I am cleaning my office, tossing out old memories by the garbage bag and it hurts. I am a "collector" of some things like food, paperwork and linens. The food thing is something my mother taught me by example for two reasons. First, she was born in the Depression, so she learned this from her parents. They also lived in northern Minnesota, where snow could cause even the horses to be useless to travel for supplies. They were early-day "preppers" by necessity. Those lessons were stamped in me.
Then there is the emotional connections to some things about rescue animals we helped. Each old contract is a memory which I was required to hold, but after giving up my license last May, it's no longer required. The office is also the same room our fireplace is in. A Zodiac cast iron wood stove was stuffed in it long before we bought this place. We never used it because it just didn't look safe, and we were right. Two chimney company officials looked at it and said it was a house fire waiting to happen. So, we are having it replaced with a modern stove, and the chimney will be fully lined with steel on Monday.
I am cutting wood by myself. That last 6-inch rain we had this fall caused two large oaks to fall right behind the house in the forest, so I'm not going to allow them to be rot. That was something else my parents taught me. Figure out a way to use stuff instead of wasting it. Even if it is in an unconventional way, be creative.
So, this morning I was cleaning out the first contracts I wrote for dogs adopted in 2009, and the memories flowed. At the top was a transfer of ownership paper about a dog named Albert, a poodle/schnauzer-mix male that lived in Marble Hill. I met Albert Nov. 15, 2009, deer hunting weekend. When I walked in the house late morning to warm up and take a break, the phone rang. It was a woman who lived in a green rental house, the tiny one on the east side of the electrical company. She wanted to get rid of her dog that day. He wasn't housebroken. I recall that she was going to throw him outside, and I felt it was an emergency, so off I drove in my blaze-orange hunting suit.
The dog was pitiful. This is what I wrote about him in my comments: severe hair loss, stinky, oily, open sores on body and belly, never saw a vet until that morning (because I took him). Dr. Jones said he had a severe yeast infection and needed a bath with Dawn to get that sticky oil out of his coat, and then bathe with ketoconizole twice a week.
He was super sweet, loved all the dogs, and cuddled. A vice was that he would grab my hands when excited, probably to make sure I didn't leave him, or was it gratitude? Maybe proclaiming ownership of me? Maybe just so excited he had to hold onto something. We fell in love with this dog. It happens when you spend a great deal of time for special care, such as housebreaking and medical attention. We decided to keep Albert because of the bond he had for us. He was so committed.
He and all the other loose, yard dogs would run down the long driveway when they heard my red Chevy truck. I'd move at a snail's pace, but that day I felt a bump in the road where I knew there wasn't any. Albert had decided to grab my front tire to stop the truck.
His head smashed by my tire, the only thing that saved me that moment was that I knew it was quick and a surely painless death. Since 2010, I think of that day, that moment, every time I drive in the yard and the dogs are loose. I pray, "Please, Lord, protect the pooches from being harmed. Amen."
We were caring for 19 dogs and pups at our home Jan. 6. If you have a stray camping out in the yard, don't wait. Call us at (573) 722-3035 or (573) 321-0050.
MARILYN NEVILLE is director of Bollinger County Stray Project.
Connect with the Southeast Missourian Newsroom:
For corrections to this story or other insights for the editor, click here. To submit a letter to the editor, click here. To learn about the Southeast Missourian’s AI Policy, click here.