Jack's trip down the mighty Mississippi...
A "Trixie Story" - November, 2009
Recently, while going through some boxes in one of our unoccupied caregiver houses, a couple of items I ran across got me chuckling, shaking my head and thinking back about the former employee who had not only owned them but had also worked and lived in the very same dwelling sometime back; his name was Jack W....
To say that Jack was a real character would not be doing him justice. Ha! Indeed, he was a "one of a kind person" and one whom some people might say they either liked or disliked - at least, that's what Jack told me. Considering that he worked at The Trixie Foundation on two separate occasions (the first time was in the Fall of 2005 and the second time was in the Spring of 2007) - I supposed you could say that for the most part, Jack and I got along pretty well. Plus, the dogs took a real liking to him - especially, the mischievous, cane-raising, recently rescue pups Moe and Shemp. In fact, when Jack wasn't paying close enough attention to their whereabouts - they would sneak up behind him and stealthily steal the protruding handkerchiefs hanging from his back pocket and shred them like paper. I don't know how many times Jack's former wife and friend Pam sent him replacement handkerchiefs; it was truly hilarious.
Of course, then there were all those times that we would "shoot the breeze" in the evening after the long day was finally coming to an end and we were relaxing, watching the dogs slowly wind down. Believe me, after working here for eight, nine or ten hours a day, it was nice to have a change of pace and a pleasant distraction to look forward to later. As Jack was a college graduate (in addition to voraciously reading the two or three books that his elderly father would finish and mail him weekly) - there was always a timely topic of interest or something of an "intellectual" nature to discuss or contemplate. Heck, between the two of us, we solved most of the world's ongoing problems. For sure, we had some great "bull" sessions.
On one particular evening, Jack told me about the adventurous canoe trip he took by himself sometime shortly after either his high school or college graduation. Bidding his still dismayed family goodbye in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania - Jack determinedly set out for New Orleans. Paddling his small craft down the Ohio River until he finally reached the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers (somewhere near Louisville, Kentucky, I believe) - after going through the locks, he began the second leg of his long journey south down the might Mississippi. Painting a virtual picture with his descriptive narrative, Jack told me about all the funny, unbelievable events and things that happened to him along the way. Whether it was simply docking to acquire needed supplies, camping out on the riverbank underneath the shining stars with a glowing fire to keep him warm at night or even the many interesting people he met along the way - Jack convincingly made it seem to me to be the stuff lifelong, endearing memories are made of. Yeah, I can still see him standing there gesticulating wildly, simulating his paddling frenzy in a strong current, grinning, cackling with laughter as he talked and reminisced about the half-year long trip...
Unfortunately though, for many people, there are unanticipated events or tragedies that occur which ultimately impact them negatively and unknowingly affect their sanity and hidden subconscious in ways they never imagined possible. Maybe I'm wrong in believing this but, for Jack I feel the tour of duty he took in southeast Asia in the early 1970s (possibly even after his lazily, whimsical canoe trip), changed him forever from a young and carefree young boy to that of a more wise but jaded, emotionally hardened adult man. Just maybe that was one of the many reasons why Jack eventually began to drink, to drift and to change. I really don't know...
What I do know though is that as long as I live, I'll never forget that early frosty, Fall morning when several of us were gathered around our old and frail dog Abner who was not doing well; he was slipping away. Before sending him on to the vet to be examined, Jack asked to hold him while the car was warming up. And as he cradled little Abner tenderly in his arms - out of the blue, Jack broke down and quietly, softly began to sob - tears of inconsolable sadness soon running down his tormented face... Stunned and not really knowing what to say or do, I finally asked him what was wrong? Momentarily, with his head bowed and his arms still protectively wrapped around Abner's small, weak, almost lifeless body - in between deep breaths and subdued sighs, he uneasily, falteringly told us about another chilly morning he'd had a world away in a place called Vietnam - and the bloodied, dying boy-soldier he had held there protectively in his arms as the young man's life was slowly slipping away... the numerous stray bullets dangerously whizzing by all around... the disfigured, dead bodies in contorted positions lying motionless on the ground nearby... I suppose our frail, dying Abner triggered a flashback of long ago desperation and unrelenting, tortuous sadness...
This past February, Jack's demons finally got the better of him; heart failure brought on by severe alcoholism had finally taken its toll on my old, heroic buddy. What a loss... Even so, as long as I live, I'll never not manage a big smile - every single time I remember back on that happy go-lucky Spring evening when I first heard the wonderfully entertaining story - about Jack's trip down the mighty Mississippi...
