26 March

Short Story: The Last Rescue Dog. From May, 2012

by Jon Katz
Rescue Dog

I wrote this story nearly two years ago, and i forgot about it until my friend Lisa Dingle dug it out from the blog archives. It is eerily timely, and I am grateful to her for reminding me of it, I am happy to publish it again. I suppose it is more relevant now than it was even then, before I ever thought of carriage horses.

George only took Jake out at night. He adored the puppy and hated to be apart from him so much, but things were getting bad and he was getting desperate. He had become increasingly furtive, lying to his wife, kids, friends and neighbors. There was no one he could trust anymore. He was a haunted man, always looking over his shoulder, unable to sleep, go out, talk to anyone. His friends never called him anymore, nor he them. They had stopped e-mailing one another.  It was for their own protection. They were all  frightened even to go online and talk to other dog lovers, who pursued and attacked them mercilessly. There were informers everywhere.

George had paid careful attention to the dog patrol’s routine, and they swung by at almost precisely the same times every day – 9 a.m. and then 3 p.m.  They had stopped by several times, looking through the house, listening, scanning the ground for leavings and marks. An informer had told them that he had a dog, the officers told him roughly.  A bought dog. They had big red jackets and patches which said “Therapy,” “Rescue” and “Petsavers.”

The informer had said the dog was a purebred Labrador Retriever puppy. Was this so, they asked, as they had before?  No, said George, a lie, not true, he had once had such a dog, but that was in the other time, when people could get dogs any way they wished, when they could even – he lowered his voice – buy them from anyone they wished. When different choices were permitted. He had always had healthy, happy dogs, he thought, but did not say that out loud. No one wanted such dogs now.

At the end of the Other Time, the breeders had all been finally driven out, moved to Mexico, were hiding in caves in Oregon. Dogs that were not rescued or abused quickly vanished, as the idea of dogs as sad and piteous creatures grew and became the dominant idea about them. At first, it was blasphemy to buy a dog. Now, illegal. At first, it was said that no one should buy a dog when so many were free. And then, no one could afford to buy a dog when there were so many for free. And then, there was no one to sell them.

George could see that the officers were suspicious, did not believe him. They had searched the house and grounds a dozen times and found nothing although their dogs picked up scents. Old ones, he insisted.  Over the past few month he had moved Jake further and further back from the house, in an abandoned fox den out in the woods. George told no one about Jake, lied to everyone, said he had put the dog down, or shipped him off to Canada, where people were still permitted different kinds of ideas.

George  knew his options were limited. He was running out of time for his dog.  Jake was not rescued. He was not abused. He did not come from a shelter. Or an online rescue group, the only approved ways one could get a dog. In a mad and obsessive impulse, George had looked through old and now forbidden dog magazines, saw the photos of the Labs, went to secret chat rooms online, then driven to a small town in Maine, just below the Canadian border and paid $50 for Jake from the last breeder in the Northeast. The man took the money and then said goodbye, climbing into his motorboat and setting a course for New Brunswick. It was said that there were a couple of Newfoundlands there. And people couldn’t tell you what to do, was the rumor.

The deadlocked Congress had not passed legislation in years, but had unanimously changed the dog laws. There were millions of dogs in no-kill shelters, more coming in from all over the world. It was now a crime to put a dog down for any reason, and dogs could only be purchased by no-kill people for no-kill homes from no-kill shelters,  the only kind that were now legal.  Older dogs were placed in assisted care facilities and nursing homes where they lived on medications and machines for many years more than dogs had ever lived.  All dogs had universal national health care. So there were tens of millions of dogs spending their lives in shelters, and Congress was considering passing laws requiring you to take three if you wanted one.

The working breeds were all gone now, George knew. The border collies, the Labs, the Retrievers, Jack Russell’s, even the Pit Bulls. No more breeding. No more herding. No more hunting. It was wrong to get a dog anywhere but from a shelter, was the thinking, and so it had become law.  There were now more than five million dog play groups in the U.S., many of them meeting in schools and child playgrounds, almost all shuttered by decades of budget cuts and political stalemates. The parks were filled iwth people wearing patches, and dogs wearing vests with various slogans – “Abused,” “Rescued,” “Make Way For Therapy Dog,” “Slow Down: Caribbean Rescue Dog On Board.” George  had no sticker for Jake. He was grateful he had never registered Jake online, or he would have never had a chance to carry out his plan. But now, things were desperate. He was determined to save Jake, and he knew things were closing in.

