Saving Sadie Page 6

  When I had told Jami-Lyn I was keeping Sadie for another month, she expressed skepticism. I knew her concern sprang only from love, and her fear that I would lavish so much time, money, energy, and attention on a dog that might still have to be euthanized in the end. As a daughter and as a vet, she felt it was her mission to protect me.

  My other daughter, Joey, seemed to agree with Jami-Lyn. She especially didn’t want my grandchildren, twelve-year-old Miranda and ten-year-old Connor, to meet Sadie yet, for fear they would become attached to a dog that was not long for this world.

  Deep down I knew my girls might well be right. A few wobbly hops were a long, long way from walking, and there was no guarantee that Sadie would ever achieve that goal. Was I being foolish for getting my hopes up? No, I told myself sternly. Don’t start thinking that way. Negativity will get you nowhere. Focus on Sadie. You can make her better.

  * * *

  By the middle of May, Project Saving Sadie had reached a fever pitch, even though we were still only two weeks in. Our first Saving Sadie website and Facebook fan page, both created and maintained by Marnette, were up and running and, most important, looked terrific. Now we were able to accept donations via credit card through Sadie’s website, in addition to the checks being sent to Landmark Credit Union.

  Marnette was absolutely amazing during this period, as expected. She was working every spare moment that she had to post any new content and updates about Sadie on the website. Meanwhile I was running her ragged, constantly sending her more photos and information to post. We always asked people to pass on Sadie’s website address to others so that we could increase awareness and hopefully increase funding. I believe that the message that Marnette was sending out to people was so effective because it was so essentially simple, consisting of three heartfelt requests: she asked people to pray for Sadie, to contribute funds, and to spread the message about helping Sadie.

  Marnette had also started a ChipIn account online to raise money for Sadie’s upkeep and care. The company is no longer in business today, but at the time ChipIn was an Internet crowdfunding platform similar to GoFundMe that allowed people to follow a specific fund-raising campaign and then donate money directly through a link on the ChipIn page. Marnette had spread the word widely to her friends and contacts, and small amounts of money had already been contributed. We set a goal of raising eight thousand dollars in two months, to pay for Sadie’s upcoming surgery.

  Marnette had also gotten in touch with a woman named Laura Simpson, the founder of the Harmony Fund and the Great Animal Rescue Chase, two charities based in Holden, Massachusetts. Devoted to helping “last chance” animals and the organizations that support them, Laura maintained websites that reached over sixty thousand visitors each month and that served as a tremendous resource for people wishing to help animals. Laura, even though she didn’t know us, was instrumental in getting the funding ball rolling for Sadie after she featured Sadie’s story on her site. As soon as the first story posted, emails of encouragement, along with small donations, started rolling in.

  As more and more people heard about Sadie’s plight, there was some funding available to help supplement the money that I was paying out of pocket for Sadie’s care. Marnette literally worked every waking moment, before and after her full-time job, to help get the word out about Sadie, and the response was incredible. Soon we had people all around the world praying for Sadie and sending her cards and good wishes.

  Sometimes during these early weeks I found myself looking at Sadie in amazement. Here she was, often cowering in a corner, a traumatized, underweight, unassuming black-and-tan dog, still not able to walk, not really able to do much of anything, and still prone to moments of vacantness, listlessness, and extreme passivity, and yet people cared about her. People responded to her story, even people who lived hundreds or thousands of miles away and had never met her and probably never would. Even so, they were touched enough by Sadie’s story to send a note or an email, or make a five-dollar donation toward her care. I was truly humbled by the impact Sadie was having every day, even though at that point I could never have imagined what Sadie’s future held, or what her extraordinary gift to the world would ultimately be.

  But even with the wonderfully positive response to our email campaign and Internet outreach efforts, I knew deep down that it wasn’t going to be enough. We needed to widen our base, spread our message much further, and reach far more people if we had any hope of keeping Sadie afloat. Paying for advertising was definitely out of the question given our shoestring budget, so our only hope was to try to get the media interested in covering Sadie’s story. I had no background in journalism or public relations but I did have experience in sales, so that’s how I approached the task: I needed to “sell” the media on the merits of doing a story about Sadie.

