Phoenix Rising

Warning:  graphic content.

Earlier we blogged about Bill C-203, a sham piece of legislation purporting to protect animals in Canada. Mark Holland, MP for Pickering, has relentlessly pursued legislation with some actual teeth, most recently in the form of Bill C-229. Last year, Ontario’s Animal Protection Act was overhauled, giving the OSPCA greater powers to intervene and prosecute.

Yet travesties continue in our own backyard.

A story that we are following closely is unfolding at the Durham Humane Society in Oshawa, a city hard-hit by the recession’s gutting of the auto sector. Durham Humane was also devastated by an awful fire last Christmas. Their dogs are being looked after by the local Animal Control people and foster families.

As Durham Humane rises from the ashes like a phoenix, and is rebuilding its shelter, its challenge these past few days has been to give life and hope to another phoenix. He is a four-year-old Chow and he has been named, yes, Phoenix.

The worst case of animal neglect that Durham Humane has ever seen, Phoenix wandered into a back yard on Sunday. His fur was filthy and matted, where he had any, because much of it had fallen out. He was covered with bleeding sores. His nails were so long that they curved back into his paw pads. He was a skeleton under what remained of his fur. He was in terrible pain.

Veterinarians at Durham Humane have been running tests to discover the cause of his hair loss and assess whether he can recover. They’ve given him painkillers, bathed him, and trimmed his nails and matted fur. Durham Humane website reported today that he is doing a little better, loving his food, and walking a bit, but his condition is still critical.

The society has been swamped with phone calls and offers to help Phoenix. Funds have been raised to offer a reward for conviction of Phoenix’s former guardian.

This dog is not a stray. He appears to be a pure-bred Chow, and a cream Chow at that – highly unusual and desirable. It’s possible that he was part of a puppy mill operation. Mills are notorious for keeping costs down by skimping on decent food and care for their animals. Phoenix wouldn’t be the first mill dog to suffer horribly from mange and overgrown nails.

On the other hand, he weighs half of what a four-year-old male Chow should. That speaks to confinement, neglect and abandonment. As the reward climbs and the word gets out, it’s only a matter of time before the despicable devils that did this are charged.

Meanwhile, this isn’t an isolated case. It just happens to be in our own backyard. It’s the tip of the huge, dark iceberg that is humanity’s ignorance and arrogance.

Phoenix, those of us who hang out at Fred’s blog, One Bark At A Time, have fingers crossed that you, like Durham Humane, will come back strong.

And…Durham has had a hell of an uphill climb since the fire. Please consider sending them a donation, and if you can’t spare the cash, this well-deserving group of rescuers and volunteers could use your HBC points, Canadian Tire coupons or just Good Thoughts.

Update: September 1:  University of Guelph veterinarians report that he has inoperable cancer of the tongue, with no real options because his condition is so poor. Durham Humane’s focus now is to place him in a loving home for his remaining weeks or months.

Update: September 8: Phoenix goes to a loving foster home on September 9!

Animal Takeover

What would happen if the world were suddenly without people – if humans vanished off the face of the earth? How would nature react – and how swiftly?

Earlier we blogged about a National Geographic documentary, Life After Humans, which aired last year.

This Sunday, the Canadian Broadcasting Company presents Animal Takeover. It will be shown at 8 p.m. Eastern time on CBC Newsworld.

Watch the promo on Wild Docs.

On the edge of Europe, the deserted village of Chernobyl reveals the surprising answer after an unplanned experiment.

Chernobyl was abandoned by people after the worst nuclear disaster in history (April 26, 1986). A level 7 meltdown resulted in a severe release of radioactivity following a massive explosion that destroyed the reactor. More than 20 years later, Chernobyl has been taken over by a remarkable collection of wildlife and descendents of pets that were left in the city when its residents fled the nuclear fallout. Unexpectedly in the aftermath of this disaster, Chernobyl has become a sanctuary for plants, birds, and animals, including some species thought to be on the brink of extinction.

The adventures of a likeable cast of non-human characters give viewers a rare glimpse into a world where wild animals face challenges in an environment totally outside their experience, and once-domesticated pets have learned how to fend for themselves.

Directed by Peter Hayden, Off the Fence and Blue Paw Artists for Bayerischer Rundfunk, Arte, Animal Planet International and Discovery HD Theatre.

