Inspirational Stories Motivational Experiences Pinoy Life Stories

Rescued by Love
By Lisa Duffy-Korpics

On most days you could find him sitting on the wall in
front of Saint Mary's Church next to the sign that read
"Saint Mary's - A Church for Everyone." No doubt the
pastor had meant to attract a larger membership with this
billboard invitation, but I'm not sure he was prepared for
Bobby. A towering six-footer, weighing in at over two
hundred pounds, Bobby was, at twenty-something, a very
large child. He spent most of his time waving and smiling
at the people driving by, and shouting, "Hey, pal!" to
those he recognized.
Bobby called me Goldilocks. He knew me because, as
the police department's Animal Control Officer, I was as
visible around town as he was. My regular duties were to
uphold the leash law, patrol for loose dogs and issue
tickets. Bobby had appointed himself my unpaid assistant,
and he took his job seriously. Once he waved me down in
traffic, ran over to the patrol car and banged on the hood.
"Goldilocks, there's a big dog up the street gonna get
hit by a car! You gotta go get 'im now!"
Another time he found a litter of newborn kittens in a
garbage can and made it his job to find a home for all of
them - including the last one which, at his insistence, I
ended up taking home myself!
At first I had loved being the "dog catcher," but as
time went by, the job began to get me down. It wasn't the
animals - it was the people. I dreaded having to deal with
negligent owners. Especially those who no longer wanted
their dogs.
In our town the city provided a dog-surrender service
with the local SPCA. For a ten-dollar fee, I'd pick up a
dog whose owner could no longer keep him, and, more
importantly, I'd collect information about him (good with
children, medical history, favorite toys, etc.) that would
make it easier for him to be adopted.
Unbelievably, sometimes the people most capable of
paying this fee chose not to, and abandoned the dog to be
picked up as a stray instead. They gave up their best
opportunity to increase the dog's chances of finding
another home - just to save a measly ten dollars. At first
I felt crushed by this kind of behavior, but as time passed
I toughened up. Lately, I felt so cynical I was afraid of
what was happening to me.
One October when the nights were already dropping
below freezing, it occurred to me that I hadn't seen Bobby
for a while. He usually spent his nights at the Salvation
Army in the winter, so I stopped by and asked about him.
No one had seen him. I looked at the phone call log at
headquarters to see if he had been making his usual calls
to report animals - or just talk. No calls were recorded.
A week later I got a call at headquarters.
"Goldilocks," he rasped, "I need you to come." He had a
bad cold.
"Bobby! Where are you? Everyone's been looking for
you!"
"I'm okay. I'm out in back of the chair factory."
Within a few minutes, I was turning the car off the
main street onto a gravel road behind the old chair
factory. All at once the road stopped and I was in a large
field strewn with debris. In the middle of the field, a
rusting station wagon sat on cement blocks.
I approached the car, bent over and knocked lightly on
the passenger window. Bobby was curled up tightly in the
front seat with his windbreaker thrown over him. Lying
next to him was a chocolate Labrador puppy with long gangly
legs and ears that he had yet to grow into.
The dog looked up at my knock with bright eyes and a
thumping tail. I peered in to get a closer look. The
front of the car was filled with empty Styrofoam cups and
potato-chip bags. The back of the wagon was covered in
soft blankets. Neatly stacked boxes of dog biscuits and a
bag of dog food were lined up next to two jugs of bottled
water and two chewed rubber balls.
"Bobby, are you okay?" His eyes fluttered open.
"Goldilocks," he croaked. He struggled to sit up and
get his bearings. He looked at me and I could see his nose
was red and his eyes bleary. He untangled himself and
climbed from the car, wincing as he stood.
"Come on with me, Bobby. Get in the patrol car and
I'll bring you to the Salvation Army, or the medical
center. Okay? It's warm there." I urged.
"No, I'm okay. Social Service says I'm gonna lose my
check if I don't go into housing. You gotta take Brownie."
It was true. I couldn't think of a single facility
that would allow him to keep his dog. He was only out here
in the cold because the Salvation Army didn't allow pets.
He started unloading the puppy's supplies and carrying them
over to the patrol car. Brownie watched every move he made
with adoring eyes. I grabbed a jug of water out of the car
and started to help, feeling helpless all the same.
Everything was packed up, except for Brownie. Bobby
knelt down and put his hands on each side of the puppy's
head. They looked at each other for a long moment and then
Brownie started to lick Bobby's face. In one quick
movement, the man picked him up and placed him gently in
the front seat of the patrol car. He turned to me, his
eyes even redder than before.
"Here," he said, handing me a ten-dollar bill. "For
the dog pound." I stared open-mouthed at the money. I
couldn't believe it. Bobby was paying the surrender fee,
though it was probably all the money he had in the world.
I put out my hand and grabbed his arm, "Bobby, don't
worry about any fee. They'll understand."
He looked at me. "No, Goldilocks. You told me ten
dollars to get a good home, 'member? A home with a kid to
play with would be good for Brownie."
He turned from me suddenly and started to walk back
toward the rusty station wagon. I knew better than to try
to convince him to come with me. He had a mind of his own
and treasured his independence, often at the expense of his
health and safety.
"Bobby! I'll find him a great home," I called after
him, a voice catching in my throat.
He made a noise, but didn't turn around.
As I drove away, Brownie put his muzzle on my lap and
fell asleep. There were times I couldn't see the road
through my tears.
Brownie was taken home that evening by a police
officer who fell in love with him the moment he saw me
carry him into the precinct. A year later his Christmas
photos showed his little boy and Brownie sitting together
in front of a fireplace.
I tried to return Bobby's money, but the station wagon
was always empty. Later, I heard that he had gone to a
group home in another city and was doing fine. I dropped
the ten-dollar bill into the Salvation Army donation box.
I missed my assistant and wished I could have told
Bobby what a wonderful job he'd done. He had rescued cats
and dogs - and my faith in people, too.