  Similar to the email announcements I had sent out to family and friends, I created an email “pitch” about Sadie and sent it to dozens and dozens of our local media in southeastern Wisconsin. This was a long, tedious, frustrating process, and most of my emails were ignored, or answered with a polite decline.

  Finally, we got our first “nibble” when the Waukesha Freeman, a large local suburban daily newspaper, responded to my pitch. They sent Dave Fidlin, a freelance writer and reporter, along with photographer Charles Auer, to the house to interview and photograph Sadie and me.

  My excitement about the interview was tempered by a mild case of nerves, wanting to present both Sadie and myself in the most positive light. It wasn’t enough for Dave to fall in love with Sadie; Dave’s readers needed to fall in love with her as well.

  It turned out I needn’t have worried—Sadie hit it off right away with Dave, a fresh-faced young man with a crisp buzz cut and a broad, boyish grin. He listened with interest and took copious notes as I described how I stumbled across Sadie at the shelter and how she had already changed my life in just a few short weeks. I emphasized how much progress Sadie had made so far, and what a difference support from others was making.

  Sadie was a good sport throughout, posing for photos outside in the grass, but of course we couldn’t know for certain how the interview had gone until Tuesday, May 15, 2012, the day the article appeared in print. As soon as I found out that the story was running in that day’s edition, I hopped in my SUV and drove a few blocks to the nearest gas station, rushed inside, and grabbed the first copy off the pile of newspapers arranged in a haphazard stack alongside the display racks of beef jerky, bubble gum, and chewing tobacco.

  I gave a little shriek of joy as my eye jumped directly to the paper’s masthead, where a teaser boldly announced: Help give Sadie a second chance—Muskego woman determined to help dog who was shot twice in horrific act of cruelty. Beside the teaser was a full-color close-up photo of Sadie.

  “Oh yes!” I bellowed, then glanced up to see the confused expression on the face of the young man behind the counter. “This is my dog,” I announced proudly, pointing to the headline and photo. Yes, I thought suddenly, Sadie is my dog now. She belongs to me. I may not be her “forever” mom yet, but she will never again belong to anyone else.

  My heart was pumping hard as I turned to page 4A, the beginning of the Local section, and there was Sadie’s photo again, even bigger this time and in black and white, beside the headline: A SECOND CHANCE FOR SADIE—MUSKEGO WOMAN DETERMINED TO HELP DOG.

  MUSKEGO—It started out as a routine day for Joal Derse Dauer. Pillows and blankets in hand, the Muskego resident planned to donate the items to a local no-kill animal shelter, an act she does routinely . . .

  I was thrilled as I skimmed the rest of the article, which took up most of the page. I bought several copies of the paper and took them home, where I sat at my kitchen table and read and re-read the article again and again. The story was clear, concise, and focused, emphasizing the progress Sadie had already made and including details about how to contribute to the Saving Sadie fund, either online or through the credit union.

  “Sadie, we are d
oing it! We are really doing it, girl, and we are on our way!” She looked up at me and cocked her head to one side in that quickly-becoming-her-trademark, “my mom must be crazy” way. I knelt down on the kitchen floor beside her, wrapped my arms around her shoulders, and gave her a huge kiss atop her glossy black head. “You are a star. Just keep doing what you’re doing, Sadie, and soon everyone will be inspired to help.”

  And then I did something I probably shouldn’t have done—I went to my study, logged on to my computer, and checked our Saving Sadie ChipIn account. My heart fell. After a busy couple of days, donations had trickled to almost nothing. We were so far short of our goal. For the first time a terrible reality shook me to the core. Sadie wants to live. And she wants to walk again; she has made that very clear. I am willing to do anything and everything I can to help her. But in the end there just might not be enough money to make that happen. If I can’t raise enough funds, I will have no choice but to have Sadie euthanized. She’s never going back to the shelter, and I can’t support her on my own.

