Saturday, June 30, 2012
I'm not a dog-rescue type person, we're not the same breed. I'm an "Oh fuck, you're a stray; I'm going to close my eyes and count to ten until you disappear" sort of person.
It a technique that works, often enough.
The rescue people, well, they're much better than I, and I've already signed over my frequent-flyer heaven miles so they can get there first class. Enjoy their sparkling wines, cocktails at take-off, booties, blinkers, and thin mints.
Still, when I find a dog, the rescue people are really hard to get a hold of, they never call back. But then, they're not in the business of rescuing me, extricating me from my problem, are they?
I so reluctantly rise to an animal rescue occasion that it barely counts. When I take action, it's not rescue, but beaten down resignation. And then I pester people, those who actually own the dog, for instance, to do the right thing.
And when they don't or won't or can't, well, I've absorbed at various times in my life, three dogs, a rabbit, two birds.
And now, there's this girl.
And I like this girl. I like her a lot. Because she's smart and has party manners. She may be fat, but she never steals cake or swipes the crumbs off the sideboard. Her toilet etiquette is above reproach. And she's the perfect hostess, welcomes all the party guests. She keeps herself tidy, gloves clean, always smiling, always sweet.
Lily will curl up on the sofa, waiting for me to turn on the TV so we can watch her favorite episode of Animal Planet. But I don't have a TV, and Lily is too polite to point that out.
Lily jumps over the five-foot wall into my yard, and then out, in and out again, with equal enthusiasm. That's the problem. I don't necessarily want to keep her out, but I can't keep her in.
Neighbors now know, if Lily is trolling the hood, take her to Karin's place. Their absolution waits at the little house on Athens. Wouldn't I do the same thing given the chance,in a heartbeat. Because none of us want to see Lily picked up by the pound. It would be a death sentence. She has no collar or chip, only a gentle disposition.
Lily's owner doesn't want her. But Lily doesn't know that. She's excited to go back home after her night on the town and supper with the handsome, dimwit Albert. "Ok," she says, standing by my front door, "I'm ready to go now. I guess my ride is late, so you'll have to drive."
What to do. What to do.