What is a Rescue?

Can it work both ways?

What is a rescue?

It can mean many things. From a pure statement of fact to the metaphoric.

Coltrane rescued me from a life of listening to forgettable pop music. I rescued a bird in need and saw it got attention.

We use the word so often, and it is such a powerful idea.

The idea of rescuing something. Or someone.

Diggy was a rescue.

He became part of our family a week before I had a serious medical issue and was told I was not going to make it. At first, he really didn’t fit in.

He fought with our other dog, was standoffish to my wife and daughter, but seemed to be “all in” with me.

We realized his aggression was when the older dog got close to me. Diggy had decided I was his human - and nobody was gonna get their ears scratched but him.

We decided maybe he needed to be with a family as an only dog.

And then came the clot.

“Call your family,” the doctor said. Privately a nurse told my wife that I would not be coming home and to prepare for that possibility.

Amazingly, I survived that episode and was able to leave the hospital after 14 days.

When I got home, Diggy was there. And together we watched TV and listened to jazz together on the worn leather couch. Me closing my eyes and resting, while simultaneously scratching those tiny ears as he sat on my lap for hours.

Any thought of rehoming him was abolished. Diggy was my bud.

He had been incredibly mistreated before he was rescued, and then we took him in 10 years ago.

He lived in fear every day; the trauma was so deep. We learned to not get our feet around him, as he was so terribly afraid of being kicked.

We teased him for being clueless. He really was.

But he was also funny; he loved to play and run as fast as he could.

I would throw the toy and he would look for things to jump over to get to it. Man, that little guy could fly.

It took me a month to get him accustomed to going for walks without cowering from every noise, kid, car... I ended up carrying him home several times.

But he got used to it, and going for walks always cheered us both.

Age caught up to the abuse, and he began losing his mental faculties. We had to give him a mild sedative so he could sleep at night.

And then it was a not-so-mild sedative.

His doctor gave the final evaluation… Diggy was not having a good life and his deterioration was intensifying. His dementia got to the point where he was unable to cope with, well, anything. His body started going fast, and we knew it was our duty to rescue him from his daily nightmare once more.

Of course, I wanted to find anything to help my friend, but was assured that nothing medically could be done. Diggy wasn’t going to fly anymore.

It was my duty to rescue him once more. And we did so with heavy hearts.

The grandbabies loved him and, like me and my family, are so terribly sad today.

I'm really going to miss you, my little friend.

But I will never forget you.

Thanks for the rescue.

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OK… we are moved. I am back to the publishing.

Too far ‘behind’ to even think about, but lots coming your way so stay tuned.