2009  Feb 6

February of 2009, just another rescue dog that On Wings Of Care, Inc. had been asked to fly.  They told me it was an older small dog, currently down at the local Humane Society here in southern California, needed to go to Prescott, AZ.   I headed to the Humane Society as usual the afternoon before our scheduled flight, in order to meet the dog and assure that he/she would be comfortable meeting me early the next morning and getting into my airplane.

The dog turned out to be a very ragged-looking old female terrier mix.  They had nicknamed her "Tilt" because she couldn't hold her head up straight and couldn't walk a straight line.  They said she had probably had a stroke.  She favored her right rear leg, and  x-rays suggested she had been hit by a car.  They said that she was very sweet but that nobody had wanted to adopt her, and her only option other than euthanasia was to go to this hospice in Arizona.

"Hospice?" I asked.  I take dogs to happy loving forever homes, not to places to die.  I didn't like the sound of that.  Even ratty-looking old terrier mutts who are a little lame and feeble can still keep somebody's lap warm and happy and give a lot of love for at least a couple of years.  I thought of some of my warm-hearted friends who would be super loving homes for this little dog.  It was out of the question of course for me to take her.  I have never had nor wanted a small dog, and I have never been without at least one german shepherd since I was 10 years old.  I asked if I could have a week or two to find her another home, a real home.  "No.  Sorry, she has to go now.  We've already had her here for several months since we found her on the streets."   This is not good, I thought.  No  way am I going to fly this poor thing to a hospice if I can find her a loving home.  Certain that my friends would be tripping over themselves to provide for her, I told them that I'd just adopt her myself right there, and I bet that I'd have her in somebody's loving arms that very night!

I brought her out to the car, introduced her easily to my wonderful-in-every-way  9-year-old rescue german shepherd "Ford," and set her comfortably in the front passenger seat.  I decided immediately that I could not call her by the demeaning name "Tilt" as that just made fun of her problem, so I announced to her and Ford  that her new name was Tilly.  She sat there with her tiny disheveled head tilted up at me the straightest I had seen it yet, wearing a dirty little bandana covered with hearts, and the look in her eyes made my heart stop for a second.  Here is the photo I took at that moment, before I started the car and headed for the house of the friend who was my first candidate for a new home for Tilly.

To make a long story short, by 9 pm that evening, I had visited three different friends' homes.  Don't get me wrong, they are the warmest and kindest of folks.  But each of them had some understandable strong reasons for why they just could not take Tilly.  She was too old, had too many problems, not the kind of dog they were looking for, it was not a good time for them to take on the responsibilities, and so on.  All of us who work with animals in need of adoption have heard all of these reasons a million times.  We can read their coming in the first glance we witness between person and dog.

So I came back with Tilly to the truck where Ford was waiting patiently, and sat there in the back with him, Tilly still in my arms.  I was tired of driving, Ford was hungry and so was I, and this ragged-looking little mutt was still beaming with a look of hope and gratitude.  In a flash my heart and demeanor changed, I looked at her and at Ford, and announced "Okay then, she stays!  Come on Dogs, let's go home!"

And so it happened that Ford and I have been blessed with the greatest little spirit in a dog I ever knew.  It took a few months of really good food and soft, warm places to sleep and a lot of love, but soon that head of hers started to stand straighter, and she started to walk where she was looking instead of about 30 degrees to the left.  By six months, she was leaping streams, running ahead and around, jumping into my arms for a hoist into the car, and barking for joy at whatever the next activity was to be.  Her happiness is  infectious.  Nowadays, the rare times that Ford and I have to go anywhere without her, he acts as troubled and uncertain as I feel, and when we are reunited our smiles can fill a canyon.

Here is a photo of Tilly from Sunday 2011 August 28, after a lovely hike and swim in the river at Louisiana's Bogue Chitto state park! Obviously she wasn't ready to hang it up and die three years ago!  (:--)))