VOICE

 - By Jenny Denison

How could I think
That one voice, my voice
Would matter in the scheme of things?
Such a small, insignificant voice
Railing against the mob,
Protesting against smaller lives trampled.

So wanting to be a champion
For the small, weak and undefended.
Not even knowing how to say "No!"
To protect my fragile inner child,
I suffered with the unspoken torment
Of the rage smoldering in my soul. 

Every injustice, every cruelty
Done to God's creatures
Wounded my heart
And stirred the embers of that rage. 

Then one day a voice came from deep in my heart
And cried, "No More!!"
Fear was flung to the winds.
Fear that my voice wouldn't be heard,
That it wouldn't count,
That I couldn't make a difference. 

The fear was replaced
With the heartfelt conviction
That I was one of the chosen
To protect God's creatures.

That, just like the disciples,
I could teach one person at a time.
I could prevent one animal's suffering,
Provide shelter,
Give love,
Change lives.

Me.

One voice.

This is an article written by a Veternarian who investigates animal cruelty cases. It has a happy ending but tells a powerful story.
- By Dr. Max Rust, D.V.M., Tulsa, OK USA:

I should warn you, I'm not James Herriott. My dog's story is not of the warm fuzzy genre, but is illustrative of a most pervasive problem....one which too few of you are aware.

It is often said that veterinarians must have an inordinate love for animals, but they also are often called on to deal with the very harshest realities of human and animal relations. If my dog tale lacks the cloying sanguinity of "All Creatures Great and Small," hopefully it is not totally devoid of optimism.

A year ago in June, on a hot Sunday afternoon as I lounged in torpid repose, Channel 2 News was airing a story about dog carcasses found in the back yard of a Tulsa residence. Two of the dogs were still alive, so I knew I would be involved in the case.

"Maggots was workin' on three of 'em and the fourth one's only been dead about two days." The sheriff's lieutenant continued in an impassive voice,"it's been alleged that they were fightin' pit-bull dogs in the garage, and when one would get killed, they'd just drag it out in the yard and let it deteriorate."

Feeling old, tired, and professionally burned out, I wondered why had I volunteered for the grim task of animal cruelty exams and necropsies. I guess, as depressing as it was, it seemed like important work. Maybe I just wanted something besides myself to feel sorry for. If that was the case, I was about to get my wish, IN SPADES.

The following morning after doing the spay and neuter surgeries and rabies observations, I headed for the pens housing the two dogs from the news story. (It's hard enough for me just to walk through the rows of dog runs at the shelter, knowing that most of the animals will have to be killed....sometimes I get the urge to open all the gates and set them free, but that would not solve their problem.) They suffer from that "most terrible disease," in the words of Mother Teresa, "of being unwanted." It's sad to say, but as outcasts, they are much better off in the shelter than anywhere else.

When I got to the first dog's run, it looked empty. I'm used to seeing dogs with sad faces begging for a crumb of attention or warily cringing against the distal parapets. There was nothing so animate as either in this run. When I first saw him, he was curled up so tightly, he could have been mistaken for a water dish. As he tried to stand up, I could see the pitiful remains of a large pit-bull dog. Bones jutted out everywhere. He looked like a skeleton with hair, and what hair he had was in sparse, dirty little tufts between numerous fight wounds, scars, and mange. His ears had been clumsily chopped off and the unhealed edges made him look like a macabre Mr. Potato Head.

I recoiled in horror at the sudden thought of what this poor, wretched dog had endured. What sort of dissolute soul could do this to a helpless old dog?

After staring at him for what seemed an interminable period, I realized that I had five more animals for cruelty exams (each with another story), so I had to move on

Driving back to my clinic, I thought how depraved it was to treat animals this way.......was it sadism, apathy, or stupidity? None seemed in short supply. I kept seeing the pit-bull's face, a swarthy apotheosis of the downtrodden. There are so many like him, I felt powerless as I pondered the enormity of the problem

Animal cruelty is an epidemic that with only the most egregious exceptions escapes the public's notice. This poor dog had been beaten, starved, mutilated, forced to fight for his life, and, worst of all, socially isolated.

Dogs are very social animals....more so, even, than humans. How can humans be so inhumane? How can humane people let such things happen? I resolved to rescue him; even though it was a scratch on an obdurate surface, a drop in a very large bucket.

I couldn't just leave him there to be euthanized. That's the only way pit-bulls are allowed to leave the shelter.....dead. I wanted him to experience at least one good day on earth. If possible, maybe I could even show him what it's like to be loved and wanted.

It would take some string-pulling from the D.A.'s office before I could get him released from the shelter......after all, he was a pit-bull, the paradigm of canine incorrigibility. (That is what media mavens would have you believe.) The truth is, pit-bulls are the oldest registered American breed and have long been favored for their courage, (fanciers call it "gameness") loyalty, and intelligence.

