"Bubba"

( This may not be "Bubba" but it looks an awful lot like him)

It was a beautiful Sunday morning and I was in my garden, pulling weeds. For those of you who know me, I think we can all agree that, me ‘pulling weeds’ is a rarity. A brown bird was sitting on my lawn, so I acknowledged it by saying “hello” and continued on with my work.

About ten minutes later, the bird had not moved, so I walked towards it, thinking it would surely fly away…but it just sat there. “Birdie, are you OK?” I asked. Upon closer examination, I couldn’t help but notice it’s beak was broken. The nurse in me immediately went back inside the house where I found a syringe and extension tubing (a small length of tubing that can fit on the end of a syringe) and filled it with water. When I returned outside, the bird remained frozen in the same spot on the lawn. I christened him “Bubba”. He would not (or could not) drink.

Remembering that there was a terrific Emergency Animal Clinic not far away, I called them and was told that “yes” they would treat wild animals and that there would be no charge (woo-hoo!). Finding a shoe box, I padded it with towels then placed Bubba in it for transportation to the clinic.

The trip to the Emergency Animal Clinic was uneventful except “Bubba” was not looking so good. He had been standing up in the box initially, but was now lying on his side. Hmmm. Bad sign. Anyway, when we arrived at the clinic, he was still breathing and in the typical fashion of the Emergency Animal Clinic, there were no questions asked, Bubba was immediately taken back to see the Vet.

Now, what do I do? Do I wait for the prognosis? I don’t really know Bubba. How can I just walk out of the clinic? It wouldn’t feel right. I took a seat in the lobby with all the other pet owners. Why? I’m not so sure.

A few minutes later, the Veterinarian and his assistant approached me with very somber looks on their faces…sitting on each side of me, and in a very therapeutic manner said, “We are so sorry but he didn’t make it.” What do you say to that when they looked so sad? “It’s OK, I didn’t really know him anyway?” That would have broken their hearts. So I looked sad right back at them and simply said “Thank you for all of your help” and walked out of the clinic empty handed.

The Red-Headed Strangers - Part 2

Every evening, Waylon and Willie would scratch on the kitchen door to go out. This evening was like all others and The Red Headed Strangers were off, into the darkness.

Thirty minutes had passed when the familiar scratching at the door resumed. It was time to come back in. Willie stepped into the kitchen.

Within seconds, another scratch at the door – it was Willie, again, apparently wanting to go back outside. This in/out scratching game went on for about 10 minutes when I finally saw Waylon.

He was weakly struggling to climb the stairs outside my kitchen door, I could hear his loud, raspy breathing and he was covered in blood.

My heart raced. I picked him up and wrapped him in a towel. "Oh my God – How do you facilitate a cat’s airway?" I recall. I held him upright as he was bleeding from his mouth and throat. Panicked, I ran downstairs and pounded on my neighbor's door. I didn’t have to say a word - we were on our way the Emergency Animal Clinic.

The clinic was open between 6pm and 8am for emergency veterinary care and they were incredible. I no sooner stepped inside of the clinic when a vet tech snatched Waylon from me and ran off. No questions asked.

We waited for word in the austere clinic lobby. A sweet cat that looked like it had been through hell was very comforting to me as I waited for Waylon’s ‘verdict’was curled up on a chair beside me. Most of its fur was gone, one eye appeared surgically altered and its skin was evidently grafted. I later learned that it had been doused with gasoline and set on fire and was now the ‘Resident Cat’ of the clinic.

If you believe, as I do that every soul has a purpose - maybe this cat’s purpose was to comfort and give pause for thought. Red-Headed Strangers: Part 3