A BIG DREAM
I did not want to be a foster mom. My years in Guam, rescuing boonies dogs, revealed that I was terrible at it. An epic rescue would form a bond that fused into my soul and when they were adopted, I couldn’t escape the feeling that someone had stolen my dog.
For more than a year, I had been working to pull together a significant project. A filmmaker by trade, I was determined to bring my love of storytelling to my life-passion for animal advocacy. Animal House, a series dedicated to renovating and building animal shelters in struggling communities, was my answer to inspiring compassion, sharing knowledge, and improving services in places where animals were often undervalued.
Building on a grass-roots effort, an animal shelter project in rural Adams County, Washington, was selected to be showcased in the pilot episode. The Adams County Pet Rescue (ACPR) shelter burned down in 2009 and they had been struggling to raise enough money to rebuild. It took them two years to raise the funds to lay the foundation, build the walls, and put on a roof. But with the community out of steam and money, the building then sat empty and unfinished. Years passed as the group struggled to function out of the old, dilapidated city pound while serving a community that was drowning in third-world, stray animal conditions. Dogs and cats were literally dying in the streets.
I entered the picture with the intention of completing the new building and helping Adams County Pet Rescue develop a strategy to connect with the community and reduce pet overpopulation. As the leader of the Animal House effort, I was facing the greatest challenge of my life: building an animal shelter, while shooting the pilot episode of a television series. I had to stay focused. I could not get sidetracked by plucking animals off the streets. The hands-on animal rescue takes a great deal of time and time was in short supply.
I scheduled multiple trips to the region to prepare for the upcoming shoot. We needed to learn the lay of the land, connect with the local community, and understand as quickly as possible, the size and source of the problem. On the first trip over, I ventured into one of the neighborhoods, along with my producing partner Alycia. As we drove through, people waved kindly and the stray animals were everywhere. Experts at dodging cars, the dogs reminded me of the boonie dogs on the island of Guam that I encountered over twenty years ago. They were street-smart, untrusting, diseased, and hungry.
How could I just drive away? How could I separate my Animal House mission from so many animals with immediate needs? How could I possibly succeed if I was drowning in guilt? And then the full mission became clear. Turning away was not an option so on each trip going forward, we packed light and brought empty crates and on the return trip, the car was filled with animals on their way to a new life.
A HIGH DESERT PEARL
Preparations for the upcoming shoot had advanced and we officially entered pre-production. The local community came out in droves to support the project and one local businessman generously offered us the use of his lodge that was close to town and large enough to house our entire crew. The lodge sat at the edge of a patch of wetlands at the back of the property that was also home to a feedlot. Thousands of cows were moved across the property each day, by men on ATVs and working dogs.
One evening, on our way back to the lodge, we noticed a red and white border collie under a cattle chute. We slowed down and attempted to see what she was doing under there and that’s when we saw the puppies. We got out to take a closer look, thinking that perhaps she was a stray or that her person did not know that she had given birth in the dirt under the cattle chute. Being so dirty and skinny and tired, we were certain that she did not belong to anyone. Just another stray, in a sea of strays.
It was October and the nights were cold so we loaded her and the puppies into our van and headed to the lodge where she was bathed, fed, and snuggled into a comfortable bed. A short time later, our host arrived and asked how everything was going. We told him about our find and he urgently insisted that we put her back. He said that the dog and the puppies belonged to his ranch hand that lived in the house near the road. “She’s been having puppies under that chute for years and you need to take her back,” he said.
We were all heartbroken but did as instructed because the consequences of doing differently, were significant. Before returning her, however, we made sure she was dry, purchased a mountain of blankets, and then crawled under the chute, cleared out the trash, and made her the best nest that we could. The next day we went in search of the dog’s owner to offer food, medical care, supplies, and help with the puppies. Sadly, there was no one to be found.
For the few remaining days, before heading back to the west side for supplies, we brought her food and fresh water and fixed her bed. When we rolled out it was with a heavy heart and we vowed to do all we could for her, once we returned.
Three weeks later we arrived back at the lodge to find the puppies close to five weeks old and waddling around under the cattle chute. Two of the eight puppies were gone and the mama dog was thin, tired, and limping. We finally found David, her owner, and began to lay the groundwork for an intervention that we hoped would improve the quality of her life and secure responsible homes for her puppies.
David shared that the two missing puppies had been sold, two of the others were spoken for but the remaining four puppies were available for fifty dollars each. I committed to buying all of them on the spot and asked if he would allow me to take Mama Dog to a vet. He agreed and together we came up with a plan: Over the next ten days, I would care for Mama Dog and her puppies. I would get her spayed and vaccinated, keep her safe while she healed, get her leg x-rayed, and allow her to spend time with her puppies. At the end of the ten days, provided the vet signed off on her going back to work, she would be returned to her spot under the cattle chute.
Upon arrival on set, I designated one of my production assistants to be in charge of Mama Dog and the puppies. Community members started showing up with stray animals so we commandeered the construction trailer and turned it into “animal holding”. Within days, Mama Dog was scheduled to see the Animal House veterinarian and get much-needed care. Ideally, she would have had the time to properly wean her puppies and then dry up before her spay but I was confident that if we did not take the opportunity to get the surgery done, she would be having puppies for years to come.
