My first “Hearth and Soul” column (more than three years ago) began with a
quote from Edgar A. Guest: “It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it
home…” I’d like to amend that a little; it takes either a heap o’ livin’ or a
dog or a really good cat. This is a belief I was born with. Most families trace
their lineage to the Garden of Eden or a pair of mud skippers with a dream who
dared to crawl once and for all from the primordial soup. Our family? We’re
directly descended from dogs and, subsequently, I fill my home with my
relatives.
I was bred to believe in the intrinsic goodness of dogs. My parents have spent
a lifetime rescuing dozens of abandoned and abused four-legged relatives. I
once believed my dogs were people zipped up in dog suits. Now I recognize that
as the anthropomorphic drivel it is. Instead, I strive to be a dog zipped up in
a people suit. So, tell me, what’s a breed like me supposed to do when I hear a
dog’s in trouble?
On the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, as I sat in the vehicle title office in
Dripping Springs waiting my turn, an old fellow shuffled in and began to lament
the fate of a dog that had been in his yard for three days. The dog couldn’t
move his back legs and the old fellow, who’d just had open-heart surgery,
couldn’t pick him up. An officer had come out and looked at the dog a couple
days before, but nothing else had happened. The old man was calm, but
insistent. Something had to be done. The clerk made a phone call and said
animal control would be out later that day. I knew what that meant. The dog,
who had been crawling around for days in the freezing weather, would probably
be shot immediately or tossed in the truck and gassed after a few more hours of
suffering. Instinct propelled me to my feet and made me say, “Sir, could I come
take a look at the dog?”
One look, a trip to the orthopedic surgeon and a whole lot of money later, Mr.
Lucky — the sweetest lab/heeler mix — is now recovering in my utility room.
Both back legs were crushed and his hip was dislocated. Dr. Kerpsack repaired
the mess with a couple of pounds of metal plates and pins. Although I already
have two pooches, who aren’t exactly thrilled with the new addition to our
household, I can tell that Mr. Lucky’s arrival here has pushed my house a
little closer to becoming a home. And me a little closer to becoming a dog.
Are you sure you want my advice? Then e-mail your questions to me
at: Suzebe@aol.com or snail mail ’em to: The Austin Chronicle, PO
Box 49066, Austin, TX 78765.
This article appears in December 20 • 1996 and December 20 • 1996 (Cover).