First, his story: He was taken to the Alachua County Animal Services (ACAS) shelter a few days ago as a stray. He was obviously in very poor condition, with virtually no body fat and severely dehydrated and anemic. Unlike most starving young dogs, however, he did not eat when offered. ACAS staff took him to the emergency veterinary service. His blood work was fine, but he was still not eating. Shelter veterinarians took radiographs that showed an abdominal mass, but their machines could not give as much detail as was needed. He obviously needed additional diagnostics beyond the resources of the shelter. Britni, a veterinary technician at APES, offered to foster him, but a private group was needed to pull him and arrange for his care. Dwinnie from ACAS sent a message to the dozens of rescue organizations on her list, explaining how sweet he was and asking for help to save him.
We are on this list, and I sent Dwinnie my usual reply: as long as there is a committed foster, we can try to help ... if no one else does. I was thinking that surely for a case this dramatic, lots of other groups would step up. It turned out that no one did, however, at least not on the short timeline that was needed. Fortunately, our offer was enough for the shelter staff to pursue further diagnostics at the Shelter Medicine program at the U.F. vet school. Jess from ACAS took him to the vet school, where ultrasounds determined that the mass was a blockage that needed immediate surgical removal. (We don’t know for sure yet, but it’s likely he ate bones, rocks, sticks, and/or other indigestible things in his desperate efforts to stay alive.)
I spent a lot of time on the phone with Jess, with the vets at UF, and with Britni. We needed to figure out if we could handle the cost of surgery and, especially, the follow-up care, which could be very expensive if he had complications – not unlikely given his poor condition. Dr Natalie Isaza and Dr Brian DiGangi from shelter medicine offered to help however they could, including arranging for the surgery to be done at shelter medicine rather than the much more expensive option of the small animal hospital. That was enough – we decided to go ahead, damning the many metaphorical torpedoes ahead.
I picked him up from Dr DiGangi at the vet school after his diagnostics. I’ve seen a lot of skinny dogs, but this guy made me cry. He wagged his tail when I greeted him, and followed me out to the car, where he climbed into the back seat and enjoyed the view. I took him to the house of my neighbor May, who also cried when she saw him. We piled him on a bunch of beds belonging to her dog, Hazel (who was still at doggy daycare, since May had just that evening returned from several days out of town for work). May covered him with a blanket, lay down next to him, and fed him spoonfuls of organic beef gravy.
This is not the first hard-luck case we’ve helped. By definition, every dog who lands in the shelter and makes it to the euthanasia list is out of every bit of luck except the possibility of a last-minute miracle. Animal rescuers specialize in last-minute miracles. We can’t always pull it off, but it happens often enough that we keep sticking our necks out.
As soon as it became obvious that the starving pit bull was not a simple starvation case, we knew this was too big for Plenty of Pit Bulls alone. But it turns out it’s never POPB alone – or rather, POPB is always a combination of a lot of different individuals, institutions, and organizations, who come together to do what’s needed for a given dog.
So who is POPB? It’s a bunch of individuals. It’s me, foolish enough to reply to Dwinnie’s plea for help with “We can do it.” It’s Sharon, who doesn’t tell me I am insane but says “Let’s go for it.” It’s Blanca, who cheerfully extends her work day to take him back and forth to surgery. It’s May, who doesn’t blink when I ask to bring (yet another) needy pit bull to her house for an overnight stay. It’s Hillary, a professional pet photographer who immediately offers to help document his progress. It’s Carla, who sees his picture and doesn’t say “Poor boy, I hope someone helps him.” She says, “Tell me what he needs.”
POPB also encompasses many private rescue organizations. This time, it’s Phoenix Animal Rescue, whose director I called once I knew this dog needed to go straight to intensive care after his surgery. She came through, as she has done for so many dogs, ours and others. Without the network and resources of an established organization, we could not begin to help this dog. He is alive because Phoenix doesn’t view the choice of dogs to help as a business decision (as one person involved with local animal organizations told me). No smart business plan in the world would take in a dog like this. He would die while the cost-benefit ratio was still being calculated. He needs people who commit first and work out the details later.
In this case, Phoenix was the right partner, because of their experience with other medically needy dogs and their partnership with the amazing staff at West End Animal Hospital. However, we have collaborated with almost every private rescue in town, in one way or another: finding foster parents, providing transport, food, and pull fees, conducting home visits, and putting people in touch with the resources they need. We also work with groups from out of the county, including Pit Sisters and Rugaz Rescue.
Collaboration is not just a practical necessity for us but a philosophical principle. We see rescue as a social movement that requires many different actors pursuing many different paths, using the diverse resources that each has available to us. Our goal is to talk to everyone who can help and to expand the conversation every chance we get.
POPB is not just our committed volunteers and rescue partners but also people beyond that circle. It’s Britni, who met this desperately ill dog and offered on the spot to take him into her home until he is well. It’s the vets at the shelter and at UF, who kept investigating until they knew what he needed. Maybe most of all, it’s Jessica Lauginiger, the Animal Services officer who went above and beyond the call of duty to give a chance to a dog that most people would have written off.
So our new boy is named Jesse, in honor of the person most responsible for keeping him alive.
If he makes it through surgery today, he is going to have a long recovery ahead of him and will need ongoing support from everyone who is Plenty of Pit Bulls. Lucky for him, that’s an infinitely expandable circle.
