Saving Sadie: How a Dog That No One Wanted Inspired the World

AUTHORS

PROLOGUE

Sadie Steals the Show

Overleaf: Joal and Sadie at GAB: Generations Against Bullying event, April 2016 (photo courtesy Valerie Alba).

Sunday, April 24, 2016

My heart races, my throat is parched, and the butterflies in my stomach have morphed into fruit bats as the gleaming glass elevator whisks us up to the Pilot House, the elegant circular ballroom that extends from Milwaukee’s Discovery World museum and aquarium out over Lake Michigan, hovering above the choppy waves. Catching my reflection in the glass, I smooth my little black dress, fluff my shoulder-length blond hair, and toss the long, pink, feather boa over my shoulder.

I glance down at my beautiful canine companion Sadie in her specially blinged-out wagon and draw strength from her calm, steady presence. What a pair we make, me in my black dress and fluorescent pink boa and she in a hand-stitched, crushed velvet bodice-and-cape dress, the skirt hemmed in bright pink rosebuds, with matching pink marabou feather wristlets and a pink-and-faux-diamond collar.

Are we ready for this? I ask her, genuinely concerned. She wags her tail and barks, reassuring me that we’ll be fine. After four years together, we’ve developed a kind of emotional shorthand, a means of communication that bypasses language and allows us to connect directly, heart to heart and soul to soul.

We’re on our way to a fund-raising event for GAB—Generations Against Bullying, a nonprofit anti-bullying organization for which Sadie serves as a peer ambassa-dog, highlighting the connection between bullying and animal abuse while teaching kids to become upstanders, not bystanders, who do the right thing when they see animals or other kids being bullied or hurt.

Sadie and I appear at dozens of events and venues every year, but today is special—it is Sadie’s re-birthday, the fourth anniversary of the day we first met and she turned my life around. Today is also special because this event will feature the world premiere of a six-minute short film all about Sadie, with Sadie herself hamming it up in the starring role.

The glass elevator shudders to a halt and in the moments before the doors open, I bend down and whisper in Sadie’s ear, just as I have done so many times before, Okay, girl, it’s show time! She knows the drill by now, and responds with another chirpy bark and enthusiastic wag of her tail.

The doors slide open and as I pull Sadie in her wagon out of the elevator and along the red carpet toward the center of the ballroom, the onslaught begins. Sadie! Sadie! Over here! No, over here! Can we get a photo, please? Smile, Sadie, and say cheese! Cameras flash, champagne flows, and the paparazzi jockey for position, elbows darting and flying in their push to get the perfect shot of Sadie, the evening’s shining star.

My head spins as I attempt to take in all the sights. The Pilot House is draped with long, colorful sashes, festooned with bunches of black and red balloons, and absolutely jam-packed with the Midwest’s movers and shakers, celebrities from the political, philanthropic, and media worlds, including Wisconsin governor and former presidential candidate Scott Walker, his wife, Tonette, longtime local TV anchorwoman Carole Meekins, and Teri Jendusa-Nicolai, domestic abuse survivor and renowned public speaker, and yet all attention is riveted to the two of us on the red carpet, and in particular Sadie, just an unassuming, medium-size, black-and-tan dog, sitting up straight and proud in a child’s pull wagon, her intelligent, honey-brown eyes shining, ears flopping forward, and tail eagerly wagging. She demonstrates no fear, no nervousness, no uncertainty, even with the crowded press of people, the noise, the activity, the lights. It is as if she were born to do this, because, in fact, I believe she was born to do this, spreading her important message of hope and faith and perseverance, of never giving up, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

How honored and humbled I feel to be Sadie’s mom, the human she chose (and there can be no mistake about it—I did not choose her; she chose me) to be her companion, champion, advocate, and partner-in-crime for life. But how different it all seemed, four years ago tonight, when she lay lifeless and defeated in my arms, paralyzed, filthy, despondent, and incontinent, the victim of horrific abuse, and her future appeared to be measured not in years, months, or even days; mere hours remained until her scheduled rendezvous with the euthanasic needle. Isn’t it incredible, how the miracle of love can so completely turn two lives around?