Unfortunately, their fighting reputation has made them very popular with a lot of unsavory characters who have ushered in a spate of backyard-bred, people-aggressive curs. Real pit-bulls are selected to be so people-friendly, they don't even make good watch dogs. But the newspapers are sold by grinding angsts, not accentuating positives. Consequently, people who wouldn't know a pit-bull sitting at their feet, still consider them to be the snarling menace of their worst nightmare. So torturing and killing them is, I suppose, more acceptable, or at least easier to ignore.

I'm NOT a pit-bull fancier. In fact, I'm more of a cat person, but let us remember, as "Uncle Mattie" says, "There are no bad breeds, just bad breeding." We transferred the pit-bull to my clinic and started treating his multitude of problems. I had no idea what kind of dog he would be personality-wise, with all of the abuse and privation he had suffered.

His stone face was inscrutable...blank except for a sadness in his sunken eyes. He was easy to work on so with considerable effort from all concerned, along with lots of treats and loving attention added to the antibiotics, vitamins, and medicated baths, the 30-pound skeletal specimen was morphed into a solid 75-pound dog.

After a couple of months, a shiny coat hid most of his scars, and the glum look on his face had been replaced by an infectious grin that, adorned by his chopped-off ears, was reminiscent of a happy face drawn on a Pompeian ampulla.

Meanwhile, my jaded karma had been ameliorated by his astonishing progress, not to mention his buoyant, stiff-upper-lip charm. Somehow he had managed to come through unimaginable hardship, not only clinging to life, and maintaining a positive attitude, which was to me, an inspiration. We named him, "Pete."

Pete and I started going on daily walks, short at first because he didn't have much stamina. Soon we were doing three miles or more, and as we ambled our way through the bosky recesses of Boman Acres, we were getting to know each other pretty well. It wasn't long before I was feeling better than I had in years!

Dog walking is very good exercise for man as well as dog. Pete loves and is loved by all of the neighborhood children, and for the most part has even become a gentleman around cats and other dogs.

Transformed into a doting pet parent, I beam with pride at any compliment directed at my charge. With a cake and party hat, we celebrated Pete's unofficial birthday in July.

I think it's safe to say that Pete has helped me at least as much as I have him. When asked what breed he is, I've been known to answer, with a slightly cryptic grin, "He's my 'Healer.'"

So it was that Pete and I came to heal each other and in the process, became bonded in lifelong friendship. His case was not only a watershed to me, but a source of encouragement to the cruelty investigating team.

Pete's previous owner is now serving six counts of 5 years each. Judge Turnbull simply termed the case "unbelievable." I wish that I could agree with that assessment; but, although the brutality of Pete's former life is now only a distant memory, many other cases continue to pass through the shelter with oppressive regularity. It is all too believable for those of us that grapple with the gruesome, and often overwhelming problem of cruelty to man's best friend.

If ever you find yourself in need of a cure for ennui, or maybe just a dose of reality, I highly recommend a trip to the city animal shelter, where you will see that taking any kind of significant bite out of animal cruelty remains a formidable, if not impossible, undertaking.

Having learned from my friend Pete, I, for one, have no intention of giving up.

There's Always Room For One More
- Anonymous

I see by his coat he must be a stray,
the untidy look gives him away.
He's lost his will and is so thin
hasn't eaten, since God knows when.
I know as I coax him through the door,
There's always room for one more.
The other night in the freezing rain,
That little female came again.
Matted and soaked crying in need,
lost and alone with babies to feed.
Her pleading eyes I couldn't ignore,
There's always room for one more.

There's a new face on the docks today,
hungry but clean, to our dismay,
I stroked her head Her body rippled
when she got up I saw she was crippled
she started to go, but fell on the floor.
There's always room for one more.

There's the poor doggy standing in the rain,
I've tried to entice him Time and again.
One ears lopsided, the other's been torn,
Blind in one eye, lost and forlorn.
He's coming now, so I'll open the door.
There's always room for one more.

These stories are true, As I've said before,
There's always room for one more.

 

THE RESCUER'S CREED
- Author Unknown

I promise I will take your unwanted animals. I will heal their wounds, their diseases, their broken bones. I will give them the medical attention they need and deserve. I will nurture their starvation, and give them a warm place to sleep. I will spay and neuter them, vaccinate them against the diseases that can harm them. I will treat them and honor them. I will buy them toys, blankets, balls, and teach them to play. I will speak softly to them. I will try to teach them not to fear, not to cry, and not to hate. I will whisper sweet, kind, gentle words into their ears, while gently trying to stroke their fear, their pain, and their scars away. I will face their emotional scars and give them time to overcome them. I will socialize them, potty train them, teach them to be obedient, show them dignity, and hold their paws, and stroke their ears if they have endured too much and walk them over the Rainbow Bridge, BUT most of all I will teach them Love.

