The Best Things In Life Are Found When We’re Not Even Looking

Snoopy

I just recently discovered that bits and pieces of me find their way into the novellas, whether I mean for them to or not. Sometimes it’s unintentional. Mel, for instance, is a vegetarian. So am I. So are lots of other people, and all for varying reasons. For Mel, a former cardiac nurse, it’s about her passion for healthy living. For me, it’s because of my love for animals. Yet when I started writing dialogue in which she divulges her motivations for going veg, I surprised myself with the realization that Mel loves animals too. In fact, she nearly threw a tantrum when her blind date in “Broken Heart” suggested veal for dinner.

Don’t be surprised if you see animals show up a lot in Nursing Novellas . In “Broken Heart,” you’ll meet a couple of dogs that make a difference in the lives of the nurse characters, a move on my part that wasn’t unintentional at all. It’s been wonderful to see how positively people have responded to the presence of animals in the story. Those who have read it have remarked on how delighted and touched they are by the character’s interactions with animals, and how the animal characters bring humor and healing. I wanted to share some of the real-life inspiration that led to some of what you’ll read about in Broken Heart.

I wasn’t looking for a dog when I found my Snoopy.

I had just returned home from an animal care conference, completely overwhelmed after four full days of educational presentations on contemporary issues in animal rescue and sheltering. From my brief experiences in volunteering with a local rescue group, I had a very narrow view of what animal rescue and sheltering really involved. Helping out at adoptions and assisting with an occasional transport or vet appointment had brought lots of warm and fuzzy feelings, and had inspired me to learn more, so that I could in turn do more to help animals. I had set out for the four days of training expecting to return home, well-informed and even more motivated to jump into sheltering and rescue full force.

Instead, I was deeply discouraged. The conference had opened my eyes to the terrible sadness behind rescue and sheltering; that for every dog or cat saved, there are hundreds more that will die simply because they do not have homes. I had always been aware of shelter euthanasia, but hadn’t given much thought to how it actually happened. I came back home knowing the details of all the different methods, including the details of how animals often suffer painful and stressful deaths, and how the people performing euthanasia suffer alongside them from heartbreak and accumulated grief. I learned that animals aren’t just picked up as strays or are dropped off at shelters by owners who can no longer care for them, but that many end up there after being removed from abusive and neglectful environments. I watched documentaries with horrifying images of filthy, malnourished dogs huddled together in puppy mill cages. I saw pit bulls tearing each other apart while their handlers cheered them on, and eventually tortured and killed the ones who were not victorious in the fight. I saw photos of animals that had been lit on fire and kicked around by their captors for “fun.” There is a dark side to human nature, and sadly, it finds an easy outlet in the abuse of animals.

When I returned home, I pushed past my husband and stepdaughter and went straight to my two dachshunds, Serena and Sebastian. I picked them up and let them shower me in kisses while I wept. I loved these two dogs with all of my heart, and since the day that they had come into my life, they had brought me nothing but joy and laughter and love. Dogs are, after all, man’s best friend. How could anyone do to dogs the horrible things that I had seen in photos and videos?

The disturbing images haunted me and led crying spells that became more frequent as the days went on. At night, I would dream of dogfights and animals being burned alive. At times I would wake up in a cold sweat from a recurring nightmare about being trapped inside of an active gas chamber. I quit volunteering with rescue, now that I knew the ugly side of it. I was spiraling into a deep depression.

A couple of weeks later, I pulled out my conference materials and started searching through them, looking for anything I could find to turn my sadness and anger around. Anything that promised hope, and could thus balance the equation. I searched through handouts, looking for statistics about injustices against animals that were actually improving instead of getting worse. I looked for pictures of happy, healthy dogs instead of abused and broken ones. I looked for success stories of people who were making a difference in the lives of animals. And I found all of it. It had been there all along. I’d just been so blinded by my own upset to see it.

In my search, I uncovered a brochure for Petfinder.com, and remembered hearing about this new website that offered people the chance to search for their “next best friend” at a local shelter or rescue group. At the time, I had a neighbor who was looking for a terrier puppy. Instantly seeing an opportunity to make a small difference, I went to petfinder.com and began the puppy search for her, determined to show her that there were hundreds of wonderful dogs in shelters and rescues waiting for a home.

I entered some search criteria.
Animal: Dog.
Breed: Terrier.
Sex: Male.

Then I typed in my zip code, so that Petfinder.com could locate the dogs nearest to me first. I clicked search, and waited for the results to appear. When they did, I instantly smiled. My computer screen was suddenly filled with pictures of adorable dogs. All kinds of cute, colorful terriers, with names like ‘Spunky’ and ‘Chippy’ and ‘Bouncy.’ I hit the print button so I could start circling pictures of candidates, as if they were singles ads, and I was the hopeful matchmaker working to find a love connection for my neighbor.

Just as I was getting ready to close out my browser, I noticed that one face stood out among all others in the list of pictures. A black and white dog named Snoopy tilted his head and stared back at me with the sweetest, saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. I clicked on his picture to view his profile.

He was a basset hound mix; not a terrier. His guesstimated age was three years old; not a puppy. And his location was New Bern, North Carolina. More than three hours away from where I lived. Why Snoopy’s profile had been retrieved by my search criteria, I’ll never know. But that sweet, sad face grabbed hold of my heart and wouldn’t let me go.