  Suddenly I felt a slight pressure against my calf. I looked down. Somehow Sadie had managed to pull herself from the kitchen into my study and was leaning against my leg, in solidarity and support. “Oh Sadie,” I sighed, reaching down to stroke her head and rub behind her ears. “I know what you would tell me if you could speak: Have faith. Be strong. Stay the course. Please don’t give up on me, Mom. You promised me a second chance. I believe in you. Don’t give up on me now.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Who’s Rehabbing Whom?

  What is it about dogs that allows them to touch our souls so deeply? Denied the gift of human speech and comprehension, what magic happens, what potent alchemy spins out from their soft paws, wagging tails, and lolling tongues, from their cold, damp noses and warm doggy breath? What hidden channels, what secret languages of exchange allow messages to pass, wordlessly yet powerfully, from their hearts to ours and back again? What habits, gestures, and expressions allow us to know each other better than we know ourselves? Dogs believe in us; by accepting our love, they grant us the wings to become our better angels and rise above our lesser selves.

  Where Sadie was concerned, I may have been determined to remain a skittish, skeptical lover, a headstrong Jane Austen heroine unwilling to relinquish my whole heart to her for fear of having it smashed into a million pieces, but already, even in that first month after bringing Sadie home, I could feel myself changing, responding to the powerful influence she was having on my life.

  The ongoing demands of Sadie’s care were pushing me beyond my comfort zone in so many ways. I had always been a social person, comfortable both in groups and engaging one-on-one, but now I had to be proactively social, constantly reaching out to solicit media coverage and financial support for Sadie. I had to learn never to take no for an answer because Sadie’s future, her very life, in fact, depended on it. I had to be more organized, more focused, more patient, and more committed than ever before. I learned to open up, and to be more forgiving, of myself and of Sadie, especially when she was nowhere close to walking yet and still wasn’t able, even with all the physical therapy and exercises and supplements and treatments, to do many of the things I expected her to be doing by now, now as the lilac-and-baby’s-breath freshness of early May was ripening, marching toward June and the blazing promise of a glorious Midwestern summer.

  By nature a perfectionist, I was learning to lower my expectations and to savor and celebrate victories, no matter how small. Fortunately, Sadie was achieving some meaningful milestones even as she failed to clear the highest hurdles I’d set out for her. For example, she was occasionally urinating on her own, although she still needed a diaper to handle leaks and prevent accidents between bathroom breaks. Even better, she was now defecating, or what I prefer to call “detoxing,” on her own. Dr. Jodie had been right that the special diet she had prescribed had softened her stools and allowed Sadie to regain control over this important function.

  To be honest, Sadie would have probably started detoxing on her own much sooner, if I had only realized that my Sadie was by nature a modest girl and, like most people, desired some privacy when she “did her business.” She would hop/crawl as far away from me as possible and then hide when she wanted to go. Once I understood that, I always gave Sadie her space when requested and tried not to hover like an overanxious helicopter mom!

  By week three, Sadie had gone into heat, which surprised me, but was also reassuring because it suggested that internally her body was responding to the diet and supplements, becoming stronger and more stable as she recovered from the trauma of her injuries and the subsequent lack of nutrition and proper care that she had endured before I found her. “You’re getting better, girl; you’re making progress every single day,” I would whisper in her ear during those close, quiet, intimate moments when the day’s insanity had subsided and it was just the two of us, as I washed her backside or changed her diaper or prepared the poultice for her head. It had been years—decades, in fact—since my children were babies and I had had a living creature depend on me so completely, looking to me to provide warmth, protection, shelter, cleanliness, and nourishment. I was Sadie’s lifeline to the world and her only chance for survival. It was both sobering and inspiring when I dried Sadie off after a bath, rubbing and fluffing her damp, dark fur in a big old beach towel, and she would just stare placidly into my face, her deep amber eyes helpless with grace, gratitude, and love.

