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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Foreword

  PREFACE

  Introduction

  Chapter 1 - MY WHITE ANGELS

  Chapter 2 - SHE’S MY GIRL

  Chapter 3 - SOLID LOVE

  Chapter 4 - BROUGHT INTO BRIGHTNESS

  Chapter 5 - UNDERCOVER PARTNERS

  Chapter 6 - MARICOPA MASH

  Chapter 7 - ENOUGH IS ENOUGH

  Chapter 8 - SUCH DEAR FRIENDS

  Chapter 9 - FEARSOMELY ATTUNED

  Chapter 10 - DREW’S EDEN

  Chapter 11 - CAN-DO CIMI

  Chapter 12 - NOT WITHOUT MY SON

  Chapter 13 - SWEETNESS IN THE MEAN STREETS

  Chapter 14 - DOG IS MY CO-PILOT

  Chapter 15 - NO MATTER WHAT

  Chapter 16 - CHOOSING HIS BOYS

  Chapter 17 - TOUGH LITTLE WING NUT

  Chapter 18 - INSANE ABOUT ANIMALS

  Chapter 19 - KINDNESS IN THE BLOOD

  Chapter 20 - CLOSE TO MY HEART

  Chapter 21 - RICKIE’S HUGS

  Chapter 22 - EILEEN FLYING

  Chapter 23 - MARY’S LAST RESCUE

  Chapter 24 - FOR THE TAMED

  Chapter 25 - ALWAYS BRINGING IT HOME

  Chapter 26 - A JOY TO RAISE

  Chapter 27 - WHISPERING HOPE

  Chapter 28 - SPEAKING UP FOR CASSIDY

  Acknowledgements

  ABOUT THE COVER

  RESOURCES AND ORGANIZATIONS

  Copyright Page

  For the animals.

  —KW

  To my husband, Brian Sundstrom, for his kindness, grace,

  understanding, and patience.

  And to my two beautiful and smart stepchildren,

  Aricka and Bjorn Sundstrom.

  —JO

  FOREWORD

  By Dr. Jane Goodall

  SAVED IS AN inspired collection of real-life stories about rescued SAVED Is AN inspired collection of real-life stories about rescued animals and the people who rescue them. When I received the manuscript, with a letter asking if I would consider writing an introduction, I at once decided that it would be impossible—I was deeply involved in writing a book of my own. I simply had no time to write anything else. Yet I glanced through the chapters anyway. As the days went by, some of the stories haunted me, and ideas and phrases suitable for an introduction came, unbidden, into my mind. Surely, said a still, small voice, you can make just a little time to help launch this moving book. And so, after all, I found myself agreeing to write these words.

  The stories are especially compelling because they are not only about abandoned, abused, and tortured animals—Karin Winegar and her photographer, Judy Olausen, also care deeply about the extraordinary collection of dedicated people, often bruised and hurting themselves, who have become guardians of the oppressed. Above all the book is about the relationship between animals and people. As the rescued animals begin to respond to care and respect, and to what may be the first gentle petting they have ever known, so their human rescuers are comforted—even transformed—by those they have saved. As I read the stories, my eyes often filled with tears; the next moment I was smiling through them.

  I well know the healing power of animals. A few years ago, I went to visit a remarkable and very brave ten-year-old boy, Donny, who was dying of cancer. It had been one of his last wishes to meet Jane Goodall. A few months after his death, I called his mother to find out how the family was coping. She told me that Jesse, Donny’s younger brother, was inconsolable. He was deeply depressed, he was not eating properly, and he was doing very badly at school.

  “Trouble is, Donny was here at home for the last few years of his life,” she told me. “He had so many treatments we couldn’t get him to school. So the two boys became very, very close.”

  “Do you have a dog?” I asked. No, they didn’t. I said that I felt sure that Jesse needed a dog.

  “My husband won’t have one,” she explained. I asked if I could speak to him, and I spent ten minutes trying, unsuccessfully it seemed, to convince him. Saddened, I hung up.

  And then, several weeks later, I received a glowing letter of thanks from Jesse—and a photo of him, beaming, pressed close against a golden brown and white mutt named Spike. I also received a letter from his mother describing how, after all, my words had made a difference, how they had gone together to the shelter, and how Jesse and Spike had instantly known each other. Jesse arrived in time to rescue the abandoned Spike, and the dog was there to start healing Jesse’s hurting heart. A year later, I met the whole family (except for Spike), and they told me it was not just Jesse who had benefited from Spike, but the entire family. They had probably saved him from euthanasia: in return he had brought comfort to all their lives with his unconditional love.

  Increasingly, around the world, the therapeutic power of animals is being recognized. People living with loved pets tend to get sick less often and to live longer than those with no animals in their lives. There is scientific evidence that proves, beyond doubt, that the presence of a dog, cat, or other friendly and gentle animal can bring about psychological changes, such as a lowering of blood pressure. Stroke victims make new efforts to move semi-paralyzed limbs in order to stroke a friendly animal. More and more hospitals and nursing homes are allowing—even encouraging— visits from “therapy” animals. Autistic children and others with learning disabilities often make great strides in reading skills when the listener is a friendly, uncritical dog.

