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Miranda Moves
She arrived at the jail in Woodstock at 1:30 on a dark and stormy October night. She had traveled 2000 miles in a dog carrier packed into the back of an air conditioned tractor trailer with several other dogs and many cats. She had lost her people, her place, and in all probability, her puppies when Hurricane Katrina came ashore in New Orleans, Louisiana on August 28, 2005. A note on the staff room table at work was the beginning of my relationship with this dog who had been rescued from the devastation of Katrina. It told of a group of volunteers from Vermont who had recently returned from St. Bernard Parrish after days of animal rescue and care. A shipment of dogs and cats who were in need of foster care was following them to Vermont. A quick decision was made! I would volunteer to be a foster care provider for a dog who would arrive the next day. Six dogs arrived in Woodstock and were vet checked and then released to the six families who had come for a dog. My dog was the most vocal when brought into the holding room. She was the first to leave as she was causing the others some distress, especially the cats. She was loaded into the back of my car in her carrier and she barked continuously all the way to my home in Brookfield. No amount of talking would stop the barking and I began to doubt my decision by the time I was driving through Bethel. A very tired person and dog arrived home at 3 a.m. It was then that I learned that this dog must have slept on a bed, for she jumped onto my bed and looked at me as if to say, "At last, something familiar." A trip to the veterinarian found two ear infections, skin problems, and thankfully, no heartworm. She had an injured right shoulder and weighed a scant 22 pounds. The veternarian thought that she was about five years old, part Chow with black tongue and tummy, and incredible amounts of fur that reeked with the odor of the flood waters. I left the office with an accumulation of medicines, shampoos, and ear cleaners and pages of directions. The dog needed a name. We called her Little Dog while waiting for the perfect name to come to mind. Maybe Katrina would be a good choice? Maybe Bernadette? I remembered that Shakespeare’s play, "The Tempest," was about a storm at sea and I Googled on the internet and found that the main female character was Miranda. The dog had a name! My mother was home to be with the dog on the days that I went to work. What was to happen when she had to leave for water aerobics and the dog would be alone? We tried putting Miranda into the dog carrier, but it was a struggle to get her into it and then she barked and whined. The idea of the carrier was scrapped when we returned home and found the new doggie bed torn to shreds. We decided to leave Miranda inside the house. She must have waited for her people’s return by sitting in the middle of the kitchen table and watching through the windows. A tablecloth much askew with an occasional bouquet and daily mail on the floor was evidence. While Miranda made herself comfortable, she made Celeste and Sam, the cats, terribly uncomfortable. Perhaps she had never lived with cats. Perhaps she had been able to survive the six weeks before her rescue by hunting for cats. For whatever reason, she was dreadful to Sam, my black cat. Miranda would stalk him through the house. He chose to live under a bed and only come out at night when the dog was upstairs sleeping. Celeste, the female tiger cat, was not about to spend her days in hiding. If Miranda came near, she was ready and willing to attack with couch-sharpened claws. The dog suffered many scratches to the face before she finally stopped the harassment. I am sure that there must have been some dog and cat conversation that led to a truce, for there is now a guarded peace between them. Poultry was also a fascination for Miranda. With the warming and greening of spring, the neighbors’ chickens were allowed some time out of their pen in the barn. One Sunday morning when my visiting daughter and I were out looking at the gardens dressed in our nightclothes, we heard a frenzy from the barn, and realized the dog was not by our side. Investigation found Miranda chasing chickens and chickens flying and running to all corners. I caught the dog and held her while the chickens were rescued by my daughter, who had another country tale to tell to her city-raised husband and friends. Unfortunately, the chicken adventures were not over. Miranda must have thought that I would like chicken for dinner because a few days after the chasing, she brought me a barred rock hen. This very proud dog reluctantly dropped the chicken, which promptly ran onto the deck with chicken screams and feathers flying. Once again, I held the dog while my 94-year-old mother caught the chicken, inspected it for damage, and carried it back to the barn. Shortly thereafter, a large white rooster arrived. He did a fine job protecting his flock. A menagerie of stuffed animals now live in Miranda’s toy basket. She has a gray horse, a raccoon, a hedgehog, a yellow tiger, a pink pig, a purple dog, and a dolphin. They are joined by several stuffed bones, bagels, balls, and a favorite pink heart. Of course, each has a squeaker inside. (Did you know that there are replacement squeakers that can be found at the larger pet stores?) Miranda’s first toy, a red and blue ball, was a Christmas gift from my co-worker who had left the note on the staff room table. Valentine’s Day brought another. One can not possibly go away for a vacation without buying a souvenir to bring home and visitors arrive with toys, pig ears and rawhide chews. I do hope that my mutual fund has invested in companies that make pet products! A year has passed. Miranda has experienced the four seasons of Vermont. She has been mystified by the snow that covered scents, slid down the hill on a Torpedo sled, and napped in front of the wood stove. Muddy fur and feet brought out the old towels, and the spring shedding kept the vacuum and lint roller in constant use. During the "dog days" of summer, she found Mother Nature’s air conditioning in the shade of the maple tree. I often wonder what her previous people would "think of her now." She has transformed from Southern Belle to a car riding, woods walking, reformed chicken chasing, outdoor loving country dog. The two country girls who live with Miranda think that she is quite perfect. ____________ |
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