Picking up strays

My dad seemed to have a special place in his heart for strays. He brought home critters and creatures that no one else wanted.

I have a sweet memory of coming home after ½ day of kindergarten, and going with my dad to pick out a puppy from the dog pound. It was hard for him to only get one. Another time he bought me a $5 kitten from the pet store in the mall. He said they weren’t always the healthiest, but they needed me the most because they came from sad beginnings.

When I was about 8 years old, he came home with two baby pigeons, feathers still wet from having hatched that very morning. He had heard shots in the alley outside a downtown office window and looked out to find two boys killing pigeons with their BB guns. Daddy climbed out onto the ledge, gathered in the nest and baby pigeons, and brought them home. He created a warm place by constantly refilling hot water bottles, and fed them 'round the clock with an eyedropper. They thrived! I don’t remember their names anymore, but I do remember coming home from school one day to find daddy gently nudging them to fly—reminding them of what they were born to do. Amazing!

Homeless dogs, cats, horses: The Universe just seemed to know to send them in a direction that would cross my dad’s path. And Daddy’s adopting ways were never limited to animals. He brought home stray people as well. Several times we gave up our beds to someone daddy had collected from the street, a café, or the rescue mission where he volunteered. I remember twice being afraid of the strangers, but mostly they just softened around Daddy’s heart. Some tried to pay him, some stole from him, some promised to pass along the gifts to others.

One man named Shorty (big black man who towered over my dad’s 6’2” frame), lived for years in an alley in a downtown ghetto. (The same alley as the orphaned pigeons!) Shorty was “rolled” one morning, which, Daddy later explained, meant that he was robbed of everything--including the clothes he was wearing--while he was still unconscious. Apparently he became rather animated when he woke up. Dad looked out his office window and saw Shorty covering himself with cardboard, running from one end of the alley to the other, calling for his pants as if they would come to him on command. Still laughing, Daddy helped Shorty find more clothes--and food—both of which were offered for the price of listening to a prayer. After that, they shared sandwiches on the sidewalk several times. Shorty came to love my dad simply because dad spoke to him as a friend instead of a “skid row bum”. Shorty later saved my dad’s life when an inner city gang of boys backed my dad into an alley. Shorty’s alley. Those boys felt brave with their chains and knives, but they scattered when Shorty called my dad by name and asked if there was trouble.

It never mattered to Dad the outcome of the situation, only that when a stray stole his heart, he could not pass by.

Living in my house right now are two dogs my daughter rescued; one from the SPCA and one from a cruel owner. They share our house with an even bigger dog that my son rescued from a breeder who did not protect his purebred female from a stray, male mutt. We also have two cats, one who was rescued, and one who was born to us because we didn’t get the first one fixed fast enough. (Sorry!)

My son, now 21 years old, away at college, is also a 911 for lost souls and critters. Class hamster in elementary school, fallen birds from trees, puppies, kittens… He even once called me to ask if he could bring home a dying mouse he found in the high school boys locker room. He called me again last week. The phone call began with, “Mommy, let me start by telling you I’m really really sorry….” It ended with a puppy who was trying to get on an 8 lane highway and now has a name and his own food bowl at my house as he waits for adoption. I just sighed, memories of my dad rushing in my head, and thought, “Well, at least it is ONLY a puppy!”

I was thinking, Just Now, that maybe The Universe sees a sad story begin (animal or otherwise) and prepares the stray and the rescuer for an alternate ending. I'm not sure yet what that means for those who never meet their rescuer, but I have seen that it’s the honor of being born with human skin to play out a role in that story.

That sounds like something my dad would have said…