  Perhaps the first-ever official therapy dog was a little white stray who became a resident at a large children’s hospital in London in the early 1900s. He had no owner and no home and had clearly known great hardship before the hospital staff adopted him. Once there, he always sought out the sickest children and would curl up on their beds. When a hygiene inspector threw up his hands in horror and banned the little white dog, death rates increased. Indeed, the increase was so marked that the hospital allowed him back.

  I was in New York with Mary Lewis, my administrative assistant and friend, at the time of the terrorist attacks of 9/11. The city, for the first few days (before fear and anger took over), was in total shock. People were numb and dazed. On the second day, Mary and I came upon a woman walking near our hotel with a very small and very lively dog called Kisses. We were crouched down in a trice, petting and having our faces licked. And we were not alone in desperately needing what we call a “dog fix.” It was heartwarming to see frozen faces break into smiles as people bent down to pet the little creature, so full of love and doggy kisses. She must have helped many that day—just one more example of what animals can do for us.

  It is one of the great tragedies that everywhere, in every country, there are millions of abused, hurting, frightened, and sick animals—dogs and cats, horses, birds, and so many more. Animals domesticated to the service of man and horribly betrayed.

  Karin has sought out examples of people who sacrifice a great deal to help these suffering animals. So compelling is her writing that the personalities of both the animals and humans become very real—I feel as if I have actually met some of them. And Judy’s sensitive and revealing photographs bring the text even more vividly to life. Indeed, this book is the result of a perfect partnership—the collaboration of two people who care passionately about animals but who care about people too. And who are able, through their respective gifts of lucid writing and perceptive photography, to share their passion with others. I had tea with them in Minnesota in the spring, and I could feel the power of their combined determination to make a difference.

  I hope that Saved will help all those dogs and cats who languish in shelters, and all the other abandoned, beaten, and frightened animals who are suffering at human hands. And that more old people in mo
re retirement homes will be visited, and more often, by therapy animals. That more prisons will set up programs that allow inmates to train guide dogs or care for homeless animals. That more hospitals will include visiting hours for those four-legged friends that can motivate the sick to make the effort to carry on living, and bring peace and comfort to those who have reached the end of their time on earth.

  Most people will be shocked to read of the acts of cruelty to animals taking place across the American continent—things that most people do not know about, and even if they do, feel there is nothing they can do about it. These stories will not only raise awareness, but I hope will also encourage everyone to do their bit to help. Few people will want to turn their houses or yards into animal rescue centers—and only some people have the passion and courage and temperament to take on such a project. But everyone who cares can do something. Help to spread awareness, volunteer at a rescue center, write letters, make donations, raise money. And if you are thinking of sharing your life with an animal, for goodness’ sake rescue one from a shelter. Don’t buy one, especially from a puppy mill or pet shop. My own life has been enriched by a long succession of rescued dogs. How rewarding they have been.

  PREFACE

  By Dr. Temple Grandin

  WHEN I WAS three and a half, I had no speech and all the full-blown symptoms of severe autism. Back in 1949, most doctors recommended sending severely autistic children to an institution. Fortunately my mother persevered and found a nanny who worked every day with me for many hours.

  The teenage years were the worst years of my life. I was constantly teased and called names like “retard,” “workhorse,” and “bones.” Lunchtime in the cafeteria and walking across the parking lot were torture. When I was fourteen, I was kicked out of a large girls’ school for throwing a book at a girl who called me names.

  My mother found a wonderful, special boarding school that had a farm and horses. When I was with the horses, it was a refuge from the teasing. The kids who were the worst teasers were not interested in riding horses or milking the cows.

  During a long career, I have observed that some of the people who are most skilled at working with animals are not the super social types who just want to engage in idle chitchat. They are the loners, the people who are kind of different. Today some of these dedicated animal people would be diagnosed as having Asperger’s Syndrome, which is a mild form of autism, dyslexia, or learning difficulty. In fact, many famous scientists, artists, and musicians from the past would be diagnosed with Asperger’s or dyslexia if they were alive today. It is the people who are a bit different who accomplish many wonderful things.

  I could never understand why some people deny animal consciousness until I learned that my thinking was very different. I think in pictures, like Google for images. During my thirties, I figured out that most people think mainly in words, a fact I learned by conducting a series of interviews. I asked the same test question over and over to many different people: “Access your memory of church steeples; how does this information come into your mind?” Most people see a vague, generalized, generic steeple, whereas I see specific identifiable individual steeples. They flash up sequentially in my mind like a series of slides. It was a great insight to find out that other people have less specific thinking.

  To understand animals you have to get away from thinking in words. You have to think in pictures or use one of the other senses such as sound or touch. It is sensory-based thinking, not word-based. It is often the most verbal thinkers who deny animals’ true consciousness.