Image: Chernobyl cloud.

A Good Death

For those of us who think that animal stories are newsworthy and belong in the daily press, like the canaries-in-the-mine reportage that has surfaced in our dailies over Toronto Hydro handwells that have been electrocuting dogs with “stray voltage”, today’s kerfuffle is over a pet funeral establishment that has been hauled into court by the Ontario Veterinary College.

Now, no one but the hard-hearted relishes the idea of taking an ailing pet to the vet’s office to be put down on some steel table or cold floor. So there is a niche for Pet Heaven, a North York home business that hooks grieving owners up with mobile vets for a more gentle and dignified death at home.

Or so it would seem.

Pet Heaven’s proprietors have day jobs in real estate, matching film stars, rock icons and business tycoons with high-end homes. In their spare time, they can be seen on the internet, gamboling happily with their many dogs on their spacious lawn.

The OVC has taken them to court, alleging that they are not licensed to perform veterinary services. Of course, they are not doing so, only providing a referral service, at a fee, to mobile vets. Kind of like a service that promises to find you a home handyman. Or like you can find on your own for no charge, if you’ve figured out Google.

Euthanasia for pets is more than “just sticking a needle into a vein. It’s a serious and emotional event for the owner.”
~ Dr. Nigel Gumley, past president of the Ontario Veterinary Medical Association

Like anything else, caveat emptor, although if a home handyman messes up your new deck, you can fix it. If a mercenary vet messes up your companion, you can never fix yourself.

The comments in the daily rags gush about how greedy the OVC is and what a saintly service these folks are providing. Probably some truth to both. And if you get referred to a good handyman, keep on keeping on.

When my old cat was languishing with terminal cancer a couple of years back and within a couple of days of the Imminent Event, I emailed these folk to pre-plan cremation. They never got back to me. Possibly I wasn’t a profitable prospect, since I didn’t want the full meal deal with a service and interment. Maybe they hadn’t checked their email. Well, I’m glad it worked out that way.

Instead, I took my old sweetheart up the street to our regular vet, and three of us sat in a comfortable little room in the back of the office, on a flowered couch, and we held the old girl and talked to her while our compassionate veterinarian, with whom she was familiar, carefully administered the Waters of Lethe. After she was gone, the vet arranged cremation, and the ashes were quickly delivered in a beautiful package with a clay pawprint that had been thoughtfully taken.

I hadn’t thought to ask whether a vet would actually come to the house. This is a big issue for those whose veterinarians perform euthanasia in a sterile office, and I fully understand their concerns. Many years ago, vets took the animals to the back room to do the deed, and packed them off to landfill or a rendering plant. Many still do, I guess. That’s why my vet is golden and if she provided home service for the final voyage, that would be even better.

Anyway, why am I glad that Pet Heaven didn’t return my call?

I can’t imagine that an ailing pet of mine would take to a stranger showing up at the door with a tackle box. I can’t imagine I’d take to it either.

My pets might not mind that the proprietor of the “funeral home” would show up in biker gear, driving a truck with Harley decals, get me to hand over a cheque and sign a disclaimer, then send the mobile vet in.  But I’d mind.

And if the vet didn’t ask a few questions about the animal’s condition and offer an compassionate and expert opinion, then proceeded to poke ineptly at my companion, finally delivering a painful heart-stick (the favoured but largely illegal method in some suth’n states). I’d be on the phone to the OVC immediately, and wouldn’t be able to look myself in the mirror forever after.

In this case, the plot thickens, as the mobile vet in question has denied working for Pet Heaven, even though payments from them are on record.

How do you find a vet with wisdom and compassion, and avoid the hacks?

You can take your chances on the say-so of a referral service. Or you can just forego the substantial referral fee, and ask your own trusted vet if they provide home service or if not, who would they recommend? Or ask friends. Mobile vets do advertise. Do your homework and check references.

The humane passage of your companion is too important to trust to just anyone, mobile or otherwise.

War Horse Puppet Theatre

Many audience members weep openly. When the play reaches its moving climax, it sends them to their feet in rapturous applause.

In the somewhat blasé world of London theatre-going, this kind of emotional empathy with what’s happening onstage is a rarity. And when puppetry is involved, one might imagine further barriers to connecting viscerally to what in essence is a battlefield horror story.

