Saving Sadie Read online

  “Couldn’t we just leave the bullet in there?” I asked, taken aback by the suggestion. “It doesn’t seem to be bothering Sadie at all.”

  “We could,” Dr. Jodie agreed as we sat cross-legged on the floor in her cozy treatment room, with Sadie stretched out between us, rows of acupuncture needles neatly aligned along her torso and legs. Plump, overstuffed pillows supported our backs as soft music played in the background.

  “But on the other hand, we don’t know if the bullet is causing her any pain or headaches or other discomfort. There’s also the chance it could be releasing heavy metals or other toxins into her bloodstream. I think we should take it out. It’s a relatively minor surgery,” she added quickly, no doubt reading the concern on my face. “We wouldn’t even need to keep her overnight.” Before I could reply, she continued, “I think we should remove the cyst on her tail at the same time. It seems to be getting bigger, so it really should come out, too.”

  I paused a moment to catch my breath. A two-part surgery? Was Sadie strong enough for that? She’d been through so much in her life, especially in recent months, what if an operation, even a minor one, was more than her poor, brutalized body could tolerate? I worried that she might still be compromised in ways we weren’t even aware of. Even so, I trusted Dr. Jodie, and I knew she always had Sadie’s best interest at heart. This was a Tuesday, so we scheduled the surgery for the following Monday, June 4, allowing Sadie a few more days to rehab and recover before the operation.

  When we returned home from the appointment, Sadie’s surgery was weighing heavily on my mind, as was the fact that it was now the 29th of May, which meant there were only two days left in the “one month” I had given Sadie to show significant improvement before deciding whether to continue with her rehab. She had made some progress, without a doubt, but yet if I were to be brutally honest, she was nowhere near where I hoped and believed she would be by now. The strength and feeling in her back legs was minimal, even after all the swimming, exercises, and acupuncture to stimulate and regenerate her nerves. We were struggling to get media coverage for Sadie’s story, and funds were running desperately low.

  Feeling despondent, I phoned Marnette. I told her about scheduling Sadie’s surgery for Monday and my despair over Sadie’s lack of progress at this all-important “one-month” milestone.

  “Have you checked the ChipIn page recently?” Marnette asked.

  “No,” I admitted. “I’ve just been too busy, and too exhausted, to check it out.”

  “Take a look. You might be surprised.” Her tone of voice was warm, and in my mind’s eye I pictured her twinkly smile.

  “You mean right now?” I asked.

  “Yes. Are you near your computer?”

  “I can be.”

  I took the phone into my study, turned on the computer, logged in, and then opened our ChipIn page. My heart immediately tumbled to my feet. We had only managed to raise $1,165 towards our goal of $8,000, and we were almost halfway through the funding period. And Marnette wants me to be happy about this?

  “Marnette, we haven’t even raised twelve hundred dollars yet, and it’s almost the first of June,” I said glumly. “And we’ve been working so hard on this, too. I know how much time, energy, and effort you’ve been putting into Saving Sadie.”

  “Joal, I’m not talking about the fund-raising.”

  “You aren’t? Then why did you want me to check the ChipIn page?”

  “Read the messages.”

  “Messages? What messages?”

  “The messages and comments people posted when they made their donations.” She sighed, sounding exasperated. “Joal, you need to look beyond just the money, the dollars and cents, in order to see the complete picture, the full impact that Sadie is having on people.”

  “Okay. Let’s see.” I quickly scrolled down the page and began reading:

  Wishing you and Sadie all the very best as you work towards a recovery for her. BC, Canada.

  —Senara M.

  God bless you for taking such wonderful care of Sadie. I truly believe the Dog is God’s most beautiful creation. You will never find another human loves you as much as your dog.

  —Thomas C.

  Just lost my Border collie called Sadie aged 18. Miss her so much. Hope this contribution helps for your Sadie. God bless her. xxxx

  —Sandra Q.

  Sending my prayers and blessings to you, Sadie.

  —Robert R.

  God Bless You and Sadie, too.

  —Cynthia G.