George struggled to keep himself from crying. But he was determined.  It was time for his plan, to save Jake, to give him a new and free life.  He went out into the woods, slipped the puppy a sedative, and when he was groggy, he picked him up and rubbed mud all over his coat. Jake was light, thin. It nearly killed him to do it, but George had been cutting back on his food for days. He took a knife and sliced his own hand, and then smeared some of the blood on Jake’s nose. He rubbed some berry juice on Jake’s teeth so they would look stained.  He rubbed ointment in Jake’s eyes to make them look runny. When it got dark, he drove to the town’s sprawling new animal shelter, a no-kill facility housed in the former town library, abandoned after years of rejected town budget votes It was now a no-kill dog and cat and bird shelter, housing needy animals from 26 states and 15 different countries. Animal lovers traveled all over the world to find rescue animals and bring them to the shelter.

George waited to see that there was no one around, and tears flowing down his cheeks, he left Jake asleep in his blanket by the rear receiving platform, and he attached this note:

“Dear Shelter. This is Jake. As you can see, he has been badly abused. Stained teeth, blood from beatings, not washed in many months. He looks like a Lab, but he comes from the Deep South, where he was thrown off a truck, run over, attacked by crows and then chained in the rear of a garbage dump. He is part Shitzu and part Rotty, although he looks a lot like a Lab. He is not a Lab. As you know, there are no more Labs.  Please take care of him and find him a good home.”

George sobbed and took one last look, kissed the groggy Jake on the nose, left his bundle on the platform, kissed him goodbye one more time, rang the bell and then ran. He turned and looked back and saw a shelter worker open the door, peer back and forth and then pick up the bundle. George came home and turned on his computer. His heart was about to pound right out of his chest. He sat staring at the town’s animal rescue site for nearly 24 hours, barely eating or sleeping. Finally, he saw it. A photo of Jake, a dog who had been beaten, starved neglected.  Jake’s runny eyes and stained teeth looked appealingly into the camera. Good boy, Jake, said George, sobbing now.

And then he looked at the bottom of the photo and smiled. Hundreds of people had already applied for Jake. His dog had been saved. His dog had been rescued. He was going to make a break for New Brunswick. Maybe there were Labs there too.

26 March

George Forss’s Magic: The U.N. – New York Before 911

by Jon Katz
George Forss and his magic
George Forss and his magic

George Forss has been holed up in his darkroom working his magic on his photos of New York City taken before the tragedy of September 11, 2001, known better as 911. In this classic photograph, George put together of a multiple exposure photograph of the United Nations building, the biblical quotes outside the complex, the flags flying outside of the building, which held so much promise for the world. George is including this photograph in his “Way We Were” project, to be published later this year, a collection of photographs taken in the time before 911, they show a different world.

You can see George’s photos on his blog, or on his gallery’s website. George is thrilled with the printing and scanning techniques he is developing in his darkroom. He says he wants there to be magic in every one of his photographs – there most often is – and he is well on his way to providing that. This photograph is astonishing.

26 March

Fanny And Red

by Jon Katz
Fanny And Red
Fanny And Red

Donkeys are eternally curious creatures and I often think our donkeys are fascinated by Red, they never seem to tire of checking him out, sniffing him, wondering who he is and what he is doing there. Today, Fanny came up to Red as he went into his work crouch, Red never pays the donkeys any mind, he never seems to see or notice them, he never responds or reacts to them. Sometimes, I think that’s what’s going on, they are simply trying to see if they can distract him, get a response out of him. Donkeys are stubborn and perverse that way, I think they have met their match.

26 March

“The Joys Of Life:” Responsibility and Obligation

by Jon Katz
Responsibilities And Boundaries
Responsibilities And Boundaries

I am 17 years older than Maria, a lifetime in some ways, we are so close we could have been born the same hour, yet in many ways our experiences are so different. When I began my career as a writer, Maria could barely walk. Lately, I have been worrying about Maria and what might become of her if and when I die. There is no guarantee I’ll go first, of course, but the odds favor it.

Because of the divorce, recession, publishing changes, owning two farms, etc., I am not able to leave any security behind, little or no retirement and insurance, and possibly some real debts and obligations. In recent days, this has been keeping me up at night, worrying me. Maria is as ferociously independent as she is competent and she wants or asks nothing like that of me, but I am from a different generation in some ways and I feel this curious sense of obligation that men of my age were taught to feel.

I don’t want to leave a mess behind when I leave the world, surely not for Maria to clean up. I talked with a good friend yesterday from California, an author and a feminist scholar and someone I listen to,  and she listens to me sometimes when she needs to talk, and I told her this was bothering me a lot lately. What do I owe someone? What are my responsibilities and obligations in the world, I have plenty of time left, I imagine, yet I have begun to think of what I might be leaving behind, what I have left to do besides writing books, e-books, blog posts and taking a million photos. Many men are prisoners of obligation, it imprisons them and weights them down sometimes, it takes their sleep and peace of mind away.

The last few years have been wonderful for us, and difficult at the same time, like so many others.  That seems to be the feeling of the times, the universal experience. We are all struggling for a secure place in the world. I am trying to get to a good place with it all.