Mama Dog came through surgery fine and spent her recovery time between a soft bed in the construction trailer and a soft bed in the back seat of my car. At night, she slept with me in my trailer which at first, was a bit of a challenge for a dog that was not accustomed to sleeping indoors. Each day she was showered with affection and care and was becoming animated, nibbling on my hands and face. She especially loved rolling on the cool grass but each time one of the ATVs would zip by in the distance, she pulled at the end of her leash. A working dog who was missing work.
Every day people would ask me if I was going to keep her and I would explain that she was not my dog. That I was only caring for her and that when we wrapped production, she would be going back to her home and back to work. There was an obvious bond growing between us and her joy in having a comfortable bed was a growing concern. How could she go back to sleeping in the dirt? How will I ever leave her behind? I honestly didn’t know.
Throughout the shoot, I made it a point to stay in touch with David, sharing updates on her progress and assuring him of her health and safety. I made it a point to tell him that if he ever wanted to allow her to retire, considering that arthritis had been found in her hip and knee, I would find her a wonderful home. He thanked me but did not take me up on the offer.
As we neared the end of production, I was choked by concern. Her stoic expression had given way to what appeared to be genuine happiness. In the evening, after our long production days, she would lay on the couch, paw me to get pets, and chew on my hair. The thought of putting her back under the cattle chute made me physically ill.
The next evening, David found us taking a stroll on the back lawn. He said that he had been thinking that maybe Mama Dog would be happier in a new home. He suggested that I take her back to the westside for a while and “see”. His apprehension about simply letting her go was understandable. After all, she had been his working companion for several years but could not work as much anymore due to her age and injured leg.
I ignored all of the potential scenarios that would end in heartbreak and leaned into the idea that David would see that he made the right choice for her. I arrived in Vancouver, Washington, and set about getting Mama Dog acclimated to my household. I fought the urge to start testing the waters for an adopter and instead focused on keeping David updated.
Mama Dog was an outdoor dog in a very cold climate so moving indoors wreaked havoc on her coat. It was November now and she was blowing her coat like it was spring. Every day, I combed enough hair off of her to cover another dog. Soon her face was relaxing and she was becoming playful. It was hard to look at her without feeling frightened about what the future held and I struggled every minute to keep my heart in check. Then, one afternoon, I received a text saying that I was free to find her another home. I breathed the biggest sigh of relief and then wept and laughed for almost an hour. This beautiful dog would now have a life filled with comfort and love. Mama Dog was now Pearl.
A week later, and well into my search for an adopter for Pearl, I received a text that set me on a path filled with so much anguish that I have never been the same since. The ranch where Pearl had lived under the cattle chute, employed many ranch hands. The ranch manager had personally used Pearl to work the cattle. The fact that she was injured and old and belonged to someone else didn’t matter. He wanted her back and took his complaint to the ranch owner.
The ranch owner, who had graciously hosted us for months at his lodge and was a key supporter of the new animal shelter, texted me and asked me to return the dog. I explained to him that she had been given to me but he said that David didn’t know what he was doing. I wasn’t sure if this was an issue of the ranch owner mistaking David’s broken English for ignorance or if David really didn’t understand that he had given me the dog. I combed through the countless, well-written text messages looking for a sign of a misunderstanding and there was none.
While I went round and round with the ranch owner, the ranch manager threatened to fire David if he didn’t get the dog back. This would not just be about losing a job, David would also lose the home at the ranch that he shared with his wife and two small children. I reached out to the ranch manager to see if we could reach an agreement but hit a brick wall. He simply insisted that I return Pearl to the ranch and place her back under the cattle chute, because “David belongs to me and so does his dog,” he said.
A tidal wave of anger swept me into a pool of helplessness. I had spent two years working to build relationships within the community, that would safeguard the success of the animal shelter programs once we left the region. Thousands of animals, that had suffered for years, relied on the success of these relationships. The ranch owner was a well-known individual in the area that had pledged his support to the shelter. Telling him to take a hike could bring it all crashing down. And if that wasn’t bad enough, my actions could put a man out of work and see him, his wife, and two young children evicted from their home.
While the world was unraveling, my precious Pearl was settling into what she thought was a new way of living. She was playing and smiling, wagging her tail, and making friends with the other dogs. She slept comfortably on the couch and each day joined me on a stroll to fill the bird feeders. Over the years, I had taken countless animals out of deplorable conditions but I had never removed one only to then put them back. My heart grew so heavy and filled with hate that I could barely breathe.
Every waking moment was spent agonizing and sleep was filled with dreams of failure. I spoke at length with Alycia and my close friends and weighed and re-weighed the matter. My sorrow reached a fever pitch when I received a text from David, asking me to please bring Pearl back. He could not calm the waters at the ranch and was genuinely afraid for his family’s well-being. The ranch owner was angry with everyone and threatened to withdraw his support for the animal shelter. And so, with my hands tied and my heart shattered, I agreed to return her.
