Have you ever scooped a turtle out of the road before it gets creamed by an unobservant driver? Swerved to miss a squirrel? Or fed an errant cat because it meowed incessantly at the back door at dinner time?
I have…too many times to count, much to Professor X’s dismay. It’s my nature. I see an animal in trouble and I help it, or find someone with experience who can.
I’ve rescued squirrels, birds, cats, dogs, turtles. I’ve even resuscitated a lizard that had all but given up its reptilian ghost.
Until recently, I never thought about how the furbabies viewed my rescue efforts. They’re rescued dogs. Monster Puppy came to us at 10 weeks old; his mother pulled from a kill-shelter and later found to be pregnant. Brave Little Basset arrived a year later, after being abused and abandoned. He more than MP probably understands the value of helping those in need.
One afternoon, nearly dusk, Professor X opened the French doors for MP and BLB to go outside. Within a few minutes, a storm began blowing in from the South. In the distance, thunder began rolling. Not quite a rumble, but a definite warning of the monstrous rain heading toward us.
It seemed odd when Professor X called for me to wrangle the furbabies inside. MP and BLB are afraid of storms and they think my lap is the safest place in the universe when the sky monster begins shaking the heavens.
I found MP prancing frantically on the back porch, urging his fur-brother to hurry.
And with ears flapping in the breeze as he scurried across the yard ahead of the rain was BLB. Only he wasn’t alone.
BLB had scooped up a young armadillo and was dashing toward the porch’s doggie door determined to save the critter from the impeding monsoon. If Professor X hadn’t quickly closed the French doors, BLB would’ve raced into the house with his first rescue.
Professor X looked at me and said, “He takes after you.”
I have to admit, I’m mighty proud of that.
