SOMETIMES, A HAPPY ENDING

When I first heard about it, at the end of October, the stray had been sheltering for several weeks already in the garden of a nearby apartment building.

A kind-faced lady ahead of me at the supermarket checkout was asking the clerk if there wasn't some association that took care of dogs in situations like that. But the clerk hadn't a clue. So I joined the conversation, telling the lady who to contact, but warning her not to expect too much. Unfortunately, the fate of strays usually depends on the goodwill of those who, by chance, happen to be nearby, on their willingness to get involved. The lady tried to tell me where the garden was, so I could go have a look, but, goodness, I have such a tight schedule, and I'm usually running late. Where was I going to find the time?

Anyway, this lady knew me by sight, as I've had a business in this quarter of Nice for more than ten years, so she came to seek me out that very evening, telling me she had called the lost and found for animals, and that no dog of that description was reported missing. The association I had recommended, subsidized to take care of strays, among other animal issues, had not been contacted, as the phone was always busy! 'Wouldn't you like to have a look?' she concluded. 'The garden is just around the corner...'

Of course, I had to go. Duty called. Yes, she was discharging her concern onto me, but I knew that most often those whose job it was to see to such problems don't, hence either I turned my back, too, and let fate take its course, or I intervened, and not just to TRY to find a solution to this dog's problem, but to find one, period. Of course, as a single individual, I couldn't be responsible for all the strays in Nice, but this one was in my neighborhood, under my nose, so to speak. So, I closed up shop, put the 'Retour de Suite' ('Back Shortly') sign on my door, and set off, the kind-faced lady guiding me.

The walk was short, not even five minutes, and we were at the garden, which was just a few rectangles of earth enclosed by a low concrete wall with an opening onto a concrete walkway leading from the sidewalk to the ten steps up to the door of an apartment building facing a busy three-lane boulevard. The low enclosing wall was reinforced by shoulder-height hedges, but from the gateless opening, we could see low shrubs growing in profusion in the plantbeds to the left, around a towering palm tree, and to the right, in a narrower strip of earth, fading green foliage camouflaged for several moments, in the semi-obscurity, a dog nestled in the shadows. He was half-sitting, half-lying, shoulders propped up on his elbows, just a few steps from the pedestrians scurrying by, while traffic flowed thickly, noisily, and slowly in the three-lane, one-way boulevard.

We stood looking at the dog, who lounged in the brush, but poised, with a hawk-eye fixed on us. He was a handsome creature, with a reddish brown 'hood and saddle' over cream-colored medium-long fur. Short pointed ears stood out over a short muzzle, like a fox. Later, when he stood up, I discovered his long curlicue tail. Maybe he was a small-sized husky? In any event, he was not an old dog, but a young adult with sufficient confidence and good sense to manage to survive in such a context, surrounded by cars and indifferent people. How did he eat? How did he pass the days? Clearly, this was not a lifestyle that was destined to endure. Inevitably, one day, the dog would make a slip and get run over... Unless a solution could be found to remove him from the street.

By asking around the next day, I discovered that a couple ladies I knew, who regularly feed our neightborhood's stray cats, had been giving food to this dog for weeks already, relaying the service between themselves, so that there was always kibble and water available, hidden from the view of passers-by behind the leaves of the garden's shrubs. This was probably why the dog kept returning to sleep there. At the back of the bordering hedge to the right, up against the building, he had burrowed a space at the end of the hedge, on the bare ground, where he slept unseen by passers-by, hidden by the greenery and shadows.

The ladies told me that when the dog had first taken refuge there, it had been limping, hardly able to walk, probably from being hit by a car. And he had been terribly emaciated. He was still thin, but so much better, they assured me, than when they had first seen him. And they were working on an eventual home for him, with a man they knew who lives in the backcountry and who loves animals, and who had already taken in several strays off the streets of Nice. But in order for the dog to benefit from their kindness, the ladies had to get a hold on him. And the dog wanted nothing to do with them, or anyone else. He accepted food and water, but let a hand be extended for a caress, and his teeth were instantly barred with a low, warning growl. The dog trusted no one. However, when other dogs passed by, leading their masters and mistresses along, the stray would readily approach them for curious sniffing, and with no trace of aggressivity.

