Skippy at The Halfway House

To My Most Amiable Readers;

Meet Skippy! To truly appreciate him, I must tell you about his miracle mom. His mom, Chacha, an active, bus-chasing, tire-attacking, Chilean street mutt that hangs out at the rowing club, patronized the family of one of the rowing kids (lived under their house). One day they decided to get rid of her. After repeatedly stabbing her with a knife, they threw her in the garbage can. The next day she showed up on their doorstep. They never touched her again.

So, three months ago Chacha had a litter of pups, most of which were given away. Skippy did not get a home. I noticed him at the club because the poor thing would try to nurse from a different mother who had evidently just weaned her own pups. He would nestle in to her when she laid down; his own mom being too preoccupied with terrorizing cars.

He was all skin and bones and very timid. One day, looking at him, I just couldn't stand it anymore. I scooped him up in my arms, to the astonishment of the rowing kids, and declared him either mine or that I'd find him a home. He came home with me, quiet and still on the long bus ride home.

I had to teach him how to eat dog food by getting it wet and mushy and serving it in his water. Gradually as his nutritional needs were met, he began to come alive. He would wag his tail instead of cowering when I came near. He even made it through his first bath with minimal trauma.

Our dog, Sheba, of course loved the company, and they wrestled together late into the night. I wanted to keep him, but knew that our small yard is not enough for two dogs. So, having friends involved in the Animal Protection group; I took Skippy to where they had an event of giving away dogs and educating the public. So hard to give him up. But a lady and her son liked him right away, and after receiving the exhortations on animal care and responsibility, they took Skippy home.
Why do I share all this? I don't know. Dustin would say I'm becoming like Gigi, our beloved friend with a passion for animals. I think it may have another root.

When I was little I loved animals so much. Birds with broken wings, stray kittens, even a bat that I found that was stunned; nothing was below my pity and love. The tears I cried when a broken-winged bird I had been giving convalescent care to finally died. How many shoe-boxes were commandeered to serve as final resting places!

Over the years my love of animals has faded. I can't really pinpoint the reason why; but perhaps it's a symptom of the hardening of heart that sometimes affects us as we age. Perhaps it's the hopelessness that comes from seeing so many sufferings in the world.

But, I think happier people we will be if we never stop jumping in puddles, swinging as high as we can on the swings at the park, stopping to enjoy the spray of a fountain (or jumping in it), actually playing Play-Doh with the kids instead of just doing damage-control, and yes, caring about animals and interacting with them. Because their real or imagined personalities are gifts to us from God; they are our companions in a beautiful, uncomplicated way.

So...that's all then, really. Here's a picture of Edison being his silly, affectionate self. Blessings my friends!

Your Most Devoted, Sarah