  Meanwhile, the ambitious Saving Sadie project that Marnette and I had initiated continued in earnest. Day and night, it seemed like all we were doing was working on and marketing Sadie; eating, breathing, sleeping Sadie. We looked at every contact as a challenge and an adventure, and we just kept on trying to reach more and more people, raising money and awareness. Marnette’s contact Laura Simpson kept Sadie in the spotlight, constantly posting new articles on her websites and also on the CARE2.com website, which helped tremendously, bringing in donations and forging relationships that we never could have made happen on our own.

  All this chaos was exciting, and nerve-racking, but I also sometimes worried that the rest of my life was slipping away from me. I was exhausted at work, rarely saw my friends, and found it difficult to talk to my daughters, who worried about what adopting Sadie was doing to me. I missed my girls so much, my heart aching in a way only a mother can truly understand. I couldn’t imagine having to choose between my daughters or my dog—I just prayed it never reached that point.

  If only Jami-Lyn and Joey would spend some time with Sadie, I thought ruefully, they could see how much progress she is making, and they would understand why this is so important to me. But in the meantime, waiting for them to come around became yet another type of hope with which I was learning to live, negotiating those fractious personal and familial curves, those rough and bumpy places where want and need, conflict and desire overlapped and intersected.

  * * *

  As the weeks went on, I remained fully committed to getting Sadie walking again, but from a practical standpoint, it was becoming really difficult to carry her everywhere, or to ask her to “bunny hop” any farther than a few feet at a time. She was growing stronger, gaining muscle every day, and was now inching toward a healthy fifty-plus pounds. But meanwhile my poor arms struggled to keep up with her increasing size and weight. So I decided to buy her a wagon. “It will just be temporary,” I promised myself, “so it will be easier to transport her when we aren’t in the car.”

  Money was tight, so I went on Craigslist and bought a used child’s wagon, a modular, red, hard plastic “Little Tikes” model with a long stiff handle for pulling. As soon as I picked it up I realized how large and unwieldy it would be, especially getting it into and out of my SUV, but there was no way to return it. My friend Skip McCabe of Mundelein, Illinois, was generous enough to paint the wagon in Sadie’s signature colors of yellow and green. I hoped we wouldn’t need the wagon for too long; only until Sadie was ready to have her back leg am
putated so she could walk again.

  Around this time, I received a phone call from a woman named Joanie, offering to give us the “Walkin’ Wheels” that her disabled dog wasn’t using. You’ve probably seen dogs with this type of apparatus, which is basically a wheelchair for dogs, with two wheels at the back legs and attached to the torso with metal bars along either side and straps around the chest and hindquarters. Joanie, whose dog was a patient of Dr. Jodie’s, had heard about Sadie at Dr. Jodie’s clinic, where as part of our marketing efforts we had put up a poster with pictures of Sadie and our website info, along with a jar to collect donations toward her care.

  “My dog just never adjusted to the Walkin’ Wheels,” Joanie explained over the phone. “So if you are interested, I’d be happy to let you have it. I can drop it off at the clinic.” Her offer was very generous—I knew from my own research that these devices were very expensive. And yet I couldn’t accept—I just couldn’t bring myself to consider the possibility that Sadie might never walk again unaided.

  “Thank you so much for the offer, but Sadie will be walking again soon,” I explained. “At the moment I’m transporting her in a kid’s wagon, but we shouldn’t need that for much longer.”

  “All right,” she replied. “That’s great news.” She paused, then continued, sounding hesitant. “But if you change your mind, just give me a call. The offer still stands.”

  I hung up the phone and looked at Sadie, curled up contentedly on the kitchen floor near my feet. “You will be walking again soon, won’t you, girl?” I asked tentatively. She raised her head and gazed up at me, but otherwise didn’t respond.

  * * *

  Toward the end of May, Dr. Jodie said she believed Sadie was now strong enough to undergo surgery to remove the bullet from her forehead. I had been scrupulous about mixing the powder and liquid and applying the thick poultice twice a day, and while it had drawn the bullet closer to the surface, clearly, it was never going to come out on its own.