With things in the World today, everyone needs something to hold on to... something that doesn't suck. Working in rescue I see horrible things every day and even less than so many of my counterparts who are actually running the rescues and going on the dog raids. When a tragic little creature entered my life over 3 1/2 years ago I never knew what journey we would embark upon. I used to cry myself to sleep at night wondering what would ever become of Tucker. Wondering how I would ever find him a home. Wondering whether it was fair for him to be confined to life in the daycare because he deserved so much more than I could offer him. Because of our own dog pack and heirarchy, he could never live in our home-- we tried, the results were disastrous and our alpha female refused entry of another dog to the pack.
Over time, it became normal for Tucker to live here-- in fact, if he could talk, he would tell you it doesn't suck being a permanent resident. From 7AM until about 3PM he is surrounded by dog and human companions, then dinner and bed and blankey time in his 15 x 15 suite with floor to ceiling windows. How many dogs do you know who have that amount of "time" with their families? Never does a night pass that I do not slip into his room to kiss him goodnight and tell him he is loved. It became apparent that Tucker was instrumental in calming other dogs-- he has a tranquility about him that is therapeutic. He can grind a human's last bean getting his way, but with dogs it's a different level of communication. Dogs never hurt Tucker, and he trusts a dog over a human to this very day. It became a natural progression that other fosters would room with Tucker-- and not a one ever showed any separation anxiety. It has become his job to socialize and acclimate the foster dogs who travel across our path on their way to their forever homes.
Over the past several weeks we have been raising funds for Tucker's orthopedic surgery. A community got on board and rallied for this one deaf, maladjusted, crazy little white pit bull. The doorbell has rung at least 15 times over the past two weeks with total strangers stopping to make a donation. I am moved to tears with each display of giving. Maybe this is his 15 minutes of fame, I don't know. His story had to be told, it was not for the pity factor or to guilt people into giving money-- but I had to tell people why he needed surgery, and why it was so important to me. It's a story of ugliness. But it's his story, and it wasn't until today that it dawned on me that this IS his purpose, this is his legacy, and this is why he is with me and not somewhere else at this exact moment in time. Maybe I am just the mouthpiece and a better typist, but everybody needs something good in the life to believe in, to hold on to, and to fight for, including me. When we are faced with such ugliness and hatred in our daily lives, it feels good to know that one deaf, maladjusted, crazy little white pit bull made us feel human and good if only for a moment.
Loved this post. And so accurate. This one deaf, white pitbull has taught me so much as a human in such a short time. I plan to tell his story for years to come. If we do not educate the masses about the horror of dog cruelty and abuse, history is bound to repeat itself. My mission from Tucker is to educate, educate and educate whoever I can about his story.
ReplyDeleteLove and virtual treats to T-Man.