But War Horse – the latest jewel in the crown of Britain’s National Theatre – is a horror story with heart. It’s a brilliantly realized stage version of Michael Morpurgo’s acclaimed novel about a Devonshire farm horse named Joey who is sold to the cavalry and thrown into the carnage of the First World War. There, after suffering dreadful ordeals, he ends up reunited with the humble farm boy who has enlisted at the age of 16 with one goal in mind: to find the beloved animal from whom he has been parted.

But it’s not just another tenderly wrought story of a boy and his animal. It is also a searing examination of an almost forgotten chapter from the First World War.

When you watch the lacerating scene where members of the cavalry are mowed down by the Germans’ mechanical might, you can’t help but recall the idiotic assertion by the British military establishment that the machine gun had no stopping power against the horse. The grisly truth is that between the years 1914 and 1918, a million horses were sent across the English Channel to France – and only 62,000 returned. War Horse tells us what it was like for them.

They were used as cavalry horses, for pulling guns and ambulances; in the battlefields of the Western Front they were essential to the armies on both sides. I discovered also that at the end of the war most of our surviving horses were sold off to French butchers. Here was a strong story, I felt, the story of how it was to be a horse in the First World War.

And so I wrote War Horse, like most of my novels a book that is as much for adults as for children. Now, 25 years later, War Horse has been turned into a play at the National Theatre. It would be difficult to imagine a production of greater ambition and complexity.

The puppetry miracles are wrought by South Africa’s Handspring Puppet Company. There’s a touch of the abstract in these awesome, larger-than-life creatures whose components include a flexible bamboo framework, translucent skin and the brilliant manipulations of teams of puppeteers – yet they emerge as intensely real, both physically and emotionally, in the toss of a mane or the pricking of the ears or in the basic flexing of the loins in preparation for a charge.

Other puppet imagery also emerges, ranging from the comical – in the form of a cranky farmyard goose – to the horrific – in the moment when a carrion crow descends on a dying horse.

This is an astounding production with emotional resonance, performed by an exceptional company of actors.

Full review at National Post.

Michael Morpurgo website

Images from the production

The Passing of a Gentle Giant

Workers, volunteers and some animals are struggling to cope with the sudden loss of another gentle giant at the Toronto Zoo.

Tequila, a 38-year-old African elephant, was discovered dead in her outdoor exhibit Wednesday. She’d displayed no signs of sickness, according to zoo officials, and that combined with the fact these animals can live up to 45 years in captivity, has left the creature’s keepers and her family in shock.

Tequila’s 28-year-old daughter Thika refused to leave her mother’s side and expressed her sadness by throwing dirt on the body. Elephants, like humans, mourn the loss of loved ones, zoo staff said. Sensitive, social creatures, they go into reveries of mourning: delicately lifting and sniffing the bones, sometimes covering them with dirt and leaves.

Tequila will be buried on the zoo grounds. Her remains will be examined by veterinary staff and an expert from Guelph to determine the cause of death.

Just two years ago, Patsy, an African elephant matriarch was euthanized at the Toronto Zoo. She was 40, after all, and according to the zoo, “40 is fairly old for an elephant.”

But Patsy wasn’t old. Any of the renowned elephant researchers (Cynthia Moss, Joyce Poole, Richard Leakey) will tell you that elephants have a lifespan of 60 to 70 years in the wild, provided they belong to a herd that is relatively well protected from poaching, culling and habitat destruction.

In a zoo, elephants are incarcerated. In the wild they’d be wandering 16 kilometres a day, always in the company of their sisters, their young, their aunts and their mothers. In winter at the zoo, they are separated into pairs and moved into indoor stalls just big enough to allow them to turn around. For up to 16 hours a day these intelligent, emotional animals stand in their own waste on unheated, concrete floors. They sway from stress and boredom. Their feet hurt. Patsy reportedly suffered from long-term degenerative arthritis, an incredibly painful condition that eventually led to the decision to euthanize her.

Rest in peace, Tequila.

Roped into Rodeo at the CNE

The Canadian National Exhibition is a thing of the past. And organizers are proud of that.

CNE general manager David Bednar hopes some “cutting-edge nostalgia” will draw the crowds as the grand old lady of exhibitions begins its 130th season.

