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Chapter 24. "Saint Mary"
About a block from the apartment in which Tara and I lived, was a small park with a fenced-in roller hockey court. In the mornings the park and court would be empty and I took my foster dogs there to let them enjoy a little time off-leash. One particular morning, in 1993, I was aghast to find an abandoned dog tied up to a pole in the park. The dog had a long, thick leash and collar, but no tags. He appeared to be about two or three-years old and was a large, very formidable looking, tan-colored Pit Bull/Boxer cross.
I put Sheena, Bambi and Coby in the roller hockey court and slowly approached the wary dog, holding out my hand. "Hey, boy, who did this to you? Are you a nice dog?" The dog began to wag his tail softly, and I got close enough to pet him. He pushed gently against me wanting more attention and his soft, large brown eyes peered into mine, seemingly pleading to get him out of there. "Its, OK, boy, we'll get you out of here."
But, first I had to make some sort of arrangements and get my own dogs back to my place.
I took my dogs back to the apartment, called my vet to set up an appointment and returned back to the park to get the abandoned dog. But, he was gone.
I saw a fiftyish-looking woman reading a newspaper on one of the park benches and asked her if she knew anything about the dog. "Oh, yea," she said. "The ASPCA was here a few minutes ago and picked the dog up. Scary-looking animal. I'm glad they took him away." Damn, I thought. I would have to call the "A" to see if I can get the dog out. He would most likely be euthanized at the city pound. "Thanks for the information," I said to the woman who clearly did not like dogs, but at least directed me on where to go. She went back to reading her "Daily News."
I raced back to my apartment and immediately called the ASPCA.
"Was a dog just brought in from a park on 96th Street and First Ave?" I asked anxiously.
"Just a minute. Let me check," the nonchalant woman's voice said on the phone. It seemed forever before the bored voice came back on the phone. "Yea, just came in. Doesn't look very friendly," the voice said. "Look, I need to put a memo on that dog. Who can I talk to about that?"
Another small eternity seemed to go by before a Julie Norris came on the line. "Hi, this is Julie" the bubbly voice, greeted. "How can I help you?"
"This is Patty from New Yorkers for Companion Animals," I answered, grateful that the person on the other end of the line was someone I knew. I'm calling about a dog that was just brought in from East 96th Street."
I explained the situation to Julie and told her I was interested in getting the dog out. "I can put a memo that you are interested in the dog," Julie said. "But, we will have to give him shots first, examine and evaluate him. Call me back tomorrow and I will let you know what the situation is."
I was a little dubious about the uncertainty of the situation, but could not argue with ASPCA policy. In the meanwhile, I needed to figure out what I was going to do with the dog if and when the ASPCA told me to pick him up. He wasn't after all, a highly desirable poodle. And, I already had three dogs in my apartment. Still, that pleading gaze in the park and my promise to the dog could not be dismissed. I had to think ofsomething!
I spent the rest of the day making desperate calls to every animal person, shelter and rescue group I knew. Everyone was full, but one of the people I spoke with asked me if I knew Mary Evans? I had never heard of the woman, but was grateful for any referral. "Give her a call," Toni said. "She's a great dog person and once helped me with a dog."
It was early evening by the time I got Mary on the phone.
The soft-spoken voice on the phone was very sympathetic to my plight. "Well, I already have quite a few dogs here," Mary said, "but sure, I will be happy to hold him until you can find him a permanent home."
"Thank you so much, Mary! You don't know how many calls I have made. It seems no one wants to even hear about a dog who has Pit in him. Pits are wonderful dogs, Patty," Mary said gently. "Don't believe all the bad stuff you hear about them. I have two Pits and three Rottweilers."
But, the next day when I called Julie at the ASPCA, the news was not good.
"The dog had been given a "5T"status," Julie told me somberly. "That means he is too aggressive for adoption. If you want to take him in rescue, you will have to sign a bite waiver. We cannot be held responsible for his behavior." I told Julie I would get back to her before the end of the day. I had to update Mary on the status of the dog.
Mary was not at all concerned about the evaluation of the ASPCA. You petted him, right? He was friendly to you, right? Don't worry. I have a car. I can meet you there tomorrow night to pick up the dog."
Reassured, but nervous, I called Julie back to let her know we would pick up the Pit mix the following evening. "Ok," she said. "He will be ready. But, I hope you understand what you are getting into." Julie's tone was ominous.
