Several months after her husband Ritchie died, Connie drove to Blairsville, Georgia, to shop at a wholesale grocery store about fourteen miles from her house. A store flyer advertised large bags of her preferred dog food at a discount. After shopping, Connie returned to her truck, put the dog food in the back, and climbed into the driver’s seat. A tan Toyota Corolla suddenly pulled out ahead of her as she drove the vehicle toward the exit at a traffic light. The front passenger door swung wildly open without warning while the vehicle hurried toward the light. Connie watched in horror as a woman tossed something small out the door. It hit the ground and then rolled underneath Connie’s truck. The Toyota picked up speed and raced through the light, even though it had already turned red.
Connie immediately slammed on her brakes since she guessed what the woman had thrown out of the car. Then, she turned off the motor and climbed down from the truck. Bending over as far as she could, Connie peered under her vehicle to see a small puppy cowering on the far side. At that point, she wanted to scream, but instead, she kept her voice low and called to it:
“Come here, sweetie. Come to Momma, baby.”
The puppy didn’t move, but Connie could see the poor thing was shivering and guessed it was in shock. So, again, she called, keeping her voice light and loving:
“Come to Momma, sweetie. I’ll take care of ya, baby.”
Finally, the dog seemed to trust her and crawled over to Connie’s side of the vehicle. Once close enough, Connie slowly reached over and patted the dog’s head. The puppy seemed to melt as Connie slipped her one good hand around the animal, then pulled it toward her. She scooped the puppy into her arms and stood, holding it close to her chest and cooing softly.
Furious at what she had just witnessed and determined to get the puppy home safely, Connie gently put the dog on the front seat. Then she returned to the truck's bed and opened a small hole in one of the dog food bags. Grabbing a handful of kibble, she stuck some in her pocket. While driving home, she gave the puppy treats to calm her down.
When she pulled the truck in front of her home, the puppy had curled up on the seat and was asleep. After shutting off the engine, Connie studied the little animal while it slept for a few minutes. She could not see any blood or abrasions and had not felt any broken bones while holding it. The puppy was definitely a female Chihuahua and she thought it was about eight months old. Connie decided the dog was not injured physically, but whoever had thrown her out of that car had done a terrible, disgraceful thing. She knew animal cruelty was a crime, and that’s exactly what they’d done.
Connie’s initial concern was how her dogs would react when she brought the puppy into her house. The minute she walked in carrying the dog, her gang of mutts hurried over and sniffed the new resident. Then they returned to their beds, indifferent. Connie gently laid the Chihuahua on her sofa and returned to her truck for the dog food.
She decided to call the puppy… Sweetie. The little Chihuahua kept a low profile, but the other dogs were open to her new place in the household, and there were no confrontations. When she finished her chores, Connie sat beside Sweetie on the sofa, and the puppy charmed her. She crawled up Connie’s chest and licked her face like they’d been friends forever.
Later, while trying to fall asleep, Connie was determined to report the animal cruelty she’d witnessed. She told me that people who did such despicable acts of cruelty should not get away with it. They also should never be allowed to have another animal to abuse. She knew the model and color of the abuser’s car and recalled it was a Georgia license plate. Still, there had not been time to memorize the complete number. However, she did remember the first three numbers, and while they were still fresh in her mind, she wrote them down. The next morning, she called the Blairsville, Georgia, sheriff. After explaining what happened and that she did not live close, the sheriff completed a report of animal abuse over the phone. He did say that it was a hard crime to prove, but at least they’d try to locate the offender, and could proceed from there.
Next, Connie called and told me all about Sweetie. She admitted that the Chihuahua was a joy but didn’t know what to do. If she took the puppy to the county shelter, the couple who had abused her might locate Sweetie, claim her, and maybe abuse her again. But if Connie kept her, it was another mouth to feed, plus annual shots and flea prevention, not to mention Sweetie would need to be spayed soon. Connie sounded conflicted, and I understood why but didn’t try to convince her one way or another. It was her decision.
Connie had two gay friends, Mike and Jessie. They owned a shop nearby where they sold their handmade furniture. Jessie had a close friend, I’ll call Karen, a wealthy woman who owned a cabin in Murphy and a large home in Florida. Karen was a big dog lover, known to donate to local shelters and individuals who struggled to buy food for their animals. Jessie told Karen about Sweetie the Chihuahua and how she’d come to stay with their friend, Connie. Insensed that someone would throw a dog out of a moving car, Karen made phone calls and asked if she could meet Connie and the puppy.
Connie was eager to find out what Karen had to say. They met at Jessie and Mike’s shop and liked each other immediately. Karen told Connie that she often donated funds to a non-profit organization providing free animal food to needy people. They mostly had dog and cat food but sometimes brought chicken feed as well. Once a month, volunteers delivered the donated food to a central location in Andrews, North Carolina, twenty miles east of Murphy. She said that Connie didn’t need to qualify financially; she had to tell the volunteers that she needed food for her animals. That was it; they would take her word and not ask questions.
She then suggested that Connie consider putting Sweetie up for adoption at a non-profit volunteer organization in Murphy called Logan’s Run. They would spay Sweetie at a modest cost, put her picture on their Facebook page featuring dogs up for adoption, and describe how Connie had found the dog. In addition, the veterinarians at Logan’s Run would ensure Sweetie was healthy and see that she had the proper shots. Logan’s Run was going to be a Godsend, Connie told me. Not only would they help her find Sweetie a safe home and spay her, but she’d also be able to take advantage of the donated dog food once a month.
After a lot of soul-searching about whether to keep her, Connie took Sweetie to Logan’s Run to put her up for adoption. As Karen had said, it is a small animal rescue that serves the local tri-state area of North Carolina, Georgia, and Tennessee. A non-profit organization run by