The CNE has announced with great fanfare that “rodeo is back,” welcoming a corporate-sponsored rodeo, the Dodge Rodeo Tour, into Toronto.

This is the 11th Ex for CNE general manager David Bednar. The last rodeo was way before his time “but it was least 25 years ago,” he says. “So why bring it back now? We’re constantly looking for something that’s new but, at the same time, we have all these people who harp on tradition. So it’s a balancing act.”

“It came up at one of our committee meetings two or three years ago: What if we had a rodeo? Great idea. But then we had to find the right person to partner with. Whatever expertise we ourselves had long ago went by the by.”

Prize money for the rodeo season tops $250,000 and about 200 cowboys and cowgirls will be competing for about $30,000 at the CNE.

Unfortunately, Toronto hasn’t taken a moral stand on the issue of animal rodeo cruelty, as Vancouver did when it banned rodeo in the city in 2006. Vancouver’s city council accepted the clear evidence that rodeo events cause unnecessary suffering to animals.

The city of Surrey in B.C. saw yet another sign of aversion to rodeo when its Cloverdale Rodeo bowed to public pressure and eliminated four key rodeo events (calf roping, steer wrestling, wild cow milking and team roping). The move followed the death of a calf and a steer during roping events in recent years.

Cloverdale is one of Canada’s biggest rodeos and the elimination of the four events sent shock waves through the North American rodeo industry. A debate began in rodeo circles about whether some events, like calf roping, were sustainable in the face of changing social attitudes.

So the CNE’s decision to host a rodeo seems to fly in the face of what appears to be growing disquiet about whether the “sport” is humane, as rodeo promoters insist it is. They like to portray opposition as being confined to a few animal rights activists. In fact, all mainstream animal welfare groups in Canada, including the provincial SPCAs, oppose rodeo. The B.C. SPCA has even called on the public to boycott the events.

Consider calf roping. A young animal is goaded to come out of a chute at high speed, has a rope thrown around its neck and is jerked to a violent halt before being picked up and slammed to the ground. Can anyone truthfully say this is a painless experience for the calf? Imagine this happening to a dog or primate just to amuse a crowd.

The reason rodeo horses and bulls buck is because of “flank straps” tied around their hindquarters that cause irritation and stress. They buck because they want the strap and the rider off. If they were “born to buck,” as rodeo promoters say, then why the flank strap?

Steer wrestling involves a cowboy twisting the head of the steer until it keels over. The steer naturally resists, creating a grotesque scene of a man literally bending an animal to his will. That’s how the steer in Cloverdale died – its neck was broken.

Animal behaviourist Dr. Temple Grandin has written that fear is “so bad” for animals that it is worse than pain. And she is no bleeding heart – she designs slaughterhouses for the beef industry.

The rodeo industry trots out inane arguments to defend its activities, i.e. flank straps merely “tickle” the animals and the animals have thick hides so they don’t feel pain. Often, they pull out the “heritage” card claiming that rodeo is a demonstration of historical ranching skills. Most of this is baloney. Why would a real cowboy ride a bull?

The difference between rodeo and traditional ranching is that no one ever timed a cowboy’s work with a stopwatch and handed out huge sums of money for being the fastest. It’s this pressure that puts the animals under stress and at risk of injury.

Out on the range, calves were roped when they needed “doctoring.” It was done with care and with their welfare in mind. Who can believe that is what happens when a calf hits the end of a rope in a rodeo arena?

Rodeo is low and sensational entertainment sold as nostalgia for the Old West. It is a pity the CNE bought it. Anyone who has compassion for animals should not.

Excerpted from an article by Peter Fricker, Vancouver Humane Society, in the Toronto Star, August 15, 2008

Water for Elephants

Today’s Globe & Mail ran a little piece on The Long Summer of the Carny.

The carnival workers of Conklin Supershows don’t see the big-city glam of the CNE or the PNE. From April to October, they travel small towns, setting up shopping mall midways and county fairs. It’s a fading way of life with few rewards.

A few weeks ago, they had set up a sad little show in the nearly empty parking lot of the East York Towne Centre, with rides for the kiddies, a couple of bored elephants shuffling back and forth under an awning in the July heat, and some small performing dogs racing back and forth in an enclosure.

