Another Day of Blessings and Problems

Another Day of Blessings and Problems

Venus was still brilliant above an oak tree in the eastern sky, but a faint glow of light was creeping up the horizon when I roused myself a few minutes ago to get up and let my big black dog, Smokey, out to make his rounds. Sherpa, the arthritic old dog left with me by my homeless friends, Bob and Shirley, decided to linger on her bed by the heater for a while longer.

The air outside is crisp and invigorating with the temperature probably in the 40s and a breeze strong enough to move the outer branches of the oak trees near my trailer. The juncos and bluejays were not stirring yet, but will be happy to find the birdseed I spread around last evening. I'll keep my cats inside for a few more hours while the birds eat. That system seems to be working, and there haven't been bird casualties lately.

My daughter and I live at a campground for horse owners situated on an Indian reservation. We moved here four years ago because the space rent is cheap and they allow us to have a ridiculous number of rescued cats and dogs. Unfortunately, about a year and a half ago, my daughter rescued a badly injured pit bull mama with three mixed breed puppies who are now fat, fully grown dogs of uncertain temperament. With the help of a very good veterinarian and at cost she could not afford, the mama pit bull's life and leg were saved. The four dogs are now lodged separately in our yard in chain link dog kennels furnished with igloo doghouses and surrounded with a reinforced 5-ft. wire fence. But they have escaped twice when they were loose for exercise within their yard, and my daughter forgot to wire the gate closed. Acey flipped the latch up with his nose and the dogs raced off up the mountain. My daughter caught them and penned them up again in only a few minutes, but it emphasized that no matter what precautions one takes, there is always the chance of human error, especially when, like my daughter, you are tired from working 12 hours a day. She works for two different companies at home on her computer as a medical transcriptionist.

I think some campers might have complained about the barking, and probably they have a general apprehension about camping near a pack of pit bulls, no matter how securely they are penned. The dogs seem friendly to people, but will attack other dogs. Who knows when a pit bull will become dangerous! Whatever the reason, things came to a head about 10 days ago when Chief Elliott personally came to see my daughter, and told her she would have to get rid of some of her dogs or move. She has four other reliably friendly rescued dogs that Mr. Elliott would allow to stay. I'm sure he was astounded when she told him she could not part with the pit bulls and would move.

That decision will entail enormous difficulty and expense she can't afford. It will affect me as well in various ways. We share my pickup for instance, and she will find paying increased rent and utilities very difficult, if she can raise the initial expense of moving. The two medical transcription companies she signed on with about six months ago both like her, and she is making the best income since medical transcription was first outsourced to India some 10 years ago. At that time the pay went from twenty cents a line to eight cents a line. It still does not afford a very good  income, but does not require commuting to work, or maintenance of an office level wardrobe, or the stress involved with working in an office setting. All things seem more difficult when you reach 'senior' age.

At first my daughter was relying on promises of a former friend, a musician turned antique car-restorer, who said she could move the pit bulls and their pens into his back yard. He also said he had just put a down payment on a house in his neighborhood, and he would rent it to her as soon as the deal was made. But yesterday he changed his mind. He is a very temperamental fellow she knew years ago until he struck her once as they were going to a concert in LA. That she would turn to him, and to believe he would come through for her, is an indication of how desperate she feels .

Other housing options she has found include a house five miles away. It is a one-story building on a small lot at the uppermost row of houses built about 1910. She could get it furnished for $700. The house is larger than she needs, and the yard is smaller than  the dogs need, but it might work.

A realtor found still another option for her. It is a small house on acreage away from any other houses, for only $350 a month. The catch is that it is right on the Mexican Border, and she would not feel safe no matter how many pit bulls she had. While many illegal immigrants are harmless migratory field workers, there have been incidences here where more criminal types cross the border illegally, rob houses and cut the throats of guard dogs. The terrain is rocky and rugged in this area, and formidable fences have been erected to keep vehicles from crossing. But people on foot can always find a way to cross the line in spite of frequent patrols of the Border Patrol agents on the dirt road that runs along the fence line.They also patrol on foot, on horseback and on off-road-vehicles.

There are only three days left before the deadline when the pit bulls are supposed to be gone, and the only options left depend on getting help from other dog rescue people my daughter knows. If she can find someone who will keep them for a while until she can find a place to settle, she can still satisfy the chief's order to get rid of some of her dogs within the 15 days he gave her.

She doesn't want any advice from me and gets very angry if I offer it. So I am lying low with my mouth closed, my teeth clenched, and my nose in a good book until the situation is resolved. Meanwhile my creative juices are drying up.

 I'll talk to you later when I can get my mind on something else.