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NAIA Newsletter: December 25, 2006
Catastrophes such as Hurricane Katrina are as overwhelming in
their fury as they are in their aftermath. The third strongest hurricane to make
U.S. landfall, Katrina cost the lives of at least 1,836 people and wreaked $81.2 billion in damage. The
trauma and untold grief suffered by its survivors
are incalculable and continue to this
day.
Horrific as it was, Katrina also brought out the best in
many of us. Who doesn’t know at least one person
who went to the Gulf States to provide some small measure of relief and
solidarity, whether to humans or animals? People
who put their own lives on hold for whatever
amount of time in order to help others regain a
foothold in hope.
Pat
Hastings, an NAIA contributing writer, was one such person. She wanted
to do something to help, so she contacted a neighborhood church that put
her in touch with a church in Gulfport, Mississippi. She
and a friend paid their own travel expenses and
took their own provisions and sleeping bags. For a
week in December 2005, they helped with repairs to
their host church, painted the interior of a
damage-repaired house, and provided Christmas for
five children.
Purebred
Alliance of Writers President Kerrin Winter-Churchill, another
NAIA contributing writer, went to New Orleans with her husband to
cover animal rescue efforts after Katrina struck
and levies failed. She not only reported the story
but became part of it. The Churchills ripped the
seats out of their motor boat, bolted down a dozen
crates, and spent two weeks retrieving dogs and
cats from abandoned homes throughout the flooded city.
And, from shortly after Katrina touched down
in 2005 until August 2006, Jennifer Rowan
worked in Dothan, Alabama  where she assisted
local animal shelter and rescue workers, primarily
at the Dothan Animal Shelter.
From Jennifer's
perspective, these people were true
heroes. Her job was to assist them by
coordinating disaster supplies and animal
transports. We felt privileged
to support their work, if only in a
small way, by distributing Jennifer's
NAIA Trust CapWiz.
"I’ve been doing disaster relief work with
Diane Albers, President of the Florida Association of Kennel Clubs
(FAKC) and a tremendous hero and mentor of mine, since the 2004
hurricane season," Jennifer explains.
"Thanks to
Diane, FAKC, the American Kennel Cluband its
affiliate organization,
AKC Companion Animal Recovery (AKC/CAR), I
was sent as a volunteer to Dothan shortly
after Hurricane Katrina struck the Gulf Coast
in 2005."
One quarter of a trailer
isn’t much, but for one year in Dothan, that’s
what Jennifer called home. She rolled up her
sleeves and helped not only Katrina’s animal
survivors but many other shelter animals as well.
In 2005 alone, AKC/CAR funded a total
of nine airlifts, transporting nearly 2,000
animals (many surrendered by their owners) across
the nation to groups wanting to help.
Jennifer
coordinated the flights and frequently assumed the
"glamorous" role of flight attendant.
"We also cared for 923 hurricane-survived animals in
Dothan," Jennifer proudly adds, "with FAKC and AKC/CAR funding our every expense.
Supplies were shipped in by the
truckload. Anything we needed for our work
was just a
phone call away. On the local level, Dothan's Animal
Services is still feeling the ripple effects in
fantastic ways, with more resources at their
fingertips now than ever before to better care for
the animals and the people who love them."
In
this holiday season, NAIA extends it warmest
regards to all of you, but especially to the angels
among us — the people and groups that not only
give of themselves, heart and soul, but take on
the challenges with gratitude. In that spirit, we
would like to share with you scenes from Jennifer
Rowan’s year in Dothan:
Remembering Dothan
The Animal Shelter Opera House
One
particular night I was on the computer chatting
with a friend. It was a cool summer evening.
There was no sound coming from the kennels — a
rare and interesting phenomenon at an animal
shelter that housed upward of 400 animals at any
given moment. As I was telling my friend of my
yearnings and dreams for the animals, one of the
dogs began to howl. It was a slow, sweet melody
filled with sadness and hope at the same time. I
recall telling my friend that it was not eerie; it
sounded more like a song of approval for the very
things I was speaking to him about. Tears were
streaming down my face at the very beauty of the
animal's song, and then another dog joined in —
and another and another. The shelter became an
opera house that evening, with an unforgettable
show meant only for me. It reinforced for me
that by listening to the animals, sometimes
literally, I would know if I was on the right
track.