Randy Skaggs, Founder
The Trixie Foundation
The Trixie Foundation
Appalachia's Animal Protection Organization and No-Kill, Care-for-Life Animal Sanctuary, "Eden"
The love story of Dagwood and Allie Mae...
A "Trixie Story" - Fall of 2001
situation though, he had evidently been beaten and treated harshly by humans while still a small, defenseless puppy; he was afraid to let a person even touch, let alone try to pet him. As a result of this, he was destined to be "put down" at the animal shelter because he was "unadoptable". When a woman who had a friend that worked at the shelter informed us of his imminent, doomed destiny - I agreed to take him; everyone deserves the opportunity to be happy and loved at least once in their life…
Finally, thrown together by fate, Dagwood and Allie Mae became the very best of friends. In fact, they practically "grew up" together. They ran and played, they rolled in the grass and they wrestled. Day in, day out - they enjoyed each other's company. Everything was going good until Dagwood and Allie Mae discovered a weakened and escapable portion of the old, outdated perimeter "cattle" fence that we had at the time; together, they "made a run for it". Although that particular fence has long since been replaced by a brand new and secure chain link version (which was completed in its entirety just one year ago this month) - from that point on, we couldn't keep Allie Mae from escaping - no matter how many times we brought her back inside the compound. Moreover, Dagwood wouldn't even let us get near him to catch and bring back inside - and believe me, we tried everything. So, this went on for the next two years. Luckily, all of the other dogs were content to stay within their large and enclosed compound areas and not try to escape into the surrounding woods as Dagwood and Allie Mae had done; thank God for that.
Thus, from the time I realized that the old fence was no longer "escape proof" - we began to work toward building a new, more updated and secure containment system to better protect all the animals. And while we were constantly working toward this new objective - we would see Dagwood and Allie Mae stretched out side-by-side on the leaf covered ground of the hillside facing the compound - soaking up the warm rays of the morning sun. Or, we'd see them casually sauntering through the woods - sniffing and digging in the dirt under the shaded canopy of the forested woods surrounding the compound. No matter what, no matter where, they were always together; they were inseparable. It was obvious to everyone who saw them that they had an emotional attachment to each other; I guess you could say, they were in love. Oftentimes I would go outside the sanctuary compound and open up cans of dog food or packages of lunch meat for them (which had been donated to us); they really liked the extra, special attention. Sometimes I would even love and pet on Allie Mae - all the time trying to win Dagwood's trust. However, no matter how much I tried - and no matter how many treats I gave them both - still, I could not get Dagwood to allow me to touch him, nor trust me (unlike today).
On Friday, October 27, 2000, we finally completed the erection of all new fencing - especially the area where Dagwood and Allie Mae were to be placed. We knew that we had to hurry and "finish up" because in just a couple more week's time - "modern gun" deer hunting season began. And although we have never had any problem with hunters in the past - The Trixie Foundation has built a "mountain of enemies" over the years for "standing its ground" on behalf of animals. Anyway, after completing the fencing that day - we tried to corral and coax Dagwood and Allie Mae into the area that was to be their new home; I remember even throwing them a whole ham shoulder to try to get them inside the five-foot-high, fenced, electrified compound; nothing worked. Although any of the three of us working that day could have walked right up to Allie Mae, picked her up and physically placed her inside - I told the work hands "no" - just let her stay outside with her constant companion and mate, Dagwood; at least until we could catch both of them together, at the same time, in the next couple of days. So, the dogs simply turned around and lazily headed toward the old, deserted and rickety barn, located just a few hundred feet down the road from The Trixie Foundation compound - to snooze and relax after "stuffing themselves" with meat and other "canine" goodies.
Early the next morning at daybreak, I awoke to the loud "bang" of a single gunshot; it seemed as if it was only a few feet outside the compound fence - maybe, from down around the barn? After hurriedly dressing, I went to investigate - no sign of anyone - including Dagwood and Allie Mae. I thought to myself - at least they're safe. A couple of worried days later, I awakened to find Dagwood lying outside the compound as usual - but, mysteriously minus Allie Mae, his beloved mate of several years. I'm sorry to say, but, that sweet and gentle red-haired dog has never been seen by anyone since - and I've paid people to walk and search the hills, looking for her bloodied, contorted body. My guess is that she probably walked right up to the person who shot her, expecting to be petted and doted on - and instead, ran away in pain, gut shot, to die in agony somewhere secluded - with Dagwood lying protectively by her side. Someone that didn't like me, nor appreciate nor understand the work that I do on behalf of all unwanted animals, no doubt did their very best "to send me a message"; I've got news for them - it didn't work. I'll never stop!
