A cutting wind whipped around the corner of the house, hitting Stan and Ollie as they lay huddled together by a dog house they had both become too large to use. Chains prevented either animal from seeking shelter elsewhere in the frigid weather. Inside Paulie was also cold. He pulled the dirty blanket up around his neck and whimpered from the pain of his last beating.
On the lonely road that barely reached the ramshackle home Paulie’s parents shared with another family, the sound of traffic was almost non-existent. Stan and Ollie sat up when they heard the motors of the two vehicles. A man parked his truck beside the house and began to take photographs of the two chained dogs. The second vehicle pulled up beside the truck and a woman exited holding a brief case. She began to knock at the front door, then the back. Finally the second door cracked, and the woman gained entrance.
After two hours, both officials were back on the road. The animal control officer drove directly to the courthouse where he consulted with the district attorney’s office. The DHR worker drove to a home miles away from Paulie’s and left the emaciated and abused boy with an older couple.
Paulie reveled in the warmth of his foster home, while Stan and Ollie shivered as the temperature reached three degrees that night…and the next…and the next after that. When the animal control officer returned eight days later, Stan lay still beside the wooden dog house. He no longer suffered from the unrelenting wind and cold. The officer took Ollie away in his truck and left him at a veterinarian’s; the large Dobie mix had the first real meal he’d had in months.
Ollie began to leave his fragile shell as his ribs disappeared one by one. Finally, adoption! He had a home and a family and toys and more joy than his wagging stump of a tail could express. Miles away, Paulie was shuttled to still another foster home. He placed his hurt feelings in a small compartment of his heart and left them there.
Two years passed, and Ollie had all but forgotten the abuse he once endured. The thunder outside reminded him of the beatings of his past life, but he knew his was safe…until he heard the lightning hit the roof over his warm home. Then there was smoke.
When the fire brigade arrived, they found Ollie’s owner lying on the ground outside the home that was now engulfed in flames. The large dog stood over him, gently nudging the man into consciousness. When awake, Ollie’s owner told how the dog had dragged him from his bed to the safety of the carport as flames flickered down the walls and smoke filled his lungs. The local paper took pictures of Ollie and called him a hero. Ollie wasn’t sure what the fuss was about. All he had done was save the man who had saved him. No real dog would have done less.
Across the county, Paulie lay in bed listening to the thunder and wishing he was dead. Tomorrow he would go to still another foster home to be abused by new “parents.” He refused to cry.
At the age of 15, Paulie found an open gun safe in the home of his latest foster family. They were nice enough to him, but he knew what he had to do. He’d known for a long time.
Paulie entered the campus on a Sunday night and crawled through a large air vent. From there, he could reach the whole school on Monday. He would show them; they would be sitting ducks.
The death count was horrendous. Everyone asked how did it happen in Lauderdale County? The entire state mourned.
The moral? No one can predict whose life will mean something. That life county officials don’t care about often means more than the so-called higher species they seem to value so much more.
Isn’t it time our elected officials acknowledged that?