  For me, language narrates the images that pop into my imagination. According to some philosophers, I would not be truly conscious. Visual and sensory-based thinking is a continuum, and some people have more sensory-based thinking than others. Brain-scan research is starting to verify that people on the autism spectrum think with the visual part of the brain more than non-autistic people. This new research has given me valuable insight into the fact that different people have different ways of thinking. Many individuals on the autism spectrum relate well to animals. Therapeutic horseback-riding programs help autistic individuals of all ages. Several mothers have told me that their non-verbal child started talking when he or she started riding horses.

  I related to many of the stories in Saved about how animals and people with problems have come together. In one chapter, prisoners with drug problems are greatly helped by working with animals. Statistics show that 64 percent of ex-convicts return to jail, while inmates who worked with animals during their incarceration had a recidivism rate of just 16 percent.

  Many of the animals in this book have been rescued from terrible places, and both the animals and the people who took them in got a second chance to have a good life.

  INTRODUCTION

  THIS BOOK IS about people trying to heal the damage done to animals and how animals heal suffering human beings. Some people do it one animal at a time, making room in their urban backyards, basements, and bedrooms. Others have carved out refuges for creatures in shopping malls, nursing homes, and even jails. Still others help by trying to pass legislation that would hold breeders accountable, require wide-scale spaying and neutering, ban dogfighting, and prevent horses from being shipped to slaughter.

  The stories are about the animals who sit in their laps, lick their hands, and sleep in their beds, who return from abuse and starvation to some degree of health and trust, who repay immeasurably the favors done to them. Because what rescued animals do best and most astonishingly is forgive. They may or may not forget what was done to them—how could they?—but they invariably forgive. Somewhere between memory and expectation (as author and horsewoman Jane Smiley characterizes animal and human relationships), they manage to revive their trust in and love for humans, even though certain people have hurt them grievously.

  Ours is a reciprocal relationship: we need creatures and the qualities they show us and elicit in us. The human and animal bond keeps us alive in places within ourselves that would wither without love, without humor, without complete and constant acceptance.

  This human need for affection and connection does not stop when someone can afford to buy everything—except human love, as we see with Bob Bradley, a wealthy polo player with a broken heart who is attended to by his pal Jack, a devoted herding dog. And neither does it stop when the person is poor, a fact well known by Christine Madruga, who runs a California pet rescue group. She helped provide a kennel for dogs owned by homeless people living in the desert so that the pets as well as their owners can have shelter. The need does not stop when it comes to people who are mentally ill or handicapped, as Lori Sarner discovered when she began bringing unwanted and injured horses together with damaged children and adults at the Pegasus Riding Academy for the Handicapped.

  If media coverage, animal activism, changes in animal protection statutes, and the growth of vegetarianism are any indication, the world is raising its collective awareness of the need for kindness to our fellow creatures. At no time in history has there been such a critical mass of people working to improve conditions for companion animals, for wild animals, and for farm animals. Growth hormone free, not tested on animals, free range, and organic have become premium labels on food and products for people and for pets. Even McDonald’s has bowed to pressure and now requires improved conditions for the chickens raised by its suppliers. In the words of Susan Heywood, fund-raiser extraordinaire for the Scratch & Sniff Foundation, an animal welfare group based in Phoenix, Arizona, we seem to be more aware “that we are responsible for what we have tamed.”

  Photographer Judy Olausen and I are longtime friends and colleagues and lifelong animal lovers. When we decided to explore this relationship between humans and animals, we found that the problem wasn’t finding examples; the problem was limiting the number of them—there are so many stories, and they are literally everywhere. Friends, strangers, neighbors, family, coworkers—everyone has a powerful animal story to tell if you just ask.

  The l
ove of animals and the need for what they give us is like a common language we share regardless of our age, class, gender, race, education, or political persuasion.

  I often walk up to people and start asking them about their critter. At a steeplechase near Middleburg, Virginia, for example, I was enjoying the horse scene, when I saw a dear little sheltie and a nicely dressed gentleman leading her. I stooped down to pet the dog, and the man and I began talking. He told me how humane officers had rescued her from a basement, nearly dead from starvation, how he could empathize because of his childhood abuse, and how he loved this dog. He referred me to Bob and Patricia Reever, the couple that subsequently cared for the dog and placed her with him, and they are profiled in this book.

  Judy and I share a similar passion for animals, which allowed our subjects to talk freely with us. In fact, they did much more than talk—they fed us, welcomed us into their homes and farms, and showed us their photographs. They drove us around and took us with them to shelters. Our keen interest got us invited into their lives, and they trusted us to document their stories. It got us into a jail, a hospice, nursing homes, a polo club, the most dangerous ghetto in the country, a private board meeting, and behind the scenes at more than one riding facility for the handicapped.

  This collection represents just a fraction of the stories we sifted from the possible multitude. Americans today own an unprecedented number of pets: an estimated sixty-three million dogs and seventy-three million cats. At the same time, humane societies receive more than six to eight million unwanted animals each year and euthanize three to four million unwanted cats and dogs annually. More than forty thousand horses from the United States go to slaughter in Mexican plants every year and thousands more in Canadian processing plants. In addition, twenty thousand greyhounds are disposed of after every racing season—they are shot, injected, gassed, thrown live to the alligators in Florida canals, or burned in mounds, their tattooed ears cut off so they cannot be identified.