I
ran New Orleans Beagle Rescue. On Saturday, August
27, I drove with a friend from New Orleans to
Tuscaloosa, AL, to rescue a beagle from the municipal
shelter there. It was a lovely day and Katrina
was not forefront in our minds because the last
coordinates had it making landfall over towards
Gulf Shores. We picked up the Beagle, who turned
out to be a 30-pound Beagle/Basset mix we named
Alabama, and headed back to New Orleans.
Once we were in radio range we tuned in to the
news station and found out that Katrina was now
a category five hurricane heading straight for
New Orleans. I called my husband who was hanging
out with friends and told him to get on his bike
and ride home. We had to prepare to evacuate.
I then called the foster home who was supposed
to take Alabama but there was no way we could
hook up. She was on the West Bank and the bridges
were already backed up with people evacuating.
I told her to not worry about it and to take care
of her family and we'd see which way the wind
blew.
At home we had four dogs of our own and a very
sick foster dog named Honey. I would have put
Honey into the hospital if we hadn't had to evacuate.
Now we had Alabama to take care of as well. Saturday
night, my husband and I made a list of things
to pack and talked about what our evacuation procedure
would be and then we went to bed.
We woke up Sunday with the news of a mandatory
evacuation and a growing feeling of panic in my
gut. We started emailing a friend of ours in Atlanta
who had offered us refuge the last time a hurricane
entered the Gulf. We couldn’t get a hold
of her, but got messages to friends of friends
that we were packing up and heading to Atlanta.
I figured if we couldn't find her then we would
just keep driving north to my mother's house in
Syracuse, NY. We had six dogs, one cat, and some
assorted reptiles to evacuate with and I didn't
think that any hotel would be that accommodating.
We were good; we methodically packed according
to the list. I felt panic nibbling at me from
time to time, and resisted the urge to start frantically
packing everything. I did grab something not on
the list—a two-sided frame with a photo
of one of my dogs as a puppy on one side and some
of her baby teeth on the other. We packed our
computer hard drives, enough clothes for a few
days, dog food, water, water bowls, extra leashes,
all the animals and that was all we could fit
in our Ford Explorer.
We headed out of New Orleans at 3 PM on Sunday.
Traffic was bumper to bumper at about 5mph all
the way to Baton Rouge, when everyone else headed
west and we headed east. The wind was pretty strong
and we were getting spurts of rain. My husband
is British and doesn’t yet have his driver’s
license, so I just drove and drove.
Somewhere in the dark of Mississippi we saw the
warm, welcoming beacon of light from an all-night
gas station/convenience store. My husband went
inside to get some snacks while I walked the dogs.
I had Alabama and Honey out and walked them across
the lot onto a grassy area. Honey suddenly stopped
and turned her head into the cool wind and misty
rain, and then collapsed in the grass. She looked
up at me and I just knew she wasn’t going
to make it to Atlanta. I picked her up. Her breathing
was labored and she was whining quietly. I held
her in my arms, sobbing. I told her she was loved,
loved, loved and that I was so sorry we couldn’t
get her into a hospital in time. She spasmed,
and then went quiet. I looked into her eyes and
told her it was okay for her to go, that I was
letting her go to a better place. Her heart stopped
beating and her breathing stopped shortly after
that. She was gone.
I couldn’t just leave her at the rest stop,
but I knew we couldn’t continue very far
with her in the car either. My husband and I wrapped
her up gently in a plastic bag and drove on for
a bit. I saw an exit for a place called Pine Woods
and pulled off. Sure enough, there was a dark,
wooded area a bit down and I pulled over. I carried
Honey’s body out into the woods and lay
her on the ground. I know her spirit had already
gone on to chase rabbits through endless fields,
but it was still hard to just leave her lying
there. I had no other choice though; we were packed
to the gills and we had no air conditioning.
It took us 22 hours to get to Atlanta. I took
three, 10-minute naps along the way. We arrived
safe at our friend’s house (the messages
had gotten to her and she text messaged where
the spare key was) and are planning on staying
in Atlanta. Our house was flooded and we have
nothing to go back to anyway. We will go back
in a couple of weeks to salvage what we can, but
we rented and are sure the house will be bulldozed.
Atlanta is a very dog-friendly town. A dog daycare
called Camp Woof has been a godsend, giving us
free daycare and eventually helping me find a
wonderful permanent home for Alabama. They also
helped us get some furniture and call us with
job leads for my husband. We have found a dog
park near us and I'm sure we will slowly be plugged
into the community here.
I can’t even think about restarting my
Beagle rescue here yet. I’m still too raw
and emotional. I’m sure eventually I will
at least sign up as a foster home for another
group. I wish with all my heart that Honey had
made it to Atlanta and had gotten better. She,
like so many, certainly deserved a better life
than the one she had been born into.
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