My reverie is interrupted by a sudden, shy-but-intent tug on my boa. I glance down to see an anxious little boy, maybe seven or eight years old, in a navy blazer, shiny new shoes, a bow tie, and thick, black-rimmed glasses. Excuse me, but can I pet her please? he asks, pushing up his glasses.

Of course, I reply, taking his warm, chubby little hand in mine and guiding him to Sadie’s wagon, which has been specially created for this evening, wrapped in shiny black fabric lined with rows of faux diamonds, the words SavingSadie.com spelled out in elegant cursive diamond lettering along either side. The crowd of adults Sadie is entertaining parts to make way for the child. A little nervous, he looks up to me for reassurance. I nod, bend, and demonstrate how to pet Sadie, moving his hand in mine over her smooth head, down her neck, and between her strong shoulders. She’s a good doggie, I say softly as Sadie gazes at the boy, slowly wagging her tail. And she loves it when you pet her.

Sadie has a remarkable gift, a natural rapport with all living creatures, but especially with children and people with special needs. Responding to the boy’s attention, she nudges him with her nose and opens her mouth, smiling her trademark tongue-wagging smile. The boy squeals with delight, stroking her head and petting her with energetic, little-boy abandon. We may be in a room full of celebrities, I think to myself, but I know that it’s moments like this one that Sadie and I both live for.

Briefly leaving Sadie to her adoring fans, I work my way around the dazzlingly fancy ballroom, introducing myself, handing out business cards, and spreading our important message. I even get a photo alongside Governor Walker on the red carpet, but unfortunately the governor has a lifelong allergy to dogs so he’s not able to pose with Sadie. In my few moments with the governor I take the opportunity to press him about strengthening Wisconsin’s laws and punishment regarding animal abuse. Ever the politician, he agrees it’s a vitally important issue and promises he’ll get back to me.

Before I know it, it’s time for dinner, a grand, sit-down, three-course gourmet affair consisting of a mixed mesclun salad with fresh herbs and rice wine vinaigrette, followed by an entrée of Strasbourg Chicken, a roasted chicken breast enveloped in a rich, tarragon-scented velouté sauce accompanied by pureed potatoes and French beans, and finishing with a petite honey cheesecake dessert with a sprig of fresh mint and raspberry coulis. There’s no dog food for Sadie on this most special of evenings, no ordinary kibble-and-bits; no, we pull her wagon right up to our ten-person table and she sits up and joins us, human-style, listening to the conversation and following intently with her bright, soulful eyes. When we get to dessert, the whole table breaks into a rousing (if slightly off-key!) rendition of Happy Birthday, and, to celebrate her special day, Sadie is allowed a small sample of cheesecake, which she eagerly devours, lapping it up with her tongue. How many dogs get to do this? I ponder. How many dogs are blessed to have a life like Sadie’s?

They say it takes a village to raise a child; well, it takes a team,Team Sadie, to enable her, and me, to do the things we do, traveling around the country visiting schools, hospitals, libraries, pet stores, animal shelters, nursing homes, and other venues, spreading our twin messages of accepting those beings, both human and animal, who have special needs, along with pressing the need to enact stronger laws and penalties against animal abuse.

I feel especially blessed this evening to have with me several key members of Team Sadie: Jeff, my trusty dog-sitter, a soft-spoken Vietnam vet with mighty struggles of his own who nonetheless is indefatigable in caring for Sadie and my other fur babies when I am at work; my gentle and generous sister, Marnette, who traveled all the way from South Carolina to be here tonight and who was one of Sadie’s earliest champions, encouraging me to keep fighting for Sadie, even when all hope appeared to be lost; Valerie, Sadie’s dedicated social media guru; comedian Dobie Maxwell; friends and supporters Cindy and Brad; Dr. Jodie, the only vet willing to give Sadie a chance when other vets recommended euthanasia; and Kati, Dr. Jodie’s right-hand person.

