Karma

In the 1980's we used to drive between our homes in Indiana and Sarasota.  That meant long hours of windshield time as we snaked along Interstate 75 through Kentucky, Tennessee, Georgia, and northern Florida.  The task of driving that far can lull you into an almost hypnotic trance, and I promised myself I would never attempt it if I wasn't well rested and feeling in tip-top condition.  Possibly that policy kept me and my family safe, but this story is about saving a little white Spitz dog.

Our long car trips to Florida almost always included our Beagle, Annie, the first dog of our family.  She was a good traveler and would just go to sleep somewhere in the cavernous space in the back of our Toyota minivan.  Come to think of it, Annie was a big reason we drove and didn't fly.  While she was just as nonchalant about flying in her little travel carrier as she was about a car ride, I wasn't so passive.  One time we flew we found out Annie made the trip in another plane than the one we used.  We ended up at the same time and place, but after that I had a low opinion of dogs flying in baggage compartments, and we seldom flew with the dog again.

It was early in 1985, and we were headed south near Lake City in northern Florida.  We approached what appeared to be a dead dog ahead on the side of the road.  We felt a familiar wave of sadness.  Just as we got near, the dog raised her head, our hearts jumped, and we braked to a stop a little past where the dog lay.

Charlene lives by her motto—Never be so busy you can't help an animal in trouble—and I've made it my motto too, since I want to stay married.  We walked back to the dog and were surprised to see she seemed to be in fairly good shape.  But she had tire marks on her white fur and couldn't walk.  We had to find a vet right away.

We scooped the little dog into the front passenger's floor space and pulled back out onto the road.  In the rear of the car, Annie woke from her slumber when we stopped.  Now she knew instantly there was another dog in the car as we loaded the hapless Spitz onto the front floor.  I was busy driving and Charlene was busy comforting the little Spitz while trying to keep a curious Annie away.

The next exit was several miles ahead, and we got off, found a phone book and located a veterinarian.  The vet examined her and thought her main problem was a concussion.  If he could stabilize her, he said, Lake City had a good humane shelter which could try to rehome her.  We paid for the day's treatment, promised to cover whatever bills might come up, and left the little girl in his capable hands, hitting the road once more.

The dog did indeed go to the Lake City Humane Society, a fine organization run by an Australian lady named Margaret Smith.  Margaret found her a home with a local family, and we later learned that she spent the rest of her life in that family.

Soon I became a member of the Board of Directors of The Humane Society of the US.  HSUS had a regional office in Tallahassee, and it happened that I mentioned Margaret and the Lake City shelter to our Regional Director.  "Oh," she said, "Margaret runs one of the best shelters."  That endorsement and the fact that Margaret had saved the little Spitz, motivated me to try to help.

HSUS manages money bequeathed in trusts to it for animal protection work.  One such trust used HSUS to direct its grants to worthy shelters. Over the five years I served HSUS as a director we were able to award grants totaling more than $100,000 to Lake City Humane Society. They used the money to help finance a doubling of their capacity.

So Charlene's words to live by helped her to set into motion a karmic chain of events that gave a little white Spitz a new lease on life and also helped countless other needy animals of northern Florida.

And the good work goes on.

Les Inglis