Frogger

If you are old enough to remember the Atari video game called Frogger, than you probably have a good mental image of how we found these two girls.  My husband and I were travelling down La Brea Avenue in Los Angeles late evening on our way to a show at Pantages.  All of a sudden, the fast traffic slowed down, people were honking, and I could soon see that two mangey dogs were trying to cross this busy six-lane thoroughfare, and not entirely sure how.  They were crouched in fear, moving forward, then turning back, then forward again.  They looked terrible.  My husband pulled off the road, and before the car came to a complete halt I was out the door and waving like a madwoman at oncoming cars to stop.  I tried to shoo the dogs off the road, but they were confused and not at all sure whether I was a human to be trusted.

Despite the rude shouts and eyerolls from motorists, I got the dogs off the road, and then sat on the curb with them as they nervously looked about.   The ground was sandy, prickly, and full of broken glass.  I looked at their sparse fur, clearly eaten away by the mites of mange.  I looked at the inflamed, infected skin underneath. Their paws were so red and swollen it was hard to imagine they could even walk on them.  But the smell of these dogs was perhaps the most telling sign of the life they led.  They smelled like a homeless person - that overpowering combination of body odor, grime, and urine - and I suspected their 'owner' must have been one.

They were a bigger white dog and a smaller black dog.  The white dog had large nipples and I thought that she may have been the mother to the smaller, black one, who looked like a puppy.  The black one looked to be in worse shape than the white one - she just laid down after the road excitement was over, clearly needing to rest.  Her eyes were oozing with green puss and almost caked shut.

My husband called animal control, and they said they had no idea when they could come.  So after waiting with them for a while, I decided to get them into my car and take them to a 24-hr vet I know of in Culver City.  They had been laying next to me on the curb, so I was not afraid of aggression.  But I wasn't sure if they would be willing to go in the car.  They were so exhausted, sick, and scared, though, that it was not an issue.  They came willingly.

I took them to the City of Angles veterinary complex, and brought them into Animal Critical Care afterhours.   They said they would make sure they got to a shelter or rescue, and I went home.  But I couldn't stop thinking about them.

Animal Control picked them up the next day from the vet, and took them to a shelter in South Central.  I followed up to see where they had landed, and learned they were going to a "kill shelter", as opposed to a dog rescue organization.  In their poor condition, I knew it was unlikely an adoption would happen.

I visited them a few times, even lying to the shelter people saying I might know who the owner is, in order to buy them more time.  I was busy calling rescue organizations, looking for someone who might have an opening for them.  I had always thought that rescue organizations were physical places that house animals, but what I learned in the process was that rescues are more often just good-hearted people, who facilitate the dog and foster parent matching, as well as the adoption process.   On the day they were supposed to be euthanized, I couldn't stand it, and went down to the shelter to adopt them.   Now I have dogs with no home, making me a default "foster parent".  I guess this is trial by fire!