Early the other day I looked out the window to see Dagwood (who has been inside the compound with all the other dogs for almost a year now thanks to a rented "tranquilizer dart gun") curiously gazing and staring at the same exact gate where I last saw and fed him and Allie Mae together that Friday afternoon long ago. As I watched him more closely, I saw his tail begin to slowly wag from side to side - and, I know that I saw a grin beginning to form on his puzzled face and tilted head. And as I continued to watch, I too began to visualize and see through the frosty morning mist, the ghostly form of a sweet and gentle red-haired dog, lying just outside the compound gate - slowly wagging her tail back and forth - contentedly, serenely gazing upon the one that she loved and missed so in heaven, her faithful, beloved mate forever, Dagwood...
Randy Skaggs, Founder
The Trixie Foundation
I guess it's been close to six years now since I first acquired Allie Mae. And even though it's been that long, I still remember the very day she arrived - along with her shy, mangy, malnourished mother and her two sickly, emaciated sisters. It seems that they were in somewhat of an abusive situation prior to their acceptance here; the unsympathetic woman that had them didn't feel it was necessary to feed and water the chained mother dog and her pups on a regular basis. So, rather than us "turn her in" to the proper authorities for possible charges of animal abuse, she let one of The Trixie Foundation's board of director members bring them here. Weren't the dogs lucky…
And, I also remember the day that we got Dagwood - right at about five years ago. It seems that he too was another abuse case. In his particular
As they drove away...
A "Trixie Story" - Spring of 2001
they were immediately brought back home to her. It was just after all this happened that a concerned and sympathetic social worker contacted the “care-for-life” no-kill animal sanctuary, The Trixie Foundation, about us accepting the seven beloved dogs. Even though her increasing age and the callous indifference of her “guardian” prevented Helen from determining her own personal fate - she was absolutely resolute that the care of her unprotected babies take precedent over even her own immediate welfare and comfort. The elderly woman was determined to remain steadfastly loyal and protective of the only family that she had left in the world. So, at this point, it was decided upon that perhaps the best thing for everyone to do was “get together” and allow me the opportunity to meet both Helen - and the dogs. I’ll never forget our first encounter - it was at Helen’s home. After riding along with the guardian over to her house, I got out of the vehicle and walked over to where Helen stood. She was so sweet – my heart swelled at her tenderness. And what she said to me then, has probably been the nicest thing that anyone has ever said to me. She told me that just by looking into my eyes and talking to me but for a few moments - she knew that her precious babies would be well taken care of and loved. I then told Helen that although I could never, ever take her place - I would always do my very best to take the best care of her “kids” that I could. In just another few minutes - Helen introduced us to her “family” by opening her kitchen door and allowing the six dogs that were inside the house – to go outside, into the fenced-in backyard. And, because one of the dogs had already escaped the confines of the fenced-in enclosure several months earlier – he ran around outside the fence, yipping and yapping – just like all the other dogs inside the fence were now doing. Too, as the dogs had never before been around people other than Helen - they were very protective; the hair on their backs bristled and stood on end - I knew better than to try to pet any of them. It was then decided that the “guardian” and I would leave and go back to his office and work out the details of the placement...