Rumor had it that the dog belonged to an SDF (a 'Sans Domicile Fix', or homeless person) who beat it, and so the dog continued to run away, which he could do since nearly all the homeless people in Nice flout the dog leash laws. According to what was said on the street, the dog had already been picked up by the city's dog-catching service and by the municipal police, both of which returned it each time to its owner, identified by a microchip impanted in the dog's neck. But how did they know where to find a homeless person? By the streetcorner where he regularly went to beg? In any event, the cycle would then begin again, beatings/escape/return. As the dog-catcher and the police were obliged to give the dog to his rightful owner, this was a good reason not to get them involved again. There was no point in returning this dog to a situation where he was abused and would not stay.

By personally using the contact I have with the animal protection association, I opened a dialogue with the lady in charge about the stray. She was willing to help us capture him, and recommended that we continue to feed him, so that he would return to the same place, every evening. She promised to send along one of her staff, to have a look at him, and eventually she would organize a party of volunteers for one night, as that was the only time he was in the garden, to surround him and capture him. The experience might be traumatic for him, but at least it would be less disagreeable than the dogcatcher's noose-pole apparatus. I was asked to study the vicinity and to identify the possible avenues of escape, so that they could be blocked. The capture would have to be successful in one go, for the dog would surely never return, if he managed to get away...

I did my part. I passed by the garden morning and evening, bringing a small amount of fresh meat, to supplement the kibble and to keep the stray returning. And while there, I studied the logistics of the place and came up with a plan, which I relayed to the lady at the association. 'We can't come this week,' she told me, 'so keep feeding him...' And another time, 'Maybe we should get the police involved after all, then we can declare him abandoned... I'll let you know what we decide...' And so it went on, over a period of about three weeks, until finally, in the face of my persistence, this lady told me, 'Before we come to capture him, I first want my husband to see him. He has a gift for dealing with dogs. We'll see if he can't approach this one... We can't come this week, but we'll do it one evening early next week...' But when I called her back a week later, they still hadn't been out to see the dog.

Every day in this situation, the dog becomes wilder,' I insisted, '...and the less he wants to have anything to do with humans... He's alienated and isolated, and clearly in distress!'

I think we can manage to get over there before the weekend... I'll let you know. Now, don't call me anymore, this time I'll call you, then we'll fix a meeting and go together...'

By then, I only half-expected a call, and, no surprise, none came. One of the ladies who was leaving kibble for the stray told me, 'I knew she wouldn't come. She will tell you she will, but she won't. She always says she will do something, but she never does anything...' She spoke without anger, just as a matter of fact. But that association had the resources and the people, paid to do such work, and subsidized by the city. Why did we have to take on what normally should have been their job? Still, although we were clearly on our own, we had to act, because this dog needed help and no one else would do anything...

Meanwhile, the weather was, predictably, changing. At mid-October, storm clouds began to brew and the temperature dropped. Even if the dog managed to survive amid the cars and indifferent people, he could not hope to live through the winter on the streets without getting sick in the cold and wet. And once abandoned animals get sick in the winter, usually with respiratory diseases, their lives become one slow winding down to death...

Clearly, we had to do something, and soon, before the rains came. But what?

To make matters worse, for some time the dog had been eating less and less kibble, and the two ladies were getting angrier and angrier with me, since they felt they were putting food out for nothing. The dog preferred the fresh meat treats I brought, morning and evening. Even though they are not true carnivores, dogs, like Man, can survive on flesh, as hunters. And no dog can resist fresh raw meat! But the ladies felt that it was my fault that the dog was not eating their kibble. And the people in the garden's building, originally willing to let the dog shelter there at night, until a solution could be found, were now, some at least, angry and impatient. The situation had gone on too long. The kibble, bowl and all, was frequently found in the garbage can. But often, when I came at night, and again early in the morning, the dog would be there, waiting for me, longing and hungry, gobbling up the pieces of fresh meat I tossed to it. The quantity was not enough for a meal, just for something 'extra'. But from that bit of meat alone, the stray now drew the strength to keep up his wanderings during the day. Reports had it that the dog had been seen from one far end of Nice to the other, ten or fifteen kilometers distance at least, trotting along at a rapid pace, heeding no one, growling and snapping at anyone who dared to offer a friendly pat. But, in the times I observed such snapping, I saw that the dog had no real intention of biting. These were warnings only, snarling into thin air, and no one insisted after being put on such notice. Even me, with my privilieged status as food provider, if I crossed the path of the stray during the day, which occasionally happened, I would call to him, and he would slow down at the sound of my voice, inquisitive eyes studying me. But once it became clear that I had no meat with me, I got the cold shoulder and the dog was off again, trotting, trotting, until, at night, exhausted, he returned to his lair, and the shelter of the hedge, where he could sleep in relative safety.

