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Rescue File 2005
“He was the most beautiful puppy,” the young woman said, “just a perfect, happy little Labrador. My parents surprised me one Christmas. I wasn’t planning on getting a dog but I loved Gordy. I never meant to hurt him.” Gordy looked up when he heard his name. He’d grown, in the two years since his Christmas arrival, into a handsome retriever, deep-chested, golden-furred, the color of ripening corn. He had the lovely wide face of a Labrador but his brown eyes were wary and when Bill Berloni, our Director of Dog Behavior, held out a gentle hand Gordy pulled back. He didn’t trust strangers. He didn’t trust people at all because the one he knew best, the young woman, decided when Gordy was small that confining him was easier than training him. Whenever the little Lab had an accident or wanted attention she’d put him into his crate. With proper use the crate is a positive training aide, viewed by the dog as a secure place to be. Misused, it becomes a prison. As the months passed and Gordy grew stronger his pent-up energy and frustration increased. He became harder to handle. He spent more time, eventually nearly 24 hours a day in the crate. By the time he was brought to the Humane Society of New York he was nearly ruined by fear, boredom and isolation. We started helping Gordy by turning him loose, for hours each day, in our rooftop dog run. After a week when he was finally calmer Bill set up a program of training and socialization. He and our kennel staff spent months working patiently with the Lab. Today Gordy greets new people like old friends, great tail wagging, soft eyes brimming with Labrador friendliness. He remains afraid of confinement and cannot be crated. But he’s ready at last to be part of a family, a happy, energetic part and in our adoption center we’re waiting for the right home to come along, who will let him be just that. Sadly, most dogs and cats don’t have good homes. For every well-cared-for animal there are thousands of “Gordys” – kind animals who suffer illness and neglect. At the Humane Society of New York we do our best, every day, to end suffering, to make life better for as many animals as we can.
Inside Puma’s closet were piles of waste and wooden floorboards soaked with urine. Outside was a small railroad apartment and nearly 100 more cats.Puma and all the cats were solid white and they were starving. Puma was afraid of other animals so he’d lived, for ten years, in the filthy closet, hiding, waiting for the elderly woman who kept them all to bring him a little food. The elderly woman was a collector, someone who hoards far more animals than they can care for. When the Department of Health ordered the woman to get rid of the cats, who were breeding rapidly, the Humane Society of New York as well as a few other organizations were contacted. Our hospital was, as always, filled to capacity, but we responded by somehow making room for some of the sickest animals. One was the gentle, frightened cat from the ruined closet. In our hospital we treated Puma for malnutrition and an upper respiratory infection. Ill as he was, the old cat was clearly relieved to be rescued. He loved being petted and spoken to. He loved being clean and not having other, starving cats fight for and snatch at his food. He was a model patient who ate his meals, took his medicine, gained weight and got better. When he was well we put him up for adoption. Now the cat who was once little more than a sickly gray shadow is soft-furred, cloud-white, adored by the woman who tells us that he spends his days purring and contented at home in his favorite chair. The old Poodle was dying but when the man who’d brought her to the Humane Society of New York walked away for the last time she raised her head from our exam table and whimpered. She was too weak to stand. The man didn’t look back.
Twice a year for eight years Cookie had delivered puppies, more than 50 in all, that her owner, a backyard breeder, sold through an ad in the paper. He’d thought she was pregnant again. But then Cookie stopped eating and, too quickly, her abdomen swelled. When she couldn’t walk anymore he brought her to the Society. Our doctors diagnosed pyometra, a life-threatening infection of the uterus. We told the owner that surgery to remove the diseased organ was the dog’s only chance. “No more puppies?” the man said, and signed the Society’s release. Emergency surgery and days of intensive care saved the Poodle’s life. But cruel over breeding has taken a toll. Cookie is fragile. She tires easily. Slowly we are building
Right from the start there was something different about Cat #9. On a recent spring morning the brown tabby was one of a dozen cats brought to the Society for care through our Feral Cat Spay/Neuter Program. Eleven of the animals were silent in their humane traps. Like wildlife, feral cats, who are unused to contact with people, usually make no sound in the presence of humans. But when #9 was carried into surgery in Cat #9 has a round kitten face and the plump cheeks of a mature tom. On arrival his condition was poor. He was underweight, feverish, unable to bear weight on his left hind The colony manager asked the Society to be responsible for Cat #9. Before he woke from surgery #9 had a new name: Wilkie. During his recovery in our hospital Wilkie changed day by day, from a frightened stray back into the trusting cat he once was. First he stopped hiding in his bed whenever staff came by. After a few days he began greeting us with a purr. Then came the “pet me, please” push of his round head against our hands. “Thank you for the best, the friendliest cat ever” wrote Wilkie’s new adopter the week after they went home together. At the Society we remember a frightened cat and are glad we were here for Wilkie to take the fear and the hurt away.
If Dudley knew the way home he’d have walked, patiently, through snow and rain and heat and darkness to get there. But he was lost. He’d been dodging cars and running from strangers for a long time, long enough to get thin and starved and dirty, long enough for cuts on his belly and legs to get raw and infected. He was limping through an intersection in Yonkers when a woman saw him. She coaxed the exhausted dog into her car then, driving into the city, called the Humane Society of New York for help. When Dudley came to the Society he was wearing a collar with a single tag; on it was his name, Dudley, and a telephone number for a town 60 miles north. We thought someone would be relieved, joyful to get the call saying their dog was safe. We were wrong. “You found Dudley?” said the man who answered the phone. “That’s a problem.” He went on to tell us that the Collie mix had a habit of wandering from their yard, exploring for hours at a time. When his last disappearance stretched into days, he and his wife figured Dudley wouldn’t be back. They already had a new puppy. They didn’t want two dogs. For a minute the line hummed then, “Listen,” the man said, “Help me out here. Can’t you just keep the dog?” Dudley spent two weeks in the Society’s hospital recovering from his ordeal. We treated his infected wounds, bandaged and soothed them with medicated baths. When he was well enough he was neutered, to check his urge to wander. Then we microchipped him and found him a new home with a family that delights in his brainy high spirits and who assure us that Dudley the Explorer isn’t going anywhere. # # # Dear Friend and Animal Lover, 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. The animals in these stories were helped by friends who cared. Sincerely, Virginia Chipurnoi President
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