Every moment of the next few days was filled with tears and anger. Pearl’s coat had blown from living in a heated house and I didn’t know how she would survive the single-digit temperatures of Eastern Washington. I scoured the internet in search of a heated dog house within a five-hundred-mile radius. If I had to return her, I was going to take every single thing that she could possibly need to stay warm and survive. I bought her flannel dog shirts and fleece-lined raincoats. I collected food and blankets. I gathered up joint supplements and treats and toys. And then I loaded her up and headed back to hell.
Pearl and I drove in silence from Vancouver, Washington to Pendleton, Oregon where we picked up a heated dog house and then drove on to Othello where Alycia was waiting. I tried in vain to put on a brave face for Pearl through the tears that would not stop flowing from my eyes. I reassured her that it would be okay, even though I didn’t believe it. I fantasized about stealing her and about running over the ranch manager with my car. I hated everyone, including myself.
By the time I arrived in Othello, it was dark. Alycia met me in the parking lot of the hotel and climbed behind the steering wheel. She would take Pearl back to the ranch, set up her house, and deliver the supplies. I climbed in the back seat and held Pearl, crying into her fur and begging her to forgive me. I got out of the car and Alycia drove away. When I could no longer see the taillights, I went up to my room and cried until I vomited.
Alycia returned after a couple of hours. I asked all the things that I didn’t want to know. Was Pearl sad? Did she try to get back in the car? Was she cold? Did they promise to use all of her things? Alycia did the only thing she could do for me and my despair – she lied.
Since the moment Alycia drove away with Pearl, I had been haunted. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I had let her down and how cold it was in the high desert. I wondered if she was using her warm house or if she was sleeping in the hay and manure, under the cattle chute. Was she being worked too hard? Was she lonely? Was her leg hurting? Rage, hatred, sadness, and concern ripped my heart and mind apart. And as much as I wanted to box up all my misery and put the whole matter behind me, I remained engaged with David to ensure that if Pearl ever needed anything or if he ever changed his mind, I would be there at a moment’s notice.
I took to sending text messages each day to David, asking how Pearl was doing and kindly reminding him that I missed her and would always be available to help her. Sadly but understandably, he didn’t respond to any of my messages.
On a day like many others, I sent a text message to David saying hello and that I hoped Pearl was doing well. This time, much to my surprise, he responded. He said that Pearl was fine but that she was very tired and limping a lot. He apologized again for everything that had happened, even though it was not his fault. Then, he said that he had an idea. He planned to tell the ranch owner and manager that he was retiring Pearl and sending her to live at his brother’s house. He would then let Pearl return to the westside, and no one would need to know. I started trembling and texting as fast as I could. “Yes! When? I’ll come right now!” Within ten minutes, the plan was set and the sun was shining in my world once again.
The next day, Alycia and I drove east toward Othello, Washington. The plan was to meet David at his brother’s house and pick up Pearl. We stopped along the way and purchased Christmas presents for the entire family and also brought along a relinquishment form so that everything was documented. This time, there would be no discussion as to who she belonged to.
We arrived at the address that David provided and no one was home. My stomach lurched as I ran through the possibilities of David changing his mind or the ranch manager interfering again but before I could unravel, a pickup truck came rumbling up the drive with Pearl in the truck bed, between two bales of hay. I didn’t want to be rude, but I wanted Pearl and I wanted to leave. So I presented the gifts asked David to sign the relinquishment form and left with a very dirty and tired Pearl.
I was emotionally exhausted but elated to have her back. We stopped in Tri-Cities to give her a bath and spent close to an hour combing the manure clumps out of her coat. As I washed her and massaged her leg and kissed her face, I could tell that she was confused and unsettled. I told her, over and over, that I was sorry and that she would never be cold, hungry, or lonely again. And even as I said it, the words burned in my throat. I had made and broken those promises before.
When I had first met Pearl, it took her days to really look at me but now, without pause, she scanned my face and looked into my eyes. I spoke to her sweetly and sang the little song that I made up for her the day I changed her name. “Pearl the swirl is a pretty, pretty girl”, would send her into crazy zoomies around the house but now, I sang it over and over, hoping to earn her forgiveness – trying to forgive myself. I needed a sign - a tail wag, a little kiss, her paw reaching out to me like before - but Pearl simply stared at me with her soulful eyes, withholding the smile that I craved but no longer deserved.
Two weeks later Pearl was adopted by a loving family that vowed to spoil her for the rest of her life. Pictures of beach trips, lounging on the couch, and walks to the bus stop left me choking on guilt. In seeing her joy, which was just a little less bright, I was reminded of my betrayal. When I received an invitation from her adopted family to come for a visit, I couldn’t get past my shame. I gave Pearl something special and then took it away. And while I tried to give it back again, I knew that something had been lost. I was sure that if I ever saw her again, there would be no happiness on that day, only puzzling tears and sorrow that would fill the room.
Soon, the updates became less frequent and I shifted focus back to my film work and the never-ending supply of animals in need. Pearl, still living her best life, moved to Chicago with her family. I’d like to believe that somewhere along the way, she forgave me. And I’m hoping that somewhere along the way, I’ll find my forgiveness for myself.