I was reminded of Sara Gruen’s wonderful book, Water for Elephants, which is a must-read for anyone who is fascinated by the circus, elephants, or the Depression-era hobo life.

As a young man, Jacob Jankowski was tossed by fate onto a rickety train that was home to the Benzini Brothers Most Spectacular Show on Earth. It was the early part of the great Depression, and for Jacob, now ninety, the circus world he remembers was both his salvation and a living hell. A veterinary student just shy of a degree, he was put in charge of caring for the circus menagerie.

It was there that he met Marlena, the beautiful equestrian star married to August, the charismatic but twisted animal trainer. And he met Rosie, an untrainable elephant who was the great gray hope for this third-rate traveling show. The bond that grew among this unlikely trio was one of love and trust, and, ultimately, it was their only hope for survival.

After Jacob puts Silver Star down, August talks with him about the reality of the circus. “The whole thing’s illusion, Jacob,” he says, “and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s what people want from us. It’s what they expect”

Dave Weich of Powell’s Books interviewed the author. An excerpt of the interview:

DW: Is it true that you’d never been to a circus before starting your research for Water for Elephants?

Sara Gruen: It’s true. I had no history whatsoever. No interest, no connection to anyone associated with the circus. I grew up in northern Ontario. I don’t know if they didn’t come up that far or if I just never went, but if I did go it made such a little impression on me that I didn’t remember it.

DW: What wound up being your favorite act?

SG: In the end, the liberty horses… A person, usually a beautiful woman, comes out with a group of twelve horses typically, sometimes all white, sometimes black and white. She stands and makes signals with whips in the air, and she talks to them, and they obey her.
I have a horse, and I think it’s very cool that they can get horses doing that with no restraint and no halter.

DW: Marlena is that woman in Water for Elephants.

SG: Yes, and in fact I modeled her act after ones I had watched.

DW: And Rosie was based on a real elephant?

SG: Several elephants, yes. There was actually an elephant that would pull her stake out of the ground to go and steal lemonade, and then she’d go back and put her stake back in the ground and look innocent while they blamed the roustabouts.

DW: One of my favorite details in the book, having nothing to do with the circus, describes the boys in the hobo jungle: when they sleep, they take off their shoes but tie them to their feet. How did you educate yourself in Depression-era America?

SG: I wasn’t quite sure at first that this was the era I’d set the story in. A circus photo set me off on the path of the novel, but then I got on a sidetrack about hobos and I realized that something like 80 percent of them were under twenty-one. You think about hobos and you imagine middle-aged, dirty men by the side of the track, but no, they were kids.

DW: So much happens on the train or just off the train. It’s the book’s main setting.

SG: The whole of a circus worker’s social life happened on a moving train. When they were off, they were setting up or they were performing or they were tearing down, so everything happened while they were moving. Once they collected your quarter, they did their act and then they got out. You were leaving by the front end of the tent, and they were hauling the benches out by the back end—they’re done, they’re finished, they want to get on the train.

SG: For Water for Elephants, which was the first historical thing I’ve written, I did all the research ahead of time. I needed to feel that I knew the subject matter in and out. I hate outlining. I hate outlines, hate them, hate them. I usually know what the crisis of the book is going to be, though I don’t know how I’m going to get there. I try to make it bad enough that I don’t know how I’m going to get out of it. And when I get there, I have to get out of it. I just get myself geared up, and I write every day and see what happens.

DW: Has your technical-writing background helped, or has it been a hindrance?

SG: It was great training. For one thing, it taught me to sit down and write for eight hours a day. For another, it taught me not to take personally editorial comments. The first instructional project I gave to an editor ten years ago came back covered in red. I was practically in tears. It has to be a thousand times worse if it’s a piece of fiction, but I don’t take it personally anymore.

DW: Did you get up close and personal to elephants in your research?

SG: At the Kansas City Zoo, I observed the elephants with their ex-handler for a couple of days, taking notes on body language and behavior. I got into the habit of walking up to elephant handlers at the circus and saying, “Hi. I’m writing a book. May I meet your elephant?” I got lucky twice. The first time was right after I’d been out with this elephant handler at the Kansas City Zoo who had been gored by an elephant. He took a tusk through the thigh, one through the rib cage, which just missed everything vital, and another through his upper arm. So I still had that in mind. I was standing beside this huge thing with his amber eye staring down at me.

