So… I have news… belated news, but news nonetheless.
Albus and I have a new baby.
Hes’s super skinny…
See, three weeks ago Malibu and Ventura County were on fire. I was sitting on my couch watching college football while looking at images of the devastation of the Woolsey fire, and I wanted to do something. The air outside my place was hazy and full of smoke. My social media sources were filled with photos of horses dangerously close to the lapping flames, evacuated goats on the beach, and the Malibu Wines giraffe was left in harm’s way.
I knew there were so many animals I couldn’t save, but I wanted to do SOMETHING.
On an impulse, I googled “Ventura County Shelter.”
On the first page of their site, I saw the image of an emaciated Boxer. He had been surrendered that day. I said a prayer asking God to open the door if it was in his will for him to be mine and to close it if it wasn’t right.
I set out to meet the sweet dog called “Snoopy.”
The freeway to Ventura County was closed because of the fires but I found backroads to lead me to the shelter.
The voice of Jim Dale reading “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix” on audiobook soothed me as I drove past plumes of stifling smoke as well as green fields yet untouched by the fire’s destructive appetite.
I arrived at the shelter only to be told they were closed for adoptions because of the fire. The woman behind the counter said I should come back the following day at 1 pm. She also cautioned me that Snoopy had stomach issues and they were a factor in his surrender.
Never one to give up, I showed up the next day, right on time. I had traversed the same backroads again, as the fires were still raging and conventional routes were unavailable.
When I arrived, I was again told they closed for adoptions. I offered another silent prayer. I reminded the volunteers they had told me to come today — at this time. I also said I couldn’t come again tomorrow because I had to work.
They consulted with one another and agreed to let me meet him. Again, they reminded me of his stomach issues. (Stomach, whatever. I didn’t care.)
I had boiled chicken in my purse in anticipation of meeting the little man.
They set him loose in the enclosure and I asked him to sit. He obliged immediately. I offered him a bit of chicken. Ravenous, he took the chicken so aggressively it seemed like he might take the tips of my fingers off.
I told them I wanted him — stomach problems and all.
They agreed to let me take him home for a mere $65.
$65 to save a life.
I would have paid so much more than that.
There’s so much more I want to say about him and his integration into my home, but I’ll save that for another post.
For now I’ll just say, I love the little guy.
Your brother and I LOVE you!
More on the origin of his new name later….