As The Trixie Foundation is a “care-for-life” animal sanctuary – for the most part, we normally ask that whoever asks us to accept “their” pet also help us with the future costs of its lifetime upkeep by helping us financially. Of course, this realistic philosophy did not apply to the other 195 puppies and dogs here that we had already rescued and assumed the cost of ourselves - out of a total of 209. Therefore, as the social worker had already told me before that Helen was more than willing and able to help financially - I informed the guardian that since several national humane societies and organizations in the United States had estimated that just one small-to-medium sized dog could cost as much as $5,000 over its lifetime - and that one large dog could cost $8,000 or more (and, as we would probably be taking care of all of these dogs for another six, seven or maybe even eight years) - it was my belief that asking for a tax-deductible contribution of $10,000 for all seven medium-sized dogs was not necessarily all that much - especially, considering all the yet-to-be incurred future expenses: construction of a place for them to live, yearly vaccinations and possible needed medical attention, food, day-to-day care, etc. You should have heard the guardian “rant and rave” at the quoted figure; he just could not believe my audacity. To make a long story short - we finally reached an agreement of less than $1,200 per dog. You see, in reality, what the real problem here was not that Helen didn’t have any money (I found out later from a newspaper reporter who personally knew her, that actually she was quite “well-to-do”) - the real problem was that the guardian (because his mother had been Helen’s lifelong friend before she died) was going to inherit all of Helen’s estate - and he wanted all of the money for himself; he was simply greedy. Helen’s own “peace-of-mind” and the “welfare of her dogs” seemed to me, to mean little to him. So... As it subsequently transpired - the transition process took place the following week. It was agreed upon that Helen would open the kitchen door and let the dogs out into the open yard for one last time - and then, she would leave the premises; I’ve often wondered about that particular moment and what went through her mind; she had to be so sad – knowing that her “babies” would not be there upon her return... Anyway, as I had already arranged for the dogs to be tranquilized after her departure – they were then caught and brought to The Trixie Foundation. And, just a few days later – the guardian made a trip out to our facility to see for himself that the dogs had truly been transferred - and then, he gave us a check. About one month later, I received a call from the guardian’s office. He informed me that Helen wanted to come and visit her babies - especially, the smallest one of the litter who was her favorite. As Helen had earlier told me that the dogs didn’t have specific names - I had named the little dog Abraham. The designated day finally came and when the brand new $40,000 “suburban utility vehicle” pulled up in front of the compound - I went out to greet them. I could tell that this meant so very much to Helen by her quiet, subdued demeanor and glowing grin. It was then that the guardian stated that they only had a couple of minutes to spend as he had a business to run. It was also then that I really saw the man for the very first time - his hands dripping with golden rings laden with diamonds and an air of self-importance that was obviously intended to let everyone know, that only his will and personal contentment mattered; he was “somebody”. He then told me to go inside and get little Abraham and bring him outside to where Helen could see him. As I went inside to get the small white and tan dog - I thought to myself on the way back out, about how much this friendly, sweet dog reminded me of Helen’s own gentleness. And, as I prepared to step down from the porch and carry Abraham over to where Helen was – so that she could love on him and hold him once again – the guardian arrogantly threw his hand up in the air and with a single wave, let me know “that was enough” – the visit was over, and that it was now time for them to leave. To this day, I still remember standing there, stunned, holding Abraham just as he glimpsed his “mama” – and she glimpsed him...
And here it is a few years later - and I have never, ever heard from Helen since - nor her “guardian”. And sometimes late at night as I sit and hold little Abraham in my lap - I close my eyes and tears of sadness well-up – and I think back upon that chilly, overcast Fall day – and the broken-hearted look, on that pitiful old woman’s worn, haggard face – as they drove away...
Randy Skaggs, Founder
The Trixie Foundation
I suppose it’s been about four years now since I first had the pleasure of meeting Helen Weaver of eastern Kentucky. She was a sweet and soft-spoken gray-haired, widowed, retired schoolteacher in her early 80s who lived alone with her seven precious babies - six young, mixed-breed white and tan dogs (three female and three male) and, the mother dog. It seems that somewhere along the way, several years before, Helen had adopted the unwanted stray mother dog (along with her litter) and had given them a new home. Now though, as Helen’s age began to impair her ability to get around and do the things that only a few years earlier were so simple - it was decided upon by a man who had been designated her “guardian” (as she no longer had any living relatives to help care for her) that perhaps it was best that the lively, “troublesome” dogs be removed from her residence when she was away, gone to town, and then taken to the local dog pound. However, when Helen returned home and discovered her “family” missing - she threw a fit. Helen wouldn’t hear of her “kids” being taken from her and placed in a shelter where death was the likely outcome for her precious babies; thus,
Reunited once again...
A "Trixie Story" - March, 2010
me. As neither of us had ever spoken with one another before, that was indeed a most glorious and heartening exchange of words. And, thankfully, after talking to me for a while, Brenda’s concern for her babies was eased considerably when she realized just how much we loved her “kids” and we, in return, were relieved to find out just how much she loved them, too.
Therefore, considering how much we cared for Little Bitty’s and Jasper’s overall welfare and mental health - and too, thinking about how terribly agonizing it must have been for Brenda to return home from the nursing facility and not have her precious babies there to help her heal - well, we knew we had to do something so that the three of them could be reunited. So, on March 9, our caregiver Mary gathered the two little spoiled stinkers up and took them for a ride they’ll not soon forget - it was a most wondrous event! As you can readily see for yourselves - Brenda, Little Bitty, and Jasper were absolutely thrilled to be in each other’s company once again. And quite truthfully, I’m just glad that The Trixie Foundation could make such a sad situation a little bit better for all three of them.
