Edelsinn

Adopted 23 April 2002 – died 28 December 2005

Only one of every 10 dogs born in the USA will find a permanent home. Recognizable breeds fare no better; 25% of dogs entering shelters are purebred. Commercial, hobby, and backyard breeders don’t care.

And yet, on 23 April 2002 I bought –yes bought— a sable German Shepherd of champion lineage and with many championship points of his own.

After the death of a dear dog (blogged 22 JAN 2017) I set out to rescue another one like him, purebred or not. I was told of a GSD rescuer and breeder (an oxymoron if there ever was one!), Debbi C., who had left her husband Ray and some 70 dogs he “had to get rid of.” The phrase always conveys a sense of heartless urgency.

It was a Sapulpa, OK, address and Christopher Liner and Leslie Freeze-Johnson (blogged 28 MAR 16) agreed to come along – and a good thing they did. I would have never found it alone. On arrival we honked a few times until Ray and a few dogs came to open the “Stalag 13” type gate that enclosed his ragged property. He pointed at a reddish dog who needed to gain a few pounds and lose many ticks. Not a molecule of Shepherd in him -- all the more reason to adopt the unfortunate cur, I thought.

Ray, a shady character, sensing the chance to get some cash while addressing the major problem he had “in the back,” hidden from the Internal Revenue and city ordinance inspectors, whispered:  “Let me show you some real nice dogs.” We followed him through a labyrinth of junk that red-necks cherish. And then the din of barking and whining began as he opened a tall privacy fence. We were facing about 15 pens, each with an agitated occupant. The only creature to come and greet us was, Elvis, an old Bloodhound, but Debbi C’s registered GSDs were locked up.

Algae-green water in the buckets, shredded tarps that didn’t shield from sun or rain, wall-to-wall feces and urine, no bedding... told the story. All the dogs were intact males. Females and pups here were kept in a shed we spared ourselves the visit.

Ray soon sensed he had misread us. Chris and Leslie were dismayed but kept their composure; I didn’t. I remember crying while arguing with Ray. “To my credit” he yelled back, “I didn’t shoot them all!” Leslie took him aside to prevent further escalation, while Chris tried to calm me down.

Helplessness. Anger. What to do! Just then, a soft tongue against my hand froze my roiling brain enabling a decision:  “This one’s getting out of here, godammit!”

He was “Stormy.” While still a rising star at barely 2 years of age, an ownership dispute landed him and his brother in a breeder’s kennel. There they spent the next seven years behind bars. Then he licked the right hand.

Stormy in jail; Edelsinn free for the first time in 7 years.

I would have paid more than the $500 Ray asked for, but Chris and Leslie, who had remained on speaking terms with him, negotiated the price down to $250 in view of Stormy’s advanced age. Ray wouldn’t give me the AKC papers (as if I cared) or the red dog I also meant to adopt. And so we left Ray’s dump with a former champion, determined to send help for those still there.

As my new friend and I rode in the back, Chris driving, I observed his sable coat, so matted with feces that a massive abscess in the neck area had gone unnoticed.  No grooming, no exercise, no human attention, nothing to do or see except Elvis free to roam, no veterinary care for seven years ... had not vanquished his noble mien.  He looked ahead with purpose, whatever came; such is the aplomb of a German Shepherd.  “Edelsinn” (German for “noble spirit”) became his name in freedom.

My contacts produced Debra Hnath, a GSD fancier who with members of her dog club and a veterinarian swept Ray C’s enclave, cleaned the pens, bathed the dogs, did temperament tests, took pictures, and reached a cooperation agreement of sorts with Ray. Debra bought Edel’s brother, with his papers, and she told me about their champion lineage. Jaynie Ozment, Tanya Kittrell, Wallace Swanson, Dorothy Farmer, and others spread word of the availability of GSDs and gradually several were sold or adopted. How the Sapulpa situation ended I don’t know, but the likes of Ray C., his daughter and live-in boyfriend (both young, able-bodied Marines), drag other creatures’ existence down to their own sordid level time and again.

Meanwhile, Edel' was thriving. He had never seen cats, yet he accepted them readily. An easygoing companion to lively Estrella and timid Magnus, the trio lived in harmony until 2005 when Chris (who had been living in Saudi Arabia for one year) and I decided to marry. Leaving my home of 30 years was sad, moving to Saudi Arabia insane, the pet situation agonizing.

Saudi Aramco, our employer, allowed two pets per household at the Dhahran compound. I had 13. Six of the cats were untamed: Violeta (blogged 18 OCT 2011), and Montecor and Antares (blogged 25 MAR 2017) lived indoors. Littermates Minutia, Simba, and Rocky (the latter blogged 10 JUN 2012) were sheltered and fed in the garage. (The very survival of feral cats hinges on staying in familiar territory.) Tame indoor cats Pomponia (blogged 15 MAY 2008 and 28 MAR 2016), Sultana (13 MAY 2012 and 28 MAR 2016), Calpurnia (13 MAY 2012), and Pertinax (still with us at this writing) would not benefit either from the jarring move.

Of the three dogs, Edelsinn, suffering from disabling displasia would have suffered greatly -- if he survived the 24-hour trip. It was a painful decision not to include him in the elaborate process to ensure passage and entry of Estrella and Magnus in the Kingdom – a timed obstacle course including obtaining signatures from US Secretary of State Condi Rice not sooner nor later than a narrow 10-day window of validity.

My niece Lanette and her pets would move into my house – rent-free— to care for the cats and Edelsinn, with emphasis on keeping him comfortable and me abreast of his welfare. Four days before departure, however, he could not stand without assistance. In this condition he would have had to fend for himself while Lanette was at work at least nine hours.

Edelsinn chillin’ by his favorite rosebush.

With eerie precision, Edelsinn had waited until three days before my departure to succumb. It was as if he didn’t want to stand in the way and, conversely, I felt like a miserable deserter -- I still do. Edelsinn ceased to be in my home office aided, by Dr. McCoy. Like others he laid in state until rigor mortis ...

But any attempt at tradition was botched by my mad decision to entrust Edelsinn's remains not to my trusted cremation service, Companions Forever, but to a grimy man I should have refused on appearance and demeanor. (Always, always trust your instincts.) Edelsinn’s ashes were not returned for the longest time and when, after Lanette’s many calls, they arrived ... not Edelsinn, not animal, not the usual light grey, but black ashes, were in the bag.

Nothing after his death could have hurt him, I kept saying to myself to assuage my mistake; he had survived in a breeder's hell anyway. I have to remind myself of the 44 months of love and freedom that he won with that lick of my finger. But Edelsinn deserved so much more than humanity is capable of giving.

(1) Breeders and irresponsible guardians cause a living dog (or cat, or horse, or potbellied pig, or...) to die for every new life they cause to be born. There are not enough homes – certainly not “responsible” permanent homes—for the 70,000 dogs and cats born every day in the USA. Every pet-friendly home has an “ideal occupancy” – mine is two dogs and two cats; an extra is often unavoidable. To help ease the glut of homeless companion animals, when one dies, I look for a successor --someone with few chances— as a memorial to my dead friend. In this manner I have unwittingly kept a continuous existential thread linking my first dog Majo (blogged OCT 2011), to my current companions and everyone in between.