A RESCUER'S CREED

- by Susan M. Pearson

I shall be a believer of all that is good in man and of all that is deserving in animals. I shall plead for their lives, campaign for their safety and uphold their right to a natural death. I shall seek out the injured and the maimed, the unloved, and the abandoned and tend to them in their last days. I shall not forget their place in the hierarchy of life, nor that we walk in each other's paths. I shall bear witness to the wonder they bring into our lives and to the beauty they bestow upon our souls. I shall renew their spirits when they are waning, bind their wounds when they bleed, cradle them when they whimper, and comfort them when they mourn.  I shall be near them in their hour of greatest need - a companion and friend when the time has come. I shall watch over them and console them and ask that the angels gather them in their arms. From the creatures of the earth I shall learn the fruits of compassion and undying love, and I shall be called the beloved of God. In their company I shall indeed be blessed.

THIS RESCUER'S PRAYER
- by Grace Saalsaa

Lord,

Thank You for bringing this foster dog into my life. Had I not made the decision to participate in rescue, I would never have had the chance to meet him. If I had sat here comfortably in my home and said "I already have four dogs and I know that I couldn't take in another - even on a temporary basis," I would never have met this dog.

Yes, it takes time to rescue and foster.... but who gave me Time in the first place? And why or what was the reason I was given Time? To fill my own needs? Or was there another reason ever so small and seemingly insignificant, like rescuing this one dog, that could make a difference in another's life? Perhaps to add joy, hope, help and companionship to another who is in need?

With great sadness, I sat down on a footstool in my kitchen this morning and watched as this foster dog bounced back into the house and skidded across the floor to sit ever so perfectly in front of me. He was the picture of health, finally. He was all smiles for me.... and I smiled back at his happy face. Deep in his eyes, the storm clouds of illness and generalized poor health had blown away, and the clear light of his perfection radiated out from his beautiful soul. He holds no ill will toward man. He forgives us all.

I thought to myself as I impressed this one last long look of him into my heart, what a very fine creature You have created. Tears slowly pooled and spilled over my cheekbones as the deeper realization of how wonderful this dog is sank into my internal file cabinet of Needful Things to Remember. Lord, he's a dog - but he's a better human being than I am.

He has forgives quickly. Would I do the same?

He passionately enjoys the simple things in life. And I have often overlooked them.

He accepts change and gets on with his life. I fuss and worry about change.

He lives today and loves today. And I often dwell in the past or worry about the future.

He loves no matter what. I am not that free.

This very lovely dog has gone to his new home today and already I miss him. Thank You for bringing this dog into my life. And thank You for the beautiful and tender lesson on how to be a better human. 

RESCUERS AT RAINBOW BRIDGE
- Author Unknown

Unlike most days at Rainbow Bridge, this day dawned cold and gray, damp as a swamp and as dismal as could be imagined. All of the recent arrivals had no idea what to think, as they had never experienced a day like this before. But the animals that had been waiting for their beloved people knew exactly what was going on and started to gather at the pathway leading to The Bridge to watch.

It wasn't long before an elderly cat came into view, head hung low and tail dragging. The other animals, the ones who had been there for a while, knew what his story was right away, for they had seen this happen far too often. He approached slowly, obviously in great emotional pain, but with no sign of injury or illness. Unlike all of the other animals waiting at The Bridge, this animal had not been restored to youth and made healthy and vigorous again. As he walked toward The Bridge, he watched all of the other animals watching him. He knew he was out of place here and the sooner he could cross over, the happier he would be.

But, alas, as he approached The Bridge, his way was barred by the appearance of an Angel who apologized, but told him that he would not be able to pass. Only those who were with their people could pass over Rainbow Bridge. With no place else to turn to, the elderly cat turned towards the fields before The Bridge and saw a group of other cats like him, also elderly and infirm. They weren't playing, but rather simply lying on the green grass, forlornly staring out at the pathway leading to The Bridge. And so, he took his place among them, watching the pathway and waiting.

One of the newest arrivals at The Bridge didn't understand what he had just witnessed and asked one of the animals that had been there for awhile to explain it to him.

You see, that poor animal was a rescue. He was turned in to rescue just as you see him now, an older cat with his fur graying and his eyes clouding. He never made it out of rescue and passed on with only the love of his rescuer to comfort him as he left his earthly existence. Because he had no family to give his love to, he has no one to escort him across The Bridge.

The first cat thought about this for a minute and then asked, "So what will happen now?"

As he was about to receive his answer, the clouds suddenly parted and the gloom lifted. Approaching The Bridge could be seen a single person and among the older animals, a whole group was suddenly bathed in a golden light and they were all young and healthy again, just as they were in the prime of life.

"Watch, and see" said the second feline.

A second group of animals from those waiting came to the pathway and bowed low as the person neared. At each bowed head, the person offered a pat on the head or! a scratch behind the ears. The newly restored animals fell into line and followed him towards The Bridge. They all crossed The Bridge together.

"What happened?"

"That was a rescuer."

The animals you saw bowing in respect were those who found new homes because of his work. They will cross when their new families arrive.

Those you saw restored were those who never found homes. When a rescuer arrives, they are allowed to perform one, final act of rescue. They are allowed to escort all those poor animals that they couldn't place on earth, across The Rainbow Bridge.

"I think I like rescuers", said the first animal.

"So does God", was the reply.