THE DOGS OF WINN-DIXIE

The first time I fell in love last week was with the Chow-who-wouldn't-walk. He was also the first dog I met whose terror had taken him to a place far inside, beyond the reach of anyone. Physically, he was fine. His eliminations were fine and he could lift his leg. He just would not move. Thus, to walk him, one had to crawl into the crate, pull him from the back of the crate to the front of the crate, lift him up and walk out of the tent and to the perimeter grass 50 yards away. It was during these exercises, while I staggered unaided past strong male rescuers, that I discovered that we kennel helpers were somewhere between invisible and the Untouchable caste.

Mr. Chow would eliminate, and then I would pick him up and wobble back to his crate.

After about three of these outings, Mr. Chow began to move to the front of the crate when I approached. I knew we were friends when he moved to the front of the crate and wiggled a little. But he never walked a step. And then one afternoon I went to get him and he was gone, moved to a more permanent shelter and I hope to a new & better life. I missed him.

The occasion of my first emotional meltdown revolved around an adorable little creature who looked like a cross between a Doberman & a Dachshund. It was love at first sight and I took her for her vet check up, microchipping, Frontline® and a couple of walks before, on the very day she had arrived, a woman walked up, took the leash out of my hand, and said, "I'll take her now to go with an adoption group from Wherever, Louisiana." I lost it. My heart broke. Tears spilled over while I kissed the pup on the top of her head and told her to promise me she'd have a wonderful life and that I'd never forget her. It wasn't until two days later that I made some sense of the automatic bond and agonized parting. Maybe the fact that the pup was black & tan, just like the beloved Airedales back home, had something to do with it.

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IN THE EYE OF THE STORM:
KATRINA "A-TEAM" TRIP HERE