Loaded crates in my old Oregon living room, after the November 7 transport
November 7, 2006
2:00 a.m. - My former rescue partner, Dave, is on the phone with the volunteer rescue coordinator at the Merced County Shelter, California. Dave's dogs - Cheesecake, Spoon, and Tiger - are passed out on the living room floor, and I am trying desperately to stay awake while Dave reads through the list one more time. The list is Merced's weekly PTS - Put to Sleep - list, and it is endless. Can we take another medium-sized? Three more littles just came in - is there room on board? What about a large dog; any hope at all? Yes to the medium, yes to the littles, and I run through the list before we finally give a yes to one large dog - a Great Dane/pit bull mix the shelter has fallen in love with.
Finally, at 2:30, we have a rough estimate of the number of dogs Dave and I will be transporting on our leg of a twelve-hour trek from Merced, California, to Portland, Oregon. Twenty-five dogs are scheduled to come up, and - as usual - Dave gives the okay for however many spayed or neutered cats may be available.
The next day, we will drive Clean Slate's Dodge van three hours down to Eugene, Oregon, to meet the transporter from Merced. The cats will be released into the Clean Slate Cat Interaction Center, while the dogs will be distributed to area no-kill shelters in Oregon and Washington that have agreed to take them on.
We sleep fitfully for a few hours before rising early the next day; there's much to be done. Crates are cleaned, Clean Slate's resident sixteen dogs are exercised and fed early, and the van is loaded as efficiently as possible, with every crate we can find.
3:30 p.m. Time to hit the road. We are scheduled to meet Harlin, the Merced transporter, at 6:30 that evening in a Mobil station parking lot. It's my first pick-up - I've been on the receiving end of plenty of transports, but this is the first time I'll be present during the "big switch" - the lengthy process of transferring multiple dogs and cats from one vehicle to the other.
6:00 p.m. We reach Eugene a little early only to realize that we've forgotten to bring emergency leashes. I get the time-worn speech from Dave: "We should have a checklist - when I did this in California, I always had a checklist. Why don't we have a checklist?" Lacking the checklist, Dave and I go to Target and pick up three cheap leashes from their limited pet section. By now it's time to meet Harlin.
6:35 p.m. True to his word, good old Harlin is waiting for us in a giant suburban with his nephew. Harlin is about sixty, with a bit of a paunch and a kind face. There's no time to get acquainted, though - our charges have been crated for ten hours now, and we need to get them back to Clean Slate as soon as possible. Because of timing, logistics, and the inherent danger of trying to walk twenty-five plus dogs on a busy highway, everyone is simply transferred from Merced to Clean Slate crates as quickly as possible. Curious on-lookers stop to watch; one woman wants to know if we are breeders, while a police officer stops when we transfer Nick - the Great Dane/ pit mix - into our van. I can only imagine what he's thinking, as we rush through our job silently, unloading dog after pitiful dog, on this cold November election night in Eugene.
7:30 p.m. Everyone is loaded, and we bid Harlin and his nephew a fond farewell. The final tally, in our cramped Dodge van? Thirty dogs and seven cats, all of them exhausted, cranky, and terrified. Because we've run out of crates, I hold two Chihuahuas - one tiny aging fellow I name Fitzgerald, another a little sweetie pie named Red - in my lap for our journey home.
10:30 p.m. We return to our usual chaos. Dave and I agree to turn all of the Clean Slate dogs out first, before unloading our cargo for the night. The Clean Slate pups get a quick potty break, an even quicker dinner, and are returned to their rooms. And now, the real fun begins.
11:30 p.m. I break out my trusty clipboard, and begin recording as we remove each dog and each cat from its crate for inspection. Most everyone looks good, however there is a crate filled with four Chihuahua pups who are terrified, nipping, and refuse to come out. An emaciated beagle pup doesn't look like he'll make it through the night, another Chihuahua pup is clearly bloated with worms, and for a moment we think we've already lost a skeleton of a poodle, lying quietly in his crate. Upon closer examination, we realize that he is, in fact, okay, but he'll need attention. We also have a very, very pregnant retriever mix, and the much-talked-about Dane/pit mix hasn't stopped barking since we arrived.
3:00 a.m. Everyone - with the exception of the four Chihuahuas, who still refuse to leave their crate - has been exercised and fed. The cats have been released into the Cat Interaction Center, and everyone has been catalogued for distribution the following day. Exhausted, I go upstairs and collapse, while Dave continues on through the night. It's another fitful night's sleep - a house filled with forty-six dogs is not exactly a quiet place, to say the least - before another action-packed day.
November 8, 2006 -
The Democrats have reclaimed both House and Senate, which is encouraging. Dave and I, on the other hand, have done nothing to reclaim our own space. I wake at 7 a.m. to find Dave's 84-year-old father already hard at work, taking the small dogs out one by one to the exercise pen for a little fresh air. I help out with this daunting task before doing morning rotations for our own dogs and getting the morning feeding under way. The cows are mooing, the dogs are barking, the cats haven't been fed yet, and I am wondering whatever happened to my quiet little writing life in Portland. It has never seemed farther away.
That afternoon, we have determined who will be staying and who will be on their way. Dave and I know the local rescues well enough to know their strengths and weaknesses - we give the heartiest souls to a Portland rescue with a great adoption record but a less impressive facility and foster network. The more fragile - including our quaking poodle and two aged cocker spaniels - go to a shelter in Woodinville, Washington, where they will be fostered until they find their forever homes.
Seven of the dogs will remain with us, either because of illness or because they are too clearly traumatized to make yet another transition. The exception is our boy Red, who, it turns out, was not meant to be on the transport and has a home waiting for him way back in California. The other dogs are Nick - who is too large to be considered adoptable by any of the participating rescues; Skippy, the emaciated little beagle who soon becomes my special project; a trio of two Miniature Pinschers and a fluffy white fellow who are all terrified after leaving their lifetime home due to a nasty divorce; Rainne, a golden retriever mix whom we soon learn is also very, very pregnant; Fitzgerald, the frail old Chihuahua who kept me company on the ride back, and - of course - Red.
Within two months, all but one of these pups will be in loving forever homes. Rainne is the exception. On December 14, 2006, she gave birth to five beautiful pups - including my much-loved Killian and Adia. After that, Rainne was pretty much a staple at Clean Slate. Though she only had one litter of pups, she was a mom by nature, and it became her job to set straight any pups who happened along at the rescue. And now, as I sit in my living room far from Clean Slate and everything that came after my departure, with Killian and Adia sleeping soundly nearby, I am amazed yet again at just how much forty-eight hours can change one's world.
If you're interested in learning more about rescue transports, contact your local shelter. You can volunteer to simply be a driver, house animals (less than thirty-seven, for sure!) overnight, or help out with gas and transport costs. Whatever your interest, I guarantee there is a place for you to help in rescue!
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