The Humane Society Of New York

Rescue File 2009

When he was young, Harvard’s world was just about perfect. He was eight weeks old when two lawyers, newly graduated and newly married, bought the little Golden Retriever from a breeder. He was their baby, their much photographed pride and joy. He went everywhere with them: to visit friends, on weekend hikes, on long car rides where, as time passed, he took up more and more of the back seat. There were trips to the groomer and to the local pet store for toys and there was one memorable day when the Golden was fitted, to his dismay, with a smart plaid raincoat. Harvard loved both his owners but from the start it was the wife that he worshipped. At home he followed her from room to room. In the car he’d inch forward, leaning from the back seat to rest his broad head on her shoulder. At night he’d curl by her side of the bed, watchful even in sleep. Years later, when the couple divorced, it was the wife who called the Humane Society of New York to say that neither of them wanted Harvard, and she was the one who came to the Society one rainy afternoon to leave her aging dog with us.

“He’s used to being left at the groomer and daycare. He’ll be alright when I go,” the woman told our adoption staff. She was wrong. As she continued speaking, Harvard’s whole body drooped, as if he understood her words. Her soon-to-be-ex, the woman declared, was being spiteful. He’d long resented Harvard’s affection for her. He’d refused to have anything more to do with the dog. “As for me,” she said, “I need a fresh start. A big dog would be hard to manage on my own. Maybe I’ll get something small instead, something I can carry.” She looked down at Harvard, shaking now and firmly told him “stay,” but he tried to follow her anyway and he cried, a sound like a lost child, when she disappeared from view.

We never heard from the woman again. She didn’t call to see how Harvard was doing or if he’d been adopted. She doesn’t know how hard our staff worked to undo the hurt that was caused, doesn’t know that, months later, safe in his new home, we’re told he sometimes pauses, head tilted as if listening for a familiar voice. We hope old memories are fading but we can’t be sure. We’re only certain that each day we meet more animals like Harvard, good dogs and cats who have become homeless because someone they trusted was unable to go on caring.

The striped cat shouldn’t have lost her leg. When she was injured, somehow slashed from left forepaw to elbow, someone must have taken her to a vet because the wound was stitched and bandaged and if they’d gone on caring for her she’d have gotten better. But the cat was put outside instead, left to wander alone in Brooklyn. Without antibiotics or fresh bandages the leg turned septic. The filthy gauze rotted, became plastered to the wound. It was a child, an eight year old girl who found the cat lying on the sidewalk one day, unable to get up anymore. She ran for her mother who gently wrapped the suffering animal in her coat, then called the Humane Society of New York to ask if we could help.

When the cat arrived that afternoon our doctor wasn’t certain she would survive. Normal feline body temperature is 100° - 101° but this cat’s was 105°. She was dehydrated, the infection rampant and in our exam room the grim, unmistakable smell of gangrene filled the
air. The cat was about two years old. Out on the street she’d been too sick and too weakened by malnutrition to groom herself but through all the grime and discharge we could see that her fur was lovely, bands of soft honey and cream so we named her Honeybear and got to work. Honeybear was put on an IV, given fluids for hydration and massive doses of antibiotics. When she was stable she underwent surgery to remove her ruined leg.

Honeybear’s ordeal was long and in our hospital her recovery was slow. Each day she grew a little stronger and her personality, engaging and kind, shone a little brighter. After months of care she was well enough to leave us for a fine new home; today she is doted on by a couple in Tennessee who are helping her adjust to life on three legs. She carefully washes the right side of her face, purrs “thank you” when they help her with the left. Honeybear is learning when she can jump and when being lifted to a comfortable perch is better. Her life, nearly ended by a careless hand, is once more full of promise − because when she needed help most the Humane Society of New York was here.