What do you think of your life?,  my friend asked me. She had a cup of tea and so did I and it was nice to talk to such a smart and experienced person on the phone rather than just through e-mail.  I love my life, I said. I love Maria, my daughter, the farm, my books and blog, my photos and animals, my friends. I love everything about my life. I am sorry I lost all of the money I had, but that was the way the world went, it was my choice, our choice, We both knew that would happen when we decided to get together. But I hate not being able to leave Maria anything if I go, I hate leaving her my obligations to deal with, I worry about her.

Jon, she said, in the last few minutes you’ve told me three times how much you love your life. That’s all I need to hear. That’s what you owe Maria, the joy of life, that’s what your responsibility and obligation is to her. She doesn’t need a father, that’s not what you want to be for her, you are her lover and partner. She is tough and smart, she can take care of herself and wants to take care of herself, you are giving her what you owe her, you are meeting your obligation to her. You love her and that is greatest gift you could ever give her.

I appreciated this advice, and I heard it, it was meaningful to me. I don’t want to be a father to Maria, that is not what she wants of me. Our responsibility to one another is to share in the joys of life, that is what we owe another, we are partners in the splendor and travail of the earth. I am sleeping better. The black dog is getting restless, he is waiting for a warm day, I think, to leave.

26 March

Poem: First, They Came For The Horses

by Jon Katz
First They Came For The Carriage Horses
First They Came For The Carriage Horses

 First, they came for the carriage horses,

and no one spoke out,

because the didn’t know about horses,

and how they have lived,

Because they said work was cruel,

and the only work for horses in our world,

was to be rescued,

and never work.

Then, they came for the  the barn cats,

and no one spoke out, because no one knew

what the barn cats were like,

or how they lived.

they decided they must live like human children,

and be confined and dependent and safe.

Then, they came for the outdoor cats, 

because they said no animals should be free

any longer, they might come to harm, or hurt the birds.

Then, they came for the border collies,

because they frightened the sheep,

and worked in heat and cold,

and because animals should not ever work,

with human beings or for sport,

and then they came for the ponies in the old cities,

who brought vegetables to the neighborhoods,

in their carts,

because work was wrong,

and the ponies disappeared,

and they came for the donkeys who hauled

firewood and gave rides to children for quarters,

because they must live in nature, and not among children.

Then, they came for the Police Horses,

because horses do not belong in the city,

and no one spoke out,

because the carriage horses were already gone.

Then, they came for the dogs without big fences,

because all dogs must be confined,

and none must ever run free again.

And they came for all of the dogs whose people worked,

because they said it was cruel,

and because no one spoke up.

They said it was

about the rights of animals, and they needed to be safe,

and no one spoke out about that,

Then, they came for the breeders,

because dogs must never be bred or sold,

they can only be rescued,

and breeding is inhumane,

and no one spoke out, and the border collies and Labrador Retrievers

and Jack Russell Terriers and Pit Bulls and Poodles and Jack Russell Terriers

vanished from the world,

dogs could only be rescued.

Then, they came for the bomb-sniffing dogs,

and no one spoke up,

 because dogs must not work, must not be

in train stations and airports,

they must live the natural lives of dogs,

and then, they came for the seeing-eye dogs, because it is cruel to work,

it is not the natural life of a dog,

they must be safer than people,

they must not be confined to offices

and apartments, must live freely and the way nature intended.

Then, they came for the therapy dogs, because work is cruel,

and unnatural, and no one spoke out.

And then, where there were no horses, and no Labrador Retrievers, and there

were no seeing-eye dogs and search-and-rescue dogs and therapy dogs,

and no border collies on the farms or in the field,

or ponies in the cities, or donkeys or horses on farms, or pulling wagons,

they came for your horse and your dog,

for your barn cat, your outdoor cat,

because no one spoke up,

and they had grown bold and powerful,

and told us how we and our animals must live,

 because they now could.

And soon there were no animals left in our world,

for them to take away,

the horses had gone to slaughter,

in order to be saved,

they animals has vanished from our world,

the dogs and cats were all confined to their houses,

the working animals gone from the farms,

because no one could afford to keep them any longer,

or were afraid,

because there was no place safe enough for them,

nor enough money to follow the laws and regulations,

the vet bills and feed costs,

machines were cheaper and easier.

One day, the animals were gone,

 out of the lives of ordinary people,

and children, who never were to see them again,

because no one spoke out.

The animals lived only on rescue farms and in zoos,

if they lived at all,

and on cable news channels,

and Internet videos,

the only places safe enough for them,

the only places that could afford them,

and keep them safe from us.

and they were all safe,

and protected from life,

and banished from the lives of people,

and exiled from our world.

and vanished from it.

– Jon Katz

Thanks To Martin Niemoller, for inspiring this poem.

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