When I came to feed him, I brought my own three rescued dogs along, or sometimes only one, and I would talk to the stray while, from a distance, I tossed the bite-sized pieces of meat. I wanted the dog to get used to my voice, to get used to me, to get used to my dogs. It was all part of trusting. Still, even when hungry and knowing that I brought it fresh meat, the dog would have none of me. If I tried to approach, I got the growling and barred teeth, just the same as any stranger.

Finally, the threatening black clouds broke, in the last week of October, and the rain came pouring down. I went to the garden at night, but the dog was not there. I brought a flashlight and looked under the hedge. There was a large puddle of rainwater on the ground. I came back in the morning, with just one of my dogs. It wasn't raining, but everywhere the ground was wet. I called, and heard the sound of water splashing. The dog came out from under the hedge, thoroughly soaked. Had he been trying to sleep in the puddle? It was so sad! If something wasn't done, he would get sick. But what were we going to do?

I called up a young woman I know from my business, who also rescues dogs. She currently had four, all her own rescues, living at her home, a villa in the hills above Monaco, where she and her husband have an enclosed garden on three terraces, in which their protégés can run. But, unfortunately, she had one in her collection who needed to dominate the others, and so he had to be keep isolated. She has had two kennels built on her property, and was managing, by patient organization, to let the dogs live and exercise in relays, so that they never met, avoiding the risk of a fight.

I told Joelle about the stray. For convenience, we called him 'Le Husky'. She agreed with me that it was useless to wait for help from an association. 'However, if they will get the dog declared abandoned, in case it really does have a microchip, we can adopt it out ourselves.' Joelle has been doing exactly this for years, for the needy dogs that have come her way, paid for out of her own pocket. The other solution, the two ladies' friend in the country, had not panned out. He, like Joelle, had one dominating dog who was creating problems for the others. Another male would be the last straw. Well, Le Husky's situation was desperate now, so there was no time to think about this or that solution. He had to be captured and taken in out of the cold and wet, and as quickly as possible.

Joelle and I plotted what to do. The stray would have to be put in a private kennel until a place opened up in one of the crowded local shelters. Somehow, we would find the money for this expense ('I don't know how I manager,' Joelle told me, 'but when it's for a dog, I always find the money somehow...'). She consulted her vet, where she is a high-profile customer because of her rescue work and consequently the large vet bills she pays every month. She came away with tranquilizing pills and advice about dosing. All of this, she passed on to me. On my side, I bought a large quantity of turkey breasts (forgive me, poor turkeys!), and some ground-up cow flesh (dear cows, something good at least will come of your sufferings!), and then I was ready for the first right moment.

On Friday, the 31st of October, Halloween, I passed by the garden on my way back from the public square nearby, walking my own three dogs. Le Husky was there, in the garden, wet and shivering, waiting for me to come with his small ration of meat. It was only five o'clock, but rain had been falling heavily, down to a drizzle now, so apparently Le Husky was turning in early. And it would be all to the good if Joelle and I could execute our plan early, rather than late.

I can close my business for the evening,' I told Joelle, on the phone. 'It's Halloween, after all, and there won't be many customers anyway... probably...'

Okay,' she told me. 'Call me once you've administered the tranquilizers. Then I'll come, and we'll play it by ear... Dress warmly, and for the rain. That's the forecast for tonight!'

I got the ground beef out of the fridge and made small balls into which I inserted, one by one, the tranquilizing pills. Joelle had advised me to give an extra one, 'just in case'. I also set the turkey breasts out, to let them lose their chill. I changed into warm clothes, then fed and took my own dogs out, one last time. Who knew when they would next get a chance to relieve themselves?

It was six fifteen when I finally set off, and Le Husky was still there, famished and wet, waiting for something to eat, poor creature!