  “Well, what do you think?” Marnette asked as I continued skimming the page. In truth I was speechless. The donations people were making were small—five or ten dollars, in most cases—but the comments were so touching and heartfelt, they were worth a million dollars each.

  “I’m really humbled,” I admitted, feeling sheepish. “I was so focused on the money, on reaching our goal and monitoring the bottom line, that I didn’t even notice the comments.”

  “That’s part of Sadie’s gift to you,” Marnette explained. “To make you notice the little things in life and help you focus on what truly matters.”

  Marnette was right—here was Sadie, working her magic on me yet again, and me not even realizing it. Not for the first time I wondered, who was saving whom? Was I rehabbing Sadie, or was she in fact rehabbing me?

  * * *

  Along with our Internet and email outreach efforts and approaches to the media, I worked on arranging a series of meet-and-greets for Sadie, to introduce her to the community and show people in a really concrete and visual way how their donations were helping her recover. Sadie’s first public appearance was Friday, June 1, 2012, at “Jammin’ on Janesville” here in Muskego.

  I put a lot of effort into getting Sadie ready, washing her, grooming her, brushing her, tying a colorful bandanna around her neck and making sure she looked “perfect.” I wanted everyone to see how beautiful and wonderful she was and then, hopefully, be inspired to offer help.

  But I worried, too—how would Sadie react to the crowds, the noise, and so many strange new people all at once? I envisioned a nightmare full of eager children with busy hands; fireworks and sparklers and Roman candles; cars backfiring, and other dogs on leashes with their curious, inquisitive noses wanting to smell and engage and explore.

  I had no idea what Sadie’s life in Kentucky had been like, but if she had been a breeder for puppy mills, she probably hadn’t spent much if any time being socialized to people, and certainly she had had limited contact with anyone other than the shelter staff, myself, and Dr. Jodie and her staff since she’d been shot. So I naturally worried about how Sadie would react to this new, and potentially upsetting, experience.

  Still, I knew we had to give it a try, for Sadie’s sake, so I put my reservations on hold as I loaded Sadie into her brand-new (at least to us) Little Tikes plastic wagon and we made our way to Jammin’ on Janesville, and to our station at the booth outside Dr. Jodie’s clinic, the Animal Doctor Holistic Veterinary Complex.

  How to describe Jammin’ on Janesville? Well, imagine a carnival, street fair, music festival, and good old-fashioned Midwestern block party, then multiply it by twenty and that might give you some idea of the scope of the event. It had originally been founded a year earlier, in 2011, by the Muskego Chamber of Commerce and Tourism to help keep local businesses alive and thriving while serious road construction tore up parts of Janesville Road, the main commercial thoroughfare that ran straight through the heart of Muskego.

  The event was set for the first Fridays of June, July, and August, running from five to nine p.m. All the businesses along a three-mile stretch of Janesville Road set up tables, booths, and exhibits in front of their establishments, so the public could come and linger, shop, and learn more about and support local businesses, all while enjoying food, live music, beer and wine tastings, games, raffles, demonstrations, and other entertainment.

  As Sadie and I made our way down the street, I was bowled over by the crazy par
ty atmosphere that had descended on our normally sedate little suburb. The street was full of honking, beeping traffic and people on motorcycles and hundreds of pedestrians, moving from tent to tent, table to table, enjoying the warm, hazy, early summer evening. Twangy country-rock bands staged impromptu concerts in parking lots, clowns twisted balloons into hats and swans and sailboats, and vendors hawked jewelry as giddy children played beanbag toss and had their faces painted with bright, colorful designs.

  And the food! Nothing says summer in Wisconsin like fairground food: roasted corn on the cob, with its warm, rich, caramel-y aroma, papery husks singed and seared and then peeled before being plunged into huge open vats of velvety, melted golden butter and doused with salt and pepper and spicy Cajun seasoning. My mouth watered as we passed the funnel cakes, cotton candy, saltwater taffy, and the sizzling double- and triple-level grills cooking succulent burgers, bratwurst, kielbasa, and Italian sausage.

