I slightly reworded that rags-to-riches ditty for a Park County Animal Shelter (formerly the Humane Society) happy ending. It’s just one of so many during my 10 years with that resilient organization — a reminder of how good so often springs …
Come listen to my story ’bout a dog named Trin; poor shepherd/Lab barely kept his stomach thin; then one day he was rootin’ for some grub, and there through the door came a fellow named Doug.
Next thing you know ol Trin’s a millionaire, shelter dogs said, “Trinity, move away from here; said Doug’s townhouse is the place you ought to be, so he loaded in the truck and he moved to Sheridan E. ... Hill that is — black mold; townhouse tea. The East Sheridan Hillbillies!
I slightly reworded that rags-to-riches ditty for a Park County Animal Shelter (formerly the Humane Society) happy ending. It’s just one of so many during my 10 years with that resilient organization — a reminder of how good so often springs from bad, as it was from our latest adversity. Yep, mankind really is basically good, although animalkind is even gooder.
Most of the others lunged and salivated at my approach, gulping the treats I delivered, but big ol’ Trinity — homeless for a year — gently accepted his, placed it on the ground and raised his right paw to shake. Later, in his indoor kennel — where I’d been told he had begun exhibiting growling, “kennel crazy” behavior — that same “no treats necessary; let’s just hug and shake” greeting was repeated.
I knew where that was leading, but with six cats at home, he’d be on short-leash “foster” probation. When I took him inside for the tense “feline test,” my tiny, fearless, black kitten Gilligan bull-rushed Trinity for some bonding. I gripped his leash, poised for the rescue, but soon relaxed to watch this intimidating dog give Gilligan the tongue-bath of his life.
The next day the papers were signed and Trinity was sleeping in bed with me and Gilligan, where the mini-kitty often stuck his head completely inside Trinity’s mouth. Trin would hold his big yap wide open until Gilligan was done spelunking.
From the first time Gilligan, (formerly “Bob”) climbed onto my shoulder and purred like a lawnmower, I knew I had to give the orphan a home. He was the most affectionate kitten I’d ever had, many times a day settling onto my throat to slurp my nose. Unlike my family, Gilligan just couldn’t get enough of me.
One evening when he didn’t scamper through the pet door to greet me as always, I searched and prayed for his return. The next morning while exiting the parking lot, we spotted that precious ebony fur ball lying dead in the snow near the mailboxes. As I dropped to my knees beside him, Trinity gently pawed Gilligan’s lifeless body — then repeatedly nudged him with his nose. Later in the truck, when I belatedly broke down crying, Trinity nearly crawled on top of me to lick the tears dry.
And then shelter savior No. 3, Sportscar, arrived. Certain that no other kitten could ever hold a candle to Gilligan, I only begrudgingly gave in to shelter employee’s urgings to adopt the Gilligan look-alike they’d just gotten in. But like dating too soon after a divorce, Sportscar initially only made me miss my past love even more. Long story short: seven years later, he’s absolutely the coolest, smartest, most loveable cat I’ve ever had.
He’s my first to actually come running to the sound of his name. I only need tap my outstretched legs and he’s on my lap every time. Trinity tolerates the other cats, but cheerfully hangs out with Sportscar, who alternates between mediating spats between the others and curling up in the computer desk drawer to watch me write.
Who knows where this extraordinary kitty would be, had Gilligan not created a space for him in my home. What would have happened to Trinity, had he not spent nearly a year in a low-kill (basically a no-kill) shelter? I cringe to even imagine.
And what about little Trina, the lithe Spaniel goddess Trinity insisted we take home from the shelter in ’03? She was obviously mistreated by the guy I was told basically dragged her into the shelter when he dumped her. She’s been Trinity’s inseparable girlfriend (still no wedding date) and my “perfect woman” ever since.
These are just my personal happy-ending stories from the PCAS, among countless others that pale in comparison to anything negative we’ve endured. The happy ending to our latest financial devastation is that the pure side of human nature looked beyond casting blame and peered directly into the eyes of the blameless animals. We’ve received a mountain of donated pet food and cash donations that have exceeded the loss in an amazingly short time.
Voila; something bad … something good! I’m commencing to believe that people really are basically good.