We are just finishing dessert when the lights suddenly dim and the chattering crowd of several hundred falls breathlessly silent. Dark curtains whisk elegantly across the floor-to-ceiling windows, obscuring the 360-degree view of Milwaukee’s cozy harbor at twilight, as two giant screens at the front of the room flash, sputter, then flicker to blazing life. After a brief intro from the film’s writer and director, GAB board chairman Bill Eisner, the somber narration begins, as the soft, gentle voice of a young woman speaks Sadie’s thoughts aloud.

The other day, I heard someone talking about how lonely they were. They said they were sad, because people were making fun of them, saying really bad things about them, things that weren’t even true. Things that hurt. A lot. They said that it had gotten so bad they didn’t even see the point in living anymore.

Beautiful, sun-kissed images of Sadie fill the screen as the voiceover explains how Sadie’s first owner shot her and left her for dead after she gave birth to a litter of puppies. I remember feeling totally alone. Abandoned. I couldn’t understand how someone could be so mean to me. I hadn’t done anything to him. It was getting darker, and colder, and even though I didn’t want to leave, I could feel my world slipping away. I started feeling sad, thinking about all the things I would miss if my life ended that night.

What I didn’t realize was that there were people who heard the shots and came running to see what was wrong, came to see if they could help me. They didn’t want the bully to have the last word.

I watch the screen in awe as Sadie gives Lassie a run for her money in the acting department, re-enacting key moments from her life on film: lying prone and lifeless in a pile of leaves with pretend blood marring her forehead; being carried into therapy at Dr. Jodie’s; swimming in the pool at Think Pawsitive; curling up in my arms as we watch the sunset at Bradford Beach.

The darkness of the ballroom magnifies sound, and I can hear people sniffling, coughing, and clearing their throats during the video’s most heart-rending moments. Glancing around me, even in the dark I catch sight of a few glimmering cheeks, and tissues surreptitiously dabbing moist eyes as Sadie’s remarkable story plays out before us.

I reach over and stroke Sadie, sitting up in her wagon beside me and intently following the action on the screen. Sadie, everyone watching this film thinks that I rescued you from certain death, but you and I both know that in fact it’s the other way around—you rescued me. You changed my life, giving me meaning and purpose, opening my heart to people and ideas and possibilities I could never otherwise have imagined. And yet it was all so very different four years ago, when a brief stop at a no-kill shelter in Kenosha, Wisconsin, changed not only my life, but also the lives of thousands of other people around the world, forever.

CHAPTER ONE

A Grim Prognosis

Four years earlier: Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Having just dropped off my donation of blankets and bedding, I was in a hurry to get back on the road, but suddenly one of the dozens of dogs housed at this no-kill shelter in Kenosha, Wisconsin, caught my eye. I stopped in my tracks as my heart stuttered, my breath caught, and I took another look. I don’t think I had ever seen a more pitiful creature, or a dog that had more wrong with it: sad amber eyes, defeated expression, sunken shoulders, withered back legs, wounded forehead, and dull, dirty, matted fur. The dog, along with one of the shelter’s volunteers, was sitting outside in the cool, dappled shade beneath a lacy-leaved maple tree. Something in the dog’s face reached out to me, drawing me closer, begging me for help. I seemed to understand instinctively that this was no ordinary dog and I needed to find out more. What is this dog’s story? I asked the volunteer, a friendly-looking woman in her mid-forties with light brown hair.

Her name is Sadie and she arrived here last night, she replied, then proceeded to tell me the whole story in heartbreaking detail. Sadie had been found in the hardscrabble Appalachian hills of Kentucky some weeks earlier, where, it was surmised, after giving birth to a litter of puppies she was shot between the eyes and in the back and left for dead. The strangers who found her, dazed, dehydrated, and bleeding, took her to a local vet, and when they couldn’t help her there, Starfish Animal Rescue, a no-kill rescue organization based in northern Illinois, arranged to transport her to the shelter here.