Mary picked me up the next evening at 7PM. She was a very petite, blond woman, perhaps a few years older than myself. She did not seem at all the type of person who would own Pit Bulls and Rottweilers. The woman was only 5"2' tall!
"I will wait in the car while you pick up the dog," Mary softly said. "I can't go into that place."
Once inside the ASPCA, a black male kennel worker took me back to the ward where the Pit/Boxer mix sat guarding his cage.
As soon as we approached the cage, the huge dog ferociously lunged forward, teeth bared, attempting to bite the cage bars. The soft, pleading eyes of the other day, were now two black searing slits of coal. Shocked, I jumped back. Oh my God, I thought to myself. This isn't the same dog I saw and petted two days ago! I couldn't believe my eyes.
"You still want this dog, lady?" the ASPCA attendant asked me. "He ain't nice at all."
"Give me a minute, please. I need to discuss this with my friend outside."
My whole body shaking as I left the ward, I went to Mary outside the ASPCA and told her the situation. "Mary, you can't even get near this dog! He's ready to take your arm off. I don't know what happened, but I am very afraid for you to take him now."
"Don't worry, " Mary said calmly. "He's scared. I came here to take him and I will. Have someone leash the dog and bring him out."
Mary had given me a thick, strong leash and collar. I went back inside the "A" to tell them I was indeed taking the dog. I was made to sign a "bite waiver" and some time later a kennel worker brought the powerful dog out to me. I didn't even want to imagine how they got the angry Pit mix out of the cage. But, thankfully, the dog seemed calmer now. A little more like what I remembered, but still very cautious and wary.
"Oh, he's very handsome!" Mary cooed. The dog seemed immediately to respond to Mary and tentatively wagged his tail. He calmly walked into the back seat of her car and sat down. Mary secured the end of the leash to a metal loop in the car. I got in the passenger seat of her car and Mary dropped me off at my apartment. "He's going to be fine, Patty. Thank you for saving him. I will call you tomorrow to let you know how he's doing." "Thank YOU, Mary," I said gratefully. "Please take care getting home."
But, as Mary left with the big, formidable dog in the back of her car to drive back to her home in Flushing, Queens, I had horrible visions of a vicious dog leaping forth and attacking her.
Oh, God, what have I done? I asked myself as I, still shaking, put the key in my door.
----------------------- I couldn't wait to call Mary the next day. I needed to be assured that she had made it home alive with the huge Pit mix. Only when I heard her soft voice on the other end of the line, did my hand finally stop shaking. "Oh, hi, Patty. Everything is fine. He really is a very nice dog! Gives me kisses and seems fine around the other dogs. My son came around to see him last night and we have decided to name him, Dodger."
The sheer relief I felt when hearing Mary is beyond words. I felt like the weight of the world had suddenly been lifted off my shoulders. I could breathe again.
"Oh, Mary," I suddenly confessed. "You don't know how scared I was last night when you left with this dog. I literally couldn't sleep. "Oh, but I told you not to worry!" Mary said. "Trust me, I have done this sort of thing many times before!"
We then began to discuss plans for getting Dodger neutered and finding a home for him.
I ran newspaper ads on Dodger, as well as adoption posters with pictures. But, as weeks turned into months, we had only one inquiry on him. When the people went to see Dodger at Mary's home, they said the dog seemed so "attached" to Mary, they couldn't think of taking him away!
Unbeknownst to me, while I tried desperately to find adoption placement for Dodger, Mary's son had become quite fond of him. One day Mary called me to announce that Michael was about to get married and both he and his fiancé wanted to adopt Dodger!
Once again, a great relief flooded over me. "Wow. Of course, Mary! That is wonderful news!"
Dodger went on to live a long, happy life with family, kids and even cats. Over the years, Mary gave me many cheerful reports on him. Dodger was a loving, gentle animal totally devoted to her son, his wife, their small children and the family cats.
It was a far cry from that terrifying picture and animal I saw in the ASPCA cage so many years ago.
But, the experience with Dodger was one that taught me well, that one cannot always judge an animal when the animal is placed in a stressful, threatening situation, such as a pound cage. A situation where that animal seems to know his/her life is literally on the line.
Mary and I became good friends and she would go on to help me with a number of other dogs over the years. I came to think of her as someone who had a "way" with animals that was associated with either the most knowledgeable of trainers or, quite frankly, a "Saint."
Today, Mary lives in Arizona, where she moved three years ago to be closer to her son and his family who moved years before with Dodger. We talk regularly.
Mary is one of those very rare and remarkable people that one only meets once in a lifetime.