That night, instead of having nightmares about horrific scenes of animal abuse, I dreamed about Snoopy. And I woke up smiling.

I wasn’t looking for another dog. I had two already, and they constantly kept me on my toes. Still, I sent an email to Snoopy’s rescue group. And for whatever reason, I ended up writing a small thesis. I opened up about my own history with volunteering for a local animal rescue group, how shaken I’d been by what I’d seen at the recent animal conference, and how I’d come to Petfinder.com to help a neighbor find a dog. And how, for some odd reason, Snoopy had appeared on my screen.

In a matter of hours, I received an email back from a lady named Lisa, who was fostering Snoopy in her home. “Please fill out an application and send it to me” she said. “I’ll need to check your vet references, but if they’re okay, Snoopy is yours.”

I met some resistance with my husband. We argued for a little while over the expense of another dog, and the additional responsibility, and the fact that we hadn’t yet completed fencing our yard. Sadly, I replied to Lisa that we weren’t yet ready to adopt another dog. I put Snoopy out of my mind as best I could.

A few months later, I went back to Petfinder.com on a whim. Out of curiosity, I searched for Basset Hounds in New Bern, and there he was. The very first dog on my screen, in fact. I emailed his picture to my husband with one word in the subject line. “Please?” Apparently, Snoopy’s sad, droopy eyes did the trick this time. “Okay,” was his reply.

We picked up Snoopy the following weekend. I finally met Lisa, with whom I had quickly forged an email friendship. As we stood in her front yard, petting our new dog for the first time, a noisy chorus of basset hounds barked inside her house and in her back yard. “I just love the breed,” she said with a smile. We talked for what seemed like hours, and she told me Snoopy’s story. He had been surrendered by a couple at a local municipal shelter that was already filled to max capacity. Because he was owner-surrendered, he was a candidate for immediate euthanasia. One of the shelter workers had Lisa’s number in the rescue contacts file and placed a call. Lisa arrived to find the mixed basset boy in sad shape. He was so underfed that his bones were showing through his coat. His toenails were overgrown, making it hard for him to walk. He was heartworm positive and had a cataract, leaving him blind in one eye. He also had a strong dislike for men, pointing to possible mistreatment by a man in his former life.

Looking down at the robust boy wagging his tail at my feet, I could hardly picture the sad, sickly little dog that she had described to me. It had taken eight months’ worth of love and care to bring Snoopy back to good health, and he had been listed on Petfinder.com for the latter part of his journey. I was amazed when Lisa told me that there she had received three other applications for Snoopy before mine, and because of some red flags, she had turned each of them down. When she read my initial email, she knew long before I did that I was the one who would provide Snoopy with his forever home.

It took Snoopy a little while to adjust to his new life with us. Navigating our home with one blind eye took some getting used to, but he quickly learned how to chart a course to the two most important places in our house, his food dish and his dog bed. Although he was skittish around my husband for a while, his fears gradually morphed into cautious trust, and eventually, into respect and adoration. He likewise grew to love my stepdaughter with her endless supply of dog treats and soothing backrubs, and finally, found his place as an honorary dachshund with his new siblings, Serena and Sebastian. However, his attachment to me was instant. To this day, his loyalty runs deepest with me, and his love is unwavering.

I love all three of my dogs with all of my heart, but my bond with Snoopy is special. When I arrive home at the end of the day, he jumps up and down on his front paws and barks loudly, long after the two little dogs have finished their welcome. He follows me from room to room, never asking for my attention, but graciously accepting when I give it. All that he really wants is to be with me. He’s just happy to be alive, and to be loved.

I look at him sometimes and wonder how anyone could have left him at Animal Control, facing death. I understand that people must make hard decisions at times regarding their pets, but the condition that Snoopy was left in tells me that the first few years of his life were void of any love or caring. If I dwell on it for too long, I start thinking back to all of the horrible and disturbing things that people do to animals. Just when I’m about ready to give up on the entire human race, that’s when Snoopy wags his tail, tilts his head, and looks up at me with his sad, sweet, droopy eyes.

And that’s when I realize that he wouldn’t be with me had it not been for people like Lisa. And people like the shelter worker, who had made the call that saved Snoopy’s life. And people like the individuals who created and maintain Petfinder.com in an effort to help animals find homes. And the people who planned and delivered the conference that opened my eyes to what animal rescue and sheltering is all about, the good and the bad, the happy and the sad; all with the intention of celebrating successes and forging ahead in the battle against the inhumane treatment of animals.

Snoopy has been with me for three years now. I have remained friends with Lisa, and have begun volunteering with animal rescue again. I have come to accept that I cannot save every animal from every injustice in the world, but there will be times that I can help save one, and scratching the surface over the animal overpopulation is far better than giving up hope altogether.

If not for Snoopy, I may never have pulled out of my depression and found that hope again. I may never have renewed my commitment to helping animals, nor rediscovered my belief in the innate goodness of people. Sometimes we find healing in the most unexpected places, as I did in a droopy-eyed, half-blind, basset hound mix that I was never looking for in the first place. But he found me anyway, and he’s been the best thing that has happened to me ever since.