Rescue Me

“The greatness of a nation can be judged by the way its animals are treated.” Mahatma Gandhi

Whenever someone asks me if I’m in a rescue, I’m always surprised. Why, I wonder, would they think I would be? I usually look quite perplexed and confused. My eyes travel upward as if I hope to find the answers in my forehead. This also allows me to stall for time.

It’s not like I haven’t wondered about this rescue thing my entire life. I mean, animals have been put in my path any number of times, causing me to wonder what kind of neon sign I must have held up to the Universe. At one point, I declared out loud: “The inn is full!”

“Ha!” I thought to myself. “I sure told the Universe.”

Yeah. Right.

Shortly after my “I’m done! No More!” declaration, I would have a dream about a dog or cat, and a week later they would literally show up. Or, I would be driving, and one would run right in front of my car. As it happened one Thanksgiving, I saw a tiny dog darting in and out of cars at a very busy gas station. Mind you, I wasn’t looking — I was shown. I felt an energy pull to my left and saw this little creature frantically running and spinning around cars, trucks, people. I felt he desperately needed help.

The moment was urgent. The time was now. Little dog on the lam.

As I pulled into the gas station, I heard tires squealing, barely missing the dog. I saw him dart under a car. I parked near the convenience store, hoping to be out of the way but close enough to get to him. It was the Thanksgiving bustle, and no one was looking out for a dog on the loose, especially a small, fast one. As I got out of the car, I heard yelling, and a driver in a big truck screamed, “Get out the way, you f-ing dog!” Then he roared off. My heart was racing. Every second mattered. So, I armed myself with jerky treats and anything else I could find in the store and set off to rescue him.

I spent the next two hours negotiating, pleading, and crawling on the ground. Somewhere in the middle of that, three boys on bikes rode up near me. When they saw the little guy, they jeered, “There’s that stupid dog. Hit him if you can.” I was horrified and screamed at them. I’m sure I had crazy eye. They left. I would have put myself between him and any potential harm. No question.

The little dog was clearly lost — and hungry. He would come so close to grab a treat and back away just as fast. He was lightning-fast and street-smart. I could see his ratty red collar, and one eye was cloudy and damaged, probably an old injury. His fur, a dull, dingy black-and-brown, revealed a body that had been outside for a while. The world is an awfully big place to a little dog, especially one no more than 8 lbs.

But time was running out, as was the light. A cold, chilly rain began to fall, and I was no closer to getting him. Now I was the frantic one. I felt a panic rise up in me and out came a loud plea for God to help this little creature.

“Please,” I said out loud, “please help this little dog. I’m doing all I can.” I called in the big guns as tears streamed down my face: “St. Francis, St. Roch! Guides! Angels! I NEED HELP NOW!”

My voice rang with desperation. I was losing hope.

To my surprise, this tiny dog then looked at me as if to say, “Well, why didn’t you just ask me?” He leaned his neck close to my fingers — so close that I grabbed his collar and quickly pulled him to me. I held him with all my might, though we were both shaking like the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz. It was as if time had stopped. I don’t know who was more relieved.

The ride home was quiet except for his fast breathing (like he had run a marathon) and my sniffles of relief and our collective chattering teeth. A miracle had truly happened — a moment in time framed by divine intervention. And though I had no plan, I knew I would be shown the next best step for this little one. After all, I had been alerted to his predicament in the first place.

Remy (named after the character in Ratatouille) turned out to be the sweetest boy — bright, easy-going, and very cuddly. His favorite place? Cuddled in front of the fireplace where he could stay warm the rest of his life.

Remy had many more adventures during his life. He was truly an amazing soul. Not only did he ride in on angels’ wings, but his passing also proved to be just as miraculous — a story all its own.

Rescuing isn’t as much about heroic efforts (though it could be), as much as it is about showing up to life — present, alert, available — and having a willingness to be of service. It can be as simple as lending a hand to another being or offering a hot meal to a hungry person or animal. It can be a smile offered to a stranger.

And just like the Aretha Franklin song “Rescue Me” says: “Rescue me / Oh take me in your arms / Rescue me / I want your tender charms / Cause I’m lonely and I’m blue / I need you and your love too,” we all need rescuing every now and then…at some point in our lives.

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