The guy said, “Go ahead. You can touch her.” I was shaking, but I touched her. I said, “Okay, I’m done now.” Several months later, I met the second one. It was one of these little circuses that throws a tent up and says, “Free tickets!” And then it’s twenty-dollar popcorn. I snuck out of the big top because it was small and pretty cheesy, but during the show I asked to meet the elephant; the handler gave me a bucket of peanuts and stuck me in an enclosure with this thing. He shut the gate. I was alone with this African elephant. I was looking at her, and she was looking at me like, This is not part of the usual repertoire. So I fed her the peanuts. By the end of it, she was such a love bug. I was hugging her and kissing her, posing for photos. She gave me a kiss, a big, sock puppet, mushy elephant kiss with the end of her trunk. It was really memorable.

Sara Gruen’s website

Elizabeth Judd’s review at the International Herald-Tribune

Jasper’s Day

Jasper is still sleeping when I wake up. He sleeps a lot these days. He’s sprawled out, taking up half the bed like he always does. I nudge him gently with my foot, but he keeps dozing. That’s okay. He can sleep in. Today is his day.

Today we are celebrating Jasper’s Day. It was my idea. Mom and Dad are staying home from work. I’m staying home from school. Everything we do will be in honour of Jasper – sort of like a birthday. But it isn’t Jasper’s birthday, and I tell myself not to think about what day it really is.

Riley’s family celebrates Jasper’s last day. In the morning, their beloved Golden Retriever gets his very own serving of his favourite breakfast – scrambled eggs with cheese, and bacon. Riley remembers to bring the camera as he and his family take Jasper out for a ride in the van.

The family drives to Jasper’s favourite stream where he used to swim and fetch sticks when he was more agile. Jasper’s sight and hearing are also failing, and his arthritis makes it difficult for him to move about. After the stream, Riley and his parents stop at The Big Scoop for a treat. Riley’s father orders the “usual” for Jasper and himself – butterscotch ripple. Riley’s father tells the ice-cream shop owner about Jasper, and the man comes out to the van to say good-bye to one of his loyal customers. After the ice cream, the family stops at Riley’s Grandma’s house, and she and her dog, Nikki, bid farewell to Jasper. Along the journey, Riley has taken several photographs of Jasper.

The family returns home, but only Riley and his mother get out of the van. It is time to say goodbye. Riley whispers in Jasper’s ear, “You’re the best dog in the whole world.” Jasper licks Riley’s cheek, and then he and Riley’s father depart. Even though Riley knows that the veterinarian will give Jasper a shot and death will be quick and gentle for Jasper, it is terribly difficult to say goodbye to his beloved dog.

Riley’s father returns home with Jasper’s body wrapped in an arrowhead blanket, and the family buries him in the backyard. They gently place Jasper’s old chew toy, a stick, his water dish and a picture of the family in his grave. The family laughs and cries as they remember Jasper and say their final goodbyes.

That night, the house is empty without Jasper. Riley’s chest aches as he tries to fall asleep. Mom and Dad got Jasper before he was even born; Jasper had always been in his life. Tomorrow will be Riley’s first day without Jasper.

Riley looks at the photograph of himself and Jasper on his nightstand and thinks of all the photographs he took today, he gets the idea to make a memory book of Jasper’s life. He will never forget his friend.

Marjorie Blain Parker’s tender and unsentimental treatment of a child’s dealing with the death of a pet resonates with readers of all ages. The gentle and honest story speaks of lessons about love, acceptance, and remembrance. Janet Wilson’s soft and expressive illustrations are rendered in chalk pastels on coloured paper.

Jasper’s Day won the ASPCA Henry Bergh Children’s Book Award.

straydog

A female collie mix, so beautiful, all gold and white and dirty; she’s in the last cage on the aisle, curled up quiet, watching everything – but when I get too close she goes completely crazy, biting at the bars, herself, anything in reach, until I back off and away. Her growl’s like ripping metal, jagged, dangerous, and strong . . . Don’t mess with me, that growl says. I may be in a cage but I can still bite.