Although Brenda is not well enough to keep Little Bitty and Jasper overnight just yet - the fact that they all got to be with each other again for the whole afternoon (and, will visit mom once again real soon), well for starters, that’s enough to put a smile on our faces. How about yours…
Randy Skaggs, Founder
The Trixie Foundation
It was sometime back in the cold January weather when we were contacted and asked to accept two small Chihuahuas. After being told about their guardian,
Brenda S., and how she was about to be placed in a nursing home because of her debilitating illness - we instinctively knew that these two tiny tikes were desperately in need of a home - and fast. Especially, considering that Brenda’s mother indicated they might have to be taken to the “pound” (believe me, it’s no “shelter”) where more than likely they would be separated if adopted out or worse, possibly even euthanized. Thus, in mid-January 2010, sister and brother Little Bitty and Jasper came to The Trixie Foundation to live out their remaining days. And, as they were not yet even seven years old, that was hopefully going to be a long time.
Then, almost two months later - out of the blue - I received a telephone call. Guess who it was on the other end? It was the Chihuahuas’ “mom” - Brenda S. herself. Well, I have to admit that I don’t know who was more surprised or happy - she or
The story of Puppy...
A "Trixie Story" - from the late 1990s
The telephone call came on a rainy Friday night – the woman wanted to know if we had room – room enough for just one more unwanted dog…
It was late Friday evening, the second to last day in August when Dorothy Adams called The Trixie Foundation and told me about the plight of the eight year old, sickly dog named “Puppy”. Puppy, it seems, was at the end of his life – unless The Trixie Foundation was willing to help. As she talked, I listened intently. Dorothy told me about her aunt – Puppy’s guardian, a woman in her late 50s who, over the course of the last several months, had progressively grown weaker and weaker until finally, brain cancer took her life the very first week of August. Since that time, Puppy had been left alone at his master’s former house. Day in and day out, he waited patiently, faithfully for her return. The week after her death, Puppy watched as the family heirs moved all of the furniture and the other personal belongings of his master out of the house; apparently, everyone wanted something – except her most prized and beloved possession – her dog. Everyone remarked about how odd it was that Puppy could be seen holding his nose up in the air – sniffing at the scent of the chairs and the couch that just a few weeks before, he had slept on – comfortably resting his head securely in the lap of the only master he had ever known. He silently watched in bewilderment as all of the items were carefully boxed and carried away before him; and still, no sign of his loving master…
When Dorothy called me that Friday night, she explained how another relative actually owned the house – and that the time had finally come for the dog to be “removed” – one way or another. She stated that unless Puppy was adopted to someone by the very next day, the owner of the property was simply going to have the lonesome, distressed animal picked up and taken down the road to be “dropped off” – far, far away from the only home he had ever known. Dorothy told me that Puppy was beginning to look really bad – even though she herself had made it a point to see that he had something to eat every three or four days. His skin had begun to dry and flake off, his hair was falling out in places – and, he had an ear injury that seemed to be causing him considerable pain. Nobody in the family wanted him. Nobody… I closed my eyes for a moment and thought about the tired and worried old dog – I could just visualize him crawling underneath the front porch, lying there – listening for the shuffling sound of his master’s footsteps on the floor above – waiting for that soothing “baby talk” that she might often use to let him know that his special dinner was ready… Now though, it was cheap, stale, dry dog food left on the porch in an old, dirty bowl. Puppy had no one to love him – no one to comfort him, in his time of sorrow – in his time of consuming grief, for the one whom he loved and missed so… It was an easy decision for me to make – Puppy would come to The Trixie Foundation to live out the rest of his days here. This is what The Trixie Foundation is all about – we give life, we give hope.
Today, Puppy has finally begun to take on a different attitude – unlike the first couple of weeks when he first arrived and stayed pretty much to himself. His hair is now beginning to grow back and has even taken on a luster that was previously missing. And, his tail has even begun to stand up – instead of hanging down, fearfully tucked between his back legs. I’ve even noticed that he’s starting to go on walks with us over to the pond… Was that a “twinkle” I saw yesterday in his eyes?
At The Trixie Foundation, we work very hard every single day – doing what we can to bring about positive changes for the unwanted and abandoned animals in rural, Appalachian Kentucky. And, although we know we can’t save all of them – that doesn’t stop us from trying. Please, never, ever forget that it’s only because of your generous financial support – that we are able to do, what we do. The homeless, the frightened, the unloved – we just can’t do it without your help…
Randy Skaggs, Founder
The Trixie Foundation