In the dusk, I wasn't sure if one of the six meat balls I tossed didn't break open, spilling out the pill inside. But five pills were definitely absorbed-- the appropriate dose for a dog of this size, about 25 kilos.

Just be sure he doesn't leave the garden afterwards,' Joelle had warned me. 'We don't want him falling asleep in the middle of the road somewhere, with no one to take care of him.' We had agreed that I would also feed the dog a large quantity of meat, the digestion of which would also slow him down.

Everything went according to plan. The dog ate a kilo, at least, of turkey breasts. As previously arranged, as soon as the dog had eaten the pills, I called Joelle. It would take around forty-five minutes for the drug to start having an effect, and two hours for the full effect to be felt. So, she would have plenty of time to prepare herself and to join me.

I had stationed myself at the break in the garden wall, to keep Le Husky in. As there was a light rain falling in the growing darkess, I did not anticipate any problem keeping the dog there. But as I was speaking to Joelle on my portable phone, suddenly the dog came out from under the hedge and slipped quickly by me, onto the sidewalk...

Oh, no! Oh, no!' I screeched into the phone. 'He's gone! I've got to follow!'

I pocketed my portable and tried to keep pace with the little Husky, who wandered up the sidewalk a few meters then veered to the right, crossing the boulevard without a glance at the oncoming traffic. I did the same, a few meters behind, and was pleased to see Le Husky double back on the opposite sidewalk, moving closer to me. I suspected that, because of the rain and the night falling, this might be just an excursion to take care of peeing and poohing before settling down for sleep. The dog crossed the first sidestreet, with me on his trail, and went directly through some open gates into a large courtyard behind the residences facing the boulevard we had just crossed. The courtyard was like a park, unpaved earth and trees and a few small buildings used by artists, dancers and marshal arts teachers, for their classes. The only light in the obscurity came from here, from the windows where evening classes were going on.

Le Husky, several meters ahead of me, squatted down to pee. So! Surprise! It was not a 'he', it was a 'she'! The idea had not occurred to me...

Meanwhile, I closed first one, then the second of the big iron gates onto the street, and stationed myself in front of them, on the court side, before calling Joelle to report.

I'm on my way,' she answered. 'I'll meet you there.'

Students going in and out of their classes were surprised to find me standing guard over the gates, which were normally always open. I briefly explained, each time, and shooed the dog away, panicked now and feeling trapped, while I opened the gates a crack to let people in or out. 'Thank you!' I kept repeating. 'Thank you for your understanding!'

In just a few minutes, Joelle was there. She took over guarding the gate, while I made sure the dog didn't make a break, while people were going in or out. The worst was when the few cars parked in the courtyard wanted to leave. I had to block Le Husky's route, like a footballer blocking the goal, arms waving and shouting (but softly, for the sake of the neighbors). Finally, everyone was gone and all the lights were turned off. We were alone in the darkness with the drugged dog.

What's it doing now, we wondered. Joelle strolled over, innocently pretending to look at something else. I heard low growling. Joelle came back.

She lying down on her side, but her head is up,' she reported. 'Shall we wait some more?'

At 10:30, we decided we had to make our move, starting by bringing our cars around. So far, the rain was holding off. First Joelle brought her car in, a small compact sedan. Then I went for mine, a medium-sized Volkswagen stationwagen, with the back seat down for my dogs. I backed up close to where Le Husky was lying, and got out to open the back, leaving the front door open on the driver's side, so that there would be some light. Slowly, we walked up to the dog. What should we do? We couldn't let this stalemate go on all night... The medicine would start to wear off, but not for a while yet.

We didn't have to wonder for long. Le Husky got up, barked at us both, then walked over to my car, standing in front of the open back, looking up. 'What's she doing?' I asked.

Joelle didn't have time to answer. After a moment, perhaps deciding that it would take too much strength to make the jump into the back of my car, Le Husky walked around to the open driver's door, and hopped right in, slipping under the steering wheel, onto the floor on the passenger's side, and settling down there. She should have been uncomfortable, but instead she seemed happy to be in out of the cold, damp night, and ready to sleep.

Aren't you afraid to be alone in the car with her?' Joelle asked me.