  Rather than being intimidated or overwhelmed, Sadie seemed utterly mesmerized by the sights, the sounds, the smells, sitting up straight and tall in her wagon, ears tipped forward, tongue wagging, and eyes alert to everything. When we reached the clinic, Dr. Jodie was outside, preparing her booth in the parking lot. “Well, what do you think?” she asked me, smiling brightly as her loose brown curls bobbed toward her shoulders.

  “This is absolutely incredible,” I replied, shaking my head in amazement. “It’s like everyone in Muskego came out tonight, and also brought along ten of their friends.”

  I settled Sadie in her wagon in our designated spot next to the stand where Dr. Jodie had vendors selling hot dogs and caramel corn. The clinic would remain open throughout the evening, so visitors could go inside and tour the treatment suites, the emergency room, and the “Kitty Camp” where Dr. Jodie housed a number of unadoptable cats, and also learn more about the essential oils, special diets, and holistic pet care products she sold at the clinic. We had arranged a “safe space” with blankets and low lighting for Sadie in one of the exam rooms in back, so I’d have a quiet, private place to take her if she became overwhelmed by all the activity, but so far Sadie was loving every moment of the festival.

  I viewed our presence at Jammin’ on Janesville as primarily informational. I didn’t feel comfortable asking people for money directly; that seemed degrading to Sadie and felt too much like begging or panhandling to me. Instead I had made up and printed “Saving Sadie” business cards, postcards, and informational flyers to hand out to people who approached us. Every item included our website URL, www.SavingSadie.com, so the hope was that after meeting Sadie in person, people would be interested and inspired enough to go to the website and make a donation via our ChipIn account.

  We hadn’t been in position in front of the clinic for long when people, especially families, began migrating toward Sadie, gathering around her wagon, petting her, stroking her head, and asking what had happened to her and why she was in a wagon. I cleared my throat and explained, “Sadie lived in Kentucky, where some very bad people shot her in the head and back after she had puppies.”

  I wanted to be truthful, but also sensitive about how I phrased things when young people were present. “Because of the bullet in her back, she can’t walk like other dogs. Some kind people brought her to Wisconsin and I adopted her. Together she and I are working really hard on exercises and therapy so she can walk again.”

  Hearing that, some of the teenagers started crying, and I noticed several of the adults were misty-eyed as well as they caressed Sadie or patted her head. Sadie, for her part, was an absolute trouper, showing no fear or shyness or uncertainty, just patience and love as she gracefully, and gratefully, accepted all the affection.

  “Please don’t feel sad for Sadie,” I implored the crowd. “She is a very happy dog and not in any pain. Hers is a story of pure love and second chances.” Suddenly a new and striking thought occurred to me, and I was moved to share it with our audience. “Sadie may not be able to walk right now, but everybody has at least one problem or one thing wrong with them. Everyone deserves a second chance. Sadie can teach people all about acceptance, and focusing on what you can do, not what you can’t.”

  Suddenly people’s tears and frowns transformed into smiles as they moved in closer to Sadie, surrounding her in a loose but powerful circle of love. I handed out Sadie’s business card to everyone within reach and was a bit embarrassed when some people started placing money in the empty water dish beside Sadie’s wagon as if it were a collection jar. “Please go to our website to follow Sadie’s progress,” I said, speaking over the electric riffs of the Led Zeppelin cover band warming up a few booths over. “With your help, we will get Sadie walking again.”

  Sometime later, the crowd thinned a bit as the sky turned to dusk and the air became dense with the smell of charcoal smoke and citronella candles and the angry, metallic buzz of hungry mosquitoes. I lifted Sadie out of her wagon, laid her in the grass, and gave her some water and a few well-deserved treats, which she sniffed, nibbled, and then slowly savored each bite. I sat down beside her and stroked her shoulder, still warm from the sun. “That’s my good girl. There are more treats for you at home.”