Her back legs are paralyzed, the volunteer explained. She can’t stand, she can’t walk, and she’s urinary and fecally incontinent. The woman shook her head sadly. She didn’t have to spell out what this meant, because we both understood: Sadie, whom they estimated to be about four years old, was doomed to live out the rest of her days here, just one of many rejects, strays, and castaways, locked in a cold metal cage, until nature inevitably took its course.

Has she been evaluated by a vet locally? I knelt to take a closer look at Sadie. She was so skinny, so filthy and malnourished, it was difficult to make out any distinguishing characteristics, other than floppy ears, a longish snout, and, somewhere beneath the filth, black-and-tan markings. I thought she might be a hunting dog, perhaps an Australian shepherd.

No, she hasn’t seen a vet here yet, the woman replied.

Would it be all right if I take her to a vet and have her examined?

The volunteer looked surprised. I’m not sure, she replied. But we can find out.

Many times since that day, Tuesday, April 24, 2012, I have asked myself why. Why did I suddenly, out of the blue, volunteer to take Sadie, a dog I had never seen before, to the vet? I had been going to animal shelters for years, donating items and volunteering my time, and I had seen plenty of dogs, cats, and other animals with stories just as tragic as Sadie’s, and yet I had never intervened like this before. Maybe it was because Sadie, even in her downcast, diminished state, reminded me of dogs I had loved and lost in the past, especially Marley, a magnificent black-and-brown Rottweiler mix, and Presley, a German shepherd mix who had died about a year earlier. Maybe if Sadie had been a Chihuahua or a pit bull, I would have just walked away, but something about Sadie’s sad face, her wounded forehead, her soft, sorrowful eyes, resonated deep inside me. It was like she was trying to speak to me through her expression, as if a soul trapped somewhere deep inside of her was calling out to me for help. I reached toward Sadie and she flinched, then steadied. It was clear she didn’t have the strength or the feeling in her legs to even stand up, but she did allow me to stroke her head.

On the other hand, maybe I was so drawn to Sadie not because of her pitiful state but instead because it is my nature to be a fixer. My first impulse, when I see something broken, is to pick it up, fix it, and make it whole again. And Sadie was just about as broken as a dog could be. Then again, maybe it wasn’t Sadie’s desperate expression or my fixer persona that led me to make that choice that day: maybe it was just the magic of something that is meant to be, the result of those unseen forces that move within and among and around us, nudging us onto the paths we were always destined to follow.

I spoke to the shelter’s on-site manager and asked if I could take Sadie to the vet to see if anything could be done to help her, and in particular to get her walking again. The manager seemed surprised by my request but agreed, on one condition: that I pay the bill for the vet visit. She recommended I take Sadie to Dr. Bohdan Rudawski at the Fox Lake Animal Hospital, over the Wisconsin border in Fox Lake, Illinois. I was actually already familiar with this hospital because, coincidentally, my younger daughter, Jami-Lyn, a vet herself, had worked there with Dr. Rudawski years earlier.

Having secured the manager’s permission, the volunteer helped me load Sadie into my SUV. I popped the back hatch with my remote and knelt beside Sadie, who whimpered feebly as I scooped her up in my arms. Her back legs, withered and atrophied, dangled lifelessly behind her while urine dribbled down her leg and onto my own. I also noticed, for the first time, that she had a small scrape or sore on her back paw. Frankly, she smelled terrible, from lack of care and from the mixture of dirt, urine, and feces dried and deeply matted into her fur. What was I getting myself into? And yet, even as I held her trembling body close to my chest, I felt not only her thin ribs, but also the first stirring of something like love firing inside my heart.

You are not going to adopt this dog, I warned myself. You already have three fur babies at home. All you are going to do is find out whether or how Sadie might be fixed. And in that moment I truly believed that my head might overrule my heart, for once.

I cradled Sadie, her skinny forty-plus pounds weighing more heavily in my arms, as the volunteer smoothed and straightened the blankets that I keep in the back of my SUV for emergencies. Together we laid Sadie on top and helped her settle. I could tell she was scared,