She and I already know each other,' I answered, hoping I was right. 'She knows my voice and has looked into my eyes each time I fed her. I'm sure she knows I won't hurt her. But if anything happens and I have to stop, I'll blink at you with my headlights.'

Okay!'

Then, we were off. We took one of the cliff roads that winds above the Mediterranean. I sang and talked to Le Husky all through the journey. 'You see, Sweetie, everything's going to be fine!' She let her eyes close half-way, watching me, muzzle posed on the passenger's seat beside me.

There were few cars on the road at that time of night. Finally, at about midnight, we arrived on the slope above Monaco where Joelle has her home. Her husband, kept informed of the progress of our adventure, came out to meet us at the road, as there was no access for cars. A rugged dirt path, about 300 winding meters long, had to be negotiated on foot, to arrive at the property. But Le Husky didn't want to get out of the car.

Every attempt to slip a chain with a leash around her neck was met with growling and barred teeth. Joelle's husband looked though the car window, at the dog on the floor.

You're both crazy!' he told us. 'Can't you see this dog is wild? It's hopeless! You'll never get him to come out! Give up!'

Joelle had a word with her husband and send him indoors, leaving us to deal with the situation.

Men are like that,' she confided. 'When they can't be efficient right away, when they don't know what to do, they get angry and give up...' Humm. I had never thought of it that way.

Happily, we were not so impatient. After an hour of trying to get the chain around Le Husky's neck, she finally stood up, nose pushed into the door, urgently wanting out. She had been passing gas, from all those turkey breasts, and now she needed to move her bowels. I positioned my hand, holding the choke chain, and Le Husky, eyes fixed on the door, did not notice and did not care as I both opened the door and simultaneously slipped the chain around her neck when she moved forward.

Hurray, Sweetie!' I shouted softly. 'She's on the leash!'

Joelle took over, while I locked up my car. Then we set off down the dirt path to Joelle's property, with Le Husky leading the way, totally at ease with the leash, and not fighting it at all. Strange! On the way, she stopped to squat a moment, and passed diarrhea from all the raw meat that had gone into her famished system.

Joelle's husband, notified by portable phone that we were on our way, turned on the outside lights onto the garden. The other rescued dogs began barking to welcome our stray, and while Joelle organized one of the kennels for her, I took her, docile now, on the leash, for a short turn around the garden, on all three levels. Then, we put Le Husky into her box, and I left, finally free to return to my own dogs, at 1:30 am...

I had news of Le Husky the next afternoon. It seemed that she had quickly vacated the kennel for the house, and had fallen in love with Joelle's husband, following him around everywhere. Joelle said that he was feeding her, mouthful by mouthful, by hand, or else she wouldn't eat. Isn't that just like a man! We do all the work, and he gets all the glory!

We call her Sweetie, in your honor,' Joelle told me. 'And she knows what a house is and what a refridgerator is for. This can't be a homeless person's dog...'

As Sweetie had so quickly slipped back into a civilized mode of behavior, Joelle decided to keep her at home for a while, instead of in a boarding kennel or a shelter, until she could really calm down and recover from her long nightmare on the streets. There was time enough later to consult the vet about possible microchip identification...

It's now the end of December and Joelle and her husband still have Sweetie. They are still letting her enjoy the feeling of security, and helping her get back her strength and a better weight, before consulting the vet.

She wasn't interested in eating the first few days,' Joelle told me. 'It was more important to her to be loved...'

One of these days, they'll go and see if Sweetie really does have a microchip. Meanwhile, it turns out that she is a Chow, a Chinese race of sled dogs, as identified by photos shown to the vet. Sweetie has had opportunities to escape from Joelle's, and she hasn't taken them, all of which is an excellent sign.

Of course, not all rescues will be as 'easy' as this one, but the main ingredient is always patience... that, and a couple of kilos of turkey breasts ('dear turkeys, you see, some good can come of even the worst injustices, in this world of horrible contradictions...').

The morale of this story? You think something should be done for that stray in your neighborhood? Don't be disappointed if you don't find anyone kind to take on the responsibility. The fate of these animals all too often depends on those who, by chance, happen to be nearby and who see the need, and who are willing to get personally involved. If only there could always be one, at least, who is willing to get involved!

Helping one dog doesn't change the world, but it does change the world for that one dog.