The Magically Amazing Light Show
Another night, I waited alone (well, without human
companions) for veterinary friends of mine to
arrive so we could set up a spay/neuter clinic for
the weekend. It was quite dark, but for the stars
that overtook a seemingly endless sky. I felt
drawn to the outdoors, so I sat down in the midst
of the parking lot, on pavement still warm from
the day's sun, wrapped in a blanket to keep off
the chill of the night air. I was wishing my
friends safe travel and hoping for an incredible
weekend ahead, when the stars seemed to drift down
onto the trees, like white twinkle lights put into
place one by one. They glittered through the
branches and I was awed, having just moments
before noticed the trees were all that seemed to
stop the stars from blanketing the world. And then
they were within the trees.
I tried to stave off logic as long as possible,
thinking only of the momentary enchantment and how
fortunate I was to have sparkling fairies descend
from the heavens to deliver a forest awash with
stars. Suddenly, one of the stars came closer to
me — close enough to touch. I could hear its wings
fluttering, and I realized I was in the middle of
a light show unlike any I'd ever seen: The
fireflies had come to dance for me. A huge
shimmering ballet engulfed me for a few moments
and reminded me of how small I was, yet how great
it is to be a part of this life.
My Christmas Angel
Though I cannot recall right now where we were returning
from or going to, Renee (the shelter manager) and
I were in a vehicle when she got a call from one
of our volunteers at a veterinary clinic with a
seriously ill Rottweiler that someone had dropped
off. When we arrived, the vet recommended
euthanasia. Renee and I just looked at each
other, and I said I'd love for the dog to be my
special guest for Christmas. I had visions of
she and I snuggled up in the trailer, listening to
the chorus of dogs on the property, watching old
movies on my computer, and slurping chicken soup.
The dog was very ill, so as usual, "mother Renee"
had to give me the lecture that with even as much
love as I had to give, the dog might not make
it.
This
Rottweiler had never seen steps. Although she was
too weak to scale the four steps leading into my
little trailer haven, I had long serious
talks with her about what they were and that she
mustn't be scared, because there would likely be
steps in her new home, once we got her well enough
to get adopted. 
She also apparently had never seen
a dog bed. I found a great huge snuggly one (that
looked in some ways more comfortable than my
little twin bed, in fact), but she preferred to
lie next to it on the floor. With only her head
resting on the dog bed, she gazed up at me as if
to say: "Whew, getting better is HARD WORK, Aunt
Jenn." She had no desire to eat, until I finally
discovered that she was agreeable to being
hand-fed canned cat food — a starting place from
which to rebuild her
strength.
The
morning after Christmas, I fed her again and then
went to wash my hands. When I returned to our
room, Her Highness had taken down a can of dog
food and was greedily licking out the remaining
morsels. It was then that I realized we might just
be pulling this lovely lady through the worst of
her troubles.
Now I
mentioned that she didn't know about dog beds, but
I didn't tell you about her tendency to turn into
a sprawled-out, humongous bed hog on MY bed. It
was with great excitement that I introduced her to
a family that would come to dearly love her — a
family that didn’t mind at all adopting a bed hog
the size of southeastern Alabama.
Months
later, after a particularly challenging week,
Renee knocked on my door.
Each knock that week had
brought with it either bad or difficult news, so I
wasn't entirely motivated to respond to Renee’s
tap-tap-tapping. But I took a deep breath and
opened the door.  There she stood with this
gorgeous, shiny-coated, prim, proper, proud dog —
as regal as any queen. The sight alone made me
happy. From deep in the dog’s eyes, though, I
began to see she was smiling, as if to say: "See,
Aunt Jenn, I told you I was a princess." It was
the one Christmas gift I received that keeps on
giving and teaching and filling me with hope — Her
Highness restored to life in every
way.
I left Alabama in August
2006, but think often on all that I was taught by
the incredible creatures I came to know in
Dothan and how that learning has enriched me. My
gratitude runs as deep as the smile I saw in that
Rottweiler’s eyes. My appreciation — for the
experience and for the animals that got out and
into loving hands and homes — is indelible and
gives me so much more to offer other animals in
need.
Jennifer
Rowan lives by a beautiful lake in Northern
Michigan, with a feline named
Whisper who, according to Jennifer, has many
of the breed traits of a Schnauzer. She is an
animal welfare consultant working with various
shelters, rescue groups and organizations on
public relations, marketing, resource
networking, transport coordination, management of
volunteers, and outreach
programs.
NAIA has only the deepest appreciation and respect for
ordinary people who give so extraordinarily. They
make this time of year — indeed, any time of year
— the season of angels, and all of us are a little
restored by their presence in our
lives.
Happy holidays, everyone!
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