“Not again,” said Twix’s owner when the Humane Society of New York’s doctor told him that most of his puppy’s hind toes were broken. He sounded annoyed. A year earlier the man had brought home another puppy for his five-year-old twins, a Poodle named Snowball. When one child dropped the Poodle a foreleg snapped. The vet they went to then said surgery would be costly so they gave Snowball back to the family he came from and didn’t know what happened to him after that. Then they got Twix. This time the children were roughhousing and no one was sure which twin stepped on the little dog. At the Society x-rays showed a total of 11 fractures.

Twix couldn’t walk, he would need a lot of care and the man shook his head “no” when we asked if he still wanted him. “No more dogs,” he said. He signed our release and left the puppy behind. Twix is a Terrier mix. At the Society he underwent orthopedic surgery to repair two of the most serious fractures but the rest, in bones delicate as a sparrow’s, could not be fixed with pins and screws. Our doctors ordered cage rest, medication for pain and physical therapy to keep the young dog’s developing muscles from becoming atrophied. Our staff devised a miniature sling that went under Twix’s belly, supporting him so he could stand upright. Twix took his medicine, chewed his chew toys, stood, then walked in his sling, then without it. Nine weeks after he came to the Society he was neutered and transferred to our adoption center. Then one day Roger D. came in.

Roger is a computer programmer who works from his home. He needed company, he told us, and someone to get him out of his chair every day. Roger is middle-aged, tall, wide, friendly; if he were a dog he’d be a St. Bernard but he liked our Terrier mix and Twix liked him. When they went for their first walk he looked like an ocean liner being guided by a little tugboat. Full-grown, Twix will only weigh about ten pounds but he brims with Terrier moxie and his whiskery, tan-furred face wears a perpetual “Lets Go!” expression. Roger hadn’t had a dog since he was a child so he visited the Society several times while we advised him how to puppy-proof his apartment and he talked to our staff about training. When the Great Day came Roger was thoughtful. “I know he was badly hurt,” he said, holding Twix close. “It’s because of all you did that today I get to take this wonderful dog home.”

Hank, Mickey and Danny G. were inseparable for 14 years but when the bank foreclosed on their home Hank and Mickey had nowhere to go. Danny is a car salesman. Hank and Mickey are cats. Hank, brown-furred and bushy as a
squirrel, is the talkative one. Mickey, a good listener, cocks his head when you say his name. “I was living in Chicago when I found them.” In the Humane Society of New York’s adoption center, Danny sat with his two cats and remembered. “They were so small. It was snowing so I put them under my coat. Hank talked the whole way home.” He was silent for a moment then told us again how he had to go, with his wife and children, to stay with relatives. Mickey and Hank weren’t welcome. “I pleaded,” said Danny, his voice low. “Then I called everyone I know. But no one wanted them. If it hadn’t been for this place…” He didn’t say anything else, just rested his hands briefly on the little round heads and he was gone.

Starting over was hard for the old cats. For a long time they watched the door of our adoption center looking for Danny. They clung together, afraid to be out of one another’s sight. Our staff gave them extra attention, brushed them, held them, coaxed and reassured. Finally, their faces are at peace. They have new routines now: in the mornings they share a windowsill and blink in the sun like two retired gentlemen playing chess in the park. Later they stroll the adoption center, a placid ramble punctuated by comments from Hank. They are safe and wanted at the Society. But Mickey and Hank bring joy wherever they go and we hope that life holds one more twist for them, one more home of their own where this grand, devoted old pair can spend the rest of their days together.

HSNY has been awarded the coveted Independent Charities Seal of Excellence recognizing
exceptional program and cost effectiveness. For more info, please visit www.humanesocietyny.org.
96% of every dollar donated to the Society directly supports our program activities.

Sadly, only a very small number of dogs and cats remain in one home their whole lives. Fully 90% are given away, or are victims of loss, theft or abandonment. They must cope with the confusion, fear and loneliness that follow. We deal with these issues every day, rehabilitating and placing animals safely, stopping this turnover and finding the homes the animals will be able to spend the rest of their lives in.

Each day we at the Humane Society of New York are faced with animals who need our help to go on and, in many cases, to survive. Please give, as each donation makes a new beginning possible.

Sincerely,

Virginia Chipurnoi

President