Rachel is happiest when she’s volunteering at the animal shelter, especially after she meets the feral collie she names Grrl: they’re both angry and alone. When a teacher encourages her to write about the dog, Rachel finds another outlet for her pain and frustration. Writing about Grrl is easy. But teaching Grrl to trust her is a much tougher task. And when Griffin, the new boy in school, devises a plan to bring Grrl home, Rachel finds that the dog isn’t the only one who must learn to trust. Kathe Koja offers a raw and emotional tale about a girl who risks breaking out of her own cage to find the help she needs.

straydog is Kathe Koja’s compelling debut novel. Koja writes for young adults.

Writing straydog, my first book for young people, ushered me into a world I knew already as a reader. Many of the characters I love best in fiction — Louise Fitzhugh’s Harriet, J.D. Salinger’s Holden and Franny and Zooey, Francesca Lia Block’s Witch Baby — are people who say what they think, show their bewilderments, struggle with hard ideas, love with all their hearts; exasperating, funny, intense people. Young people.

I’m a strong supporter of animal rights, so I’m especially proud that straydog was honored by both the ASPCA and the Humane Society. I believe that you can learn everything you need to know about a person by watching the way s/he acts with animals and little kids, the powerless ones.

“So what’s up with that collie?”

Melissa’s at her desk, an old-fashioned school teacher’s desk, dented metal drawers and heaping piles of junk: fund-raising appeals, cruelty investigation forms, food orders, a busted leash tagged DON’T BUY THIS KIND!!! At the center of the heap is the brand-new computer, the one new thing in the place, a donation from some distributor. Now Melissa scrabbles like Shiva through the mess, hunting for “The pen,” she says to herself, “where is the pen ?” and then to me “What collie?” She gives me the major Melissa-stare, her wide blue eyes like What! do! you! want! Her hair’s really, really short and blonde, she gels it so it sticks up like porcupine quills. “You mean the one Jake brought in?”
“Yeah. Grrl.” It was what I called her, writing last night in my paper; it fit, it’s just right but “The feral one, you named her?” and she rolls her eyes. “Rachel, before you start, stop, all right? She’s been all her life on the streets, you know what they’re like when they’re –”

“I know, I know.” You can almost never socialize the feral ones, they’re almost always euthanized .I’ve seen dozens of dogs, and fallen in love with half of them, and cried my heart out when they died; that’s how it is here. But this one is different, somehow. There’s something about her, something in her eyes, I can’t stop thinking about her: as if I know what she’s like, know her from the inside out. And I have a plan for her, or at least the plan for a plan so “I just want to try,” I say to Melissa, “just get to know her a little. And it won’t interfere with my work schedule, I’ll still do all my regular stuff –”

“I don’t have time — there you are! — to argue with you now,” she says, snatching up her pen. “Go away. Go talk to the dogs,” which I do, sweep and swab and water and feed, all the while sneaking little looks at Grrl in her cage lying on a blue blanket, one of the old torn-up blankets from the rescue van. Her eyes are half-closed, cloudy; the cage card says she’s got a fever from the leg infection. When I reach to put the card back she growls at me, that ripping, ugly sound: Don’t mess with me , that growl says. I may be in a cage but I can still bite.

So I start talking like I always do, to all the dogs — hey you guys, how’s it going — but once in awhile I say “Grrl”, looking into her eyes, making sure she knows it’s meant for her. “Grrl, Grrl,” almost like her growl but warm and crooning, the name and the idea came to me like a gift last night as I sat looking over the essay, two gifts at once because I’m going to write about that dog, I thought, about Grrl and from “A Dog’s Life” I changed the title to “straydog,” all one word, like a dog would think of herself.

And once I’d done that the words just, just flew, it was like I couldn’t write fast enough. It was like I knew her, knew how she would think and feel and fear, knew it all from the inside out and when I finally stopped writing — not done, only just started but my hand was hot and aching, and my eyes were as dry as little rubber balls — I felt so good, so full , I don’t know how else to explain it; like I’d eaten at a banquet, like I was a banquet. — Oh, that’s not it either, how can words say exactly what you want sometimes and sometimes nothing at all?

Winner of the Humane Society’s KIND Book Award
Winner of the ASPCA’s Henry Bergh Award
A BOOK SENSE 76 Top Ten Summer Teen Reads pick
A selection of the Junior Library Guild
A selection of the Children’s Literature Choice List for 2003

Kathe Koja website