Bridging The Worlds

An Animal Sanctuary
Santa Fe, New Mexico

Katrina: One Year Later

by Linda Marple

Katrina and New Orleans are “old news.” But for those who lived it, and for those who came later to help, it will never be old news. I still see, smell, and hear New Orleans in my dreams. I’m haunted by the pets we didn’t save, and we’ve lost contact with most of the lucky ones. But I have two happy endings to share with you.

Remember the smiling Pit Bull pup pictured in the last Fur Blurb? Gold and white, chopped ears, six weeks in an apartment with her deceased human. I tracked her to Tucson where she was lovingly cared for by Louise Ichertz at The Last Resort Animal Rescue. Her human was never found, so in March this exuberant loving girl came to live with me! Her name is Joy.

We tracked Jasper, too! Pam Groves, also a Santa Fe H.S. teacher, was my first rescue partner. Jasper was our first rescue. At dawn on our first day out, we loaded our rented Taurus with dog and cat food in the trunk and 50 one-gallon jugs of water in the back seat. Our job was to set up and replenish food and water stations in Section 13, northwest of downtown New Orleans. We followed a grid pattern up and down whatever streets we could get through, slashing open food bags on sidewalks and porches, leaving clean water in aluminum lasagna pans. Wherever we saw loose animals, we set up new feeding stations and recorded the locations. The Lamar-Dixon rescue facility from which we worked was at capacity with about 1400 animals. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES were we to bring back any animals unless they were “Critical.”

We got to The Projects by early afternoon. A big white pickup with a light bar on the roof stopped next to our car as we were finishing a station and two burly men eyed us. “What are you doing out here?!” demanded the driver. “How’d you get past the checkpoints?” They weren’t wearing uniforms but the side of their truck said California HAZMAT.

Pam held up an empty water jug and I pointed at the dog chow. “We’re Animal Rescue. We’re putting out food and water for dogs and cats,” I said. “We’re working with HSUS and the ASPCA. The police on Canal Street let us through.” Another glance at the open trunk half full of food and our bright yellow HSUS shirts apparently convinced them.

They cautioned, “You ladies need to be real careful out here. There are all kinds of chemicals spilled everywhere. Watch where you step and where you put your hands. There’s also a bunch of nut cases running around. Make sure you have your cell phones handy and you’re out of the city by the 5:00 curfew.” We promised. They wished us luck and left.

Five minutes later, as we were maneuvering around tree limbs and downed power lines, a truck roared up behind us, lights flashing, horn honking. The two HAZMAT guys pulled up and the driver yelled, “Follow us! There’s a dog over here!”

We backtracked a block and, sure enough, a tiny black and white Chihuahua took off from the food bag we had just left and zipped under one of the project apartment buildings. I had never seen “projects” before. Each straight and narrow two-story building was almost a block long. They reminded me of military barracks of the last century – or prison camps. Old faded red brick, covered with spray paint graffiti, heavy metal doors and barred windows, even on the second floor. Each first floor apartment had a 6' x 6' slab “porch.” The buildings had many open foot-high crawl spaces all along the front and back and the dog had ducked into one of those. “How are you going to get him out?” asked the driver.

“He’s back here!” came a yell. The three of us bolted for the rear of the building where the other HAZMAT guy was excitedly pointing. The little dog ran toward a porch. He jumped onto it and hesitated as he stared at us. The four of us fanned out some distance around the slab and started inching toward him. The dog sat down.

“I think this is his home,” said the big guy in a stage whisper. “He doesn’t seem to want to go anywhere.” As we moved in, the Chihuahua backed up toward the open screen, then up against the closed front door. He wore a black collar with a tag, and a plastic flea collar. As I held my hand out to him, he mashed himself into the corner between door and screen. When he refused to sniff my fingers, I half expected him to bite me, but I found if I moved slowly, he didn’t seem to mind. I read his tag. “His name’s Jasper!” It also listed his person’s name, number and a distant town. “ Must be an old tag or this boy is really lost!”

It took a while but he let me pick him up and, when he realized he was “saved,” he suddenly became the happiest dog alive. And of course this little dog is “Critical,” we declared. We’d been told that dog packs were forming at night – wouldn’t Jasper be a perfect little snack? We couldn’t just leave him out there…

After a photo-op, introductions and warm goodbyes to the men from HAZMAT, we moved on. Jasper, bless his happy little heart, bounced all over that car – licking us, looking out the windows, feet on the dashboard, then my shoulder, jumping to the back seat to investigate water bottles, sniffing our hands for food. He could not bear to be separated from us even for an instant. If Pam got out, Jasper stood on the seat with his paws on the window and cried until she got back in. He did the same if I got out! So, Jasper the Chihuahua, on a leash, accompanied us for the rest of the day to restock food stations and rescue others.

Back at Lamar-Dixon, the vet pronounced him dehydrated and thin but in good health, then Pam and I lost contact with Jasper. Hurricane Rita was bearing down on New Orleans and in a flash the rescued dogs were evacuated.

But we had his intake number and found him on Petfinder! He’d been evacuated to Ohio. His tag info was accurate and I called his mama in June. She was out of town when Katrina hit. Jasper was left with a daughter’s husband’s brother-in-law, who was going to “ride it out,” but changed his mind and left Jasper behind -- no where NEAR where we found him. She thanked me repeatedly for "saving her little puppy dog" and was ever so thankful that “there were so many people who went in to help save the animals.”

No one will ever know how Jasper ended up miles from where he was abandoned, or how he managed to find enough food, avoid water that could kill him, or stay away from hungry dog packs, but he and his mama have been reunited and they’re back in New Orleans rebuilding!