  As we sat and relaxed side by side, my mind kept casting back to the faces of all the people, men and women, adults and kids, who’d met Sadie, who’d listened so intently to her story and been so moved by what they’d heard. What I’d suspected from the day I first met Sadie appeared to be true: she was a special creature with a unique gift to share with the world. I had been so totally focused on what Sadie needed to “get” in order to stay alive—therapy, medicine, veterinary care, financial support, help with bodily functions—that I hadn’t thought much about how much she could “give” to others. Maybe, though, it was time to start thinking.

  I lay back in the long, lush grass, breathing in the soft sweet scent of soil and clover as dandelion leaves feathered against the side of my face. I reached for Sadie’s head and rested her chin on my sternum, staring into her gentle amber eyes as she stretched her long front legs beside my ribs, flexing and curling her toes. “What do you think, girl?” I asked. “Do you have a special role in life that neither of us has realized yet?”

  She didn’t answer, other than a slight, twitching, “a fly may have landed on me” wag of her tail. Maybe I was tired, or maybe it was the low light, and don’t hold me to it, but I could have sworn, at that moment, that Sadie winked at me.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Sadie Faces Surgery

  A few days before Sadie’s surgery to remove the bullet from her forehead and the cyst from her tail, I was on my way out of Dr. Jodie’s clinic after having picked up a refill of Sadie’s supplements. Sadie was still at swimming with my dog-sitter, Jeff, so for once I was on my own. A woman entering the clinic as I was exiting held the door open, ushering me past. “Thanks so much,” I said and smiled. As we made eye contact, I was suddenly struck by how familiar the woman looked. Sixty-ish, blond, of average height and build and dressed in jeans and flowered blouse, she, too, stopped and stared as if she recognized me.

  “Joal?” she asked.

  “Yes . . .” I paused. “Karen?” Of course. Now I knew why she looked so familiar—it was Marnette’s stepdaughter-in-law, Karen, who was married to Marnette’s stepson, Rich. (Marnette’s husband had been much older than she, so the children from his first marriage were close to Marnette’s age.) I probably hadn’t seen Karen in ten years, but I knew that Marnette had kept in touch with her even after Marnette’s husband had died.

  “What a surprise,” Karen said, smiling widely. “You look terrific. And how is Sadie? How is she doing?” I wasn’t surprised that Karen knew about Sadie; Marnette had probably told Karen about her, or Karen had received one of the many emails or website links that Marnette was regularly sending out, telling all about Sadie and her struggle to walk again.

  Karen, who lived in Milwaukee, was an esoteric healer by profession. Esoteric healing is a type of holistic alternative therapy
that aims to help people heal from physical and emotional disease and disability by focusing on their internal energy fields. Knowing this, I began to feel uncomfortable as Karen pressed me for information.

  “Sadie is doing great,” I replied breezily. “She’s making progress every single day.”

  Karen nodded, but then suddenly her smile vanished. Her face became solemn, her eyes dark and serious.

  “You know, Joal, animals are not like people,” she said softly, glancing down and shaking her head. “When a dog dies, for example, it’s not like a person dying. When a dog dies, its spirit simply moves on, transitioning to another realm, a realm where they are free of pain and suffering.”

  I started to panic. Why is she telling me this?

  “People often have a hard time saying good-bye to the animals they love so much, but it would be easier if they tried not to think of an animal’s death as being similar to a human passing away,” she continued. “When a dog is put down, it isn’t really like killing the animal, it is more like releasing the soul so it is free to go to a better place.”

  Oh my God—she’s saying I should have Sadie put to sleep! Is that what Sadie wants? Whether she realized it or not, Karen was engaging one of my greatest fears. Is Sadie in more pain and discomfort than I realize?

  I listened numbly as Karen continued talking. My head was spinning, and much of what she was saying, frankly, sounded like New Age mumbo-jumbo, but I was too taken aback, too stunned by her words to respond. I just wanted to rush home to Sadie, scoop her up in my arms, and make sure she was okay. But instead I just stood and listened, nodding occasionally. In my mind there was no doubt Karen believed that she was in touch with Sadie and that Sadie was telling her that she wanted to be released from this life so she could run free and unencumbered on that mystical “other side.”