Thankfulness Comes in All Sizes

This past summer I found a stray when I went to a local café. A group of bystanders outside the café had congregated in a circle around an emaciated dog.

The dog was just a few months old. Scant patches of liver-colored fur marked its body and a cruelly-defined line of bones ran the length of its spine. It wagged its tail and licked new friends indiscriminately. The group pondered what to do. One couldn’t have dogs, another had too many dogs, another had no place for dogs, and the list of good excuses continued. 

“I can take her,” I said. 

Wait, what was I saying?  I hadn’t even had coffee but it was insignificant, really.  I loaded the stray and headed home.

After a brief standoff with my dogs and some food aggression, the puppy settled on the carport for the weekend stay.

My houseguest ate like a horse, slept like a baby, played like a wild child, and scratched like there was no tomorrow.  By Monday, I knew why she was scratching.  A close inspection revealed mange.

By Tuesday my houseguest had been inspected, re-inspected, bathed and re-bathed and furiously scrubbed with peroxide. 

I phoned the animal shelter Tuesday, but worker told me the puppy’s infectious skin condition, poor health, and pit-bull breeding greatly reduced her chances of adoption. 

“But, she’s an absolute sweetheart,” I said.  “She comes when called, never leaves my property, is learning to play, and readily helping herself to my food and belongings.” 

The worker suggested I keep her. I conceded, but only until something else could be found — we began calling her Scully.

That week I called rescue groups but by week’s end I determined I was short on options. We were going to be plus one for our camping trip to Assateague. Saturday morning, we crammed the contents for our trip including me, my two teenagers and a friend of theirs, our two dogs, and Scully into a midsized SUV.

The day was beautiful; the sun shone, my children bickered, the dogs snarled, and I sang all the way to the coast. But we soon learned our first night’s accommodations were inadvertently cancelled. So, in keeping with the spirit of excitement, I decided head toward a campground in Virginia Beach. 

They were booked. We were on our own for the night. The lot of us were now just like little Scully, a band of strays.

We cruised the main drag for a while, then walked to a burger joint and ate outside in the warm night air. Two young Navy enlistees stopped to pet Scully and I told them her story. I thanked them for their service before they faded into the night.

Back at the lot, I shooed the kids off to take in the beach nightlife with the dogs. Families, couples, kids, even bike patrol cops stopped to pet the dogs and play with Scully and I told them of Scully’s plight. The beach cops directed me to a lot with twenty-four hour security where we could sleep.

There, a young couple stopped to fuss over Scully and I told them her story.

“She’s so pretty,” she said again and again. All I could think about was Scully’s mangy coat muted in the dim light.  Within thirty minutes, the woman was interested in adopting her.

We returned home Monday and by mid-week Scully’s liver brown coat was filling in and darkening to a lovely chocolate.  Two weeks later, I drove half way to Virginia Beach to meet the young couple who adopted her.

What had seemed doomed to fail turned out to be one of the highlights of my life. We got to take a summer weekend at the beach. My son, the dogs and I chased crabs in the moonlight. I talked over coffee with the security guard at the public parking lot.  Best of all, Scully found a family. We saved a stray, became strays ourselves, and lived on the wild side for a night. 

There are ways to contribute that extend beyond fostering a stray.

Consider donating pet food, a cage, or warm blankets to the local Humane Society. Offer to walk dogs at the shelter, clean cages at the cat house, make a financial contribution, or pick up a stocking stuffer for a stray while you are out shopping.

The most valuable gift you can give is to spay and neuter your pets, and if you are getting a pet, make adoption your first choice.

I called to check on Scully recently and received a picture of our little stray asleep on the sofa.  Scully’s story has a happy ending, but many don’t.

The Humane Society of Campbell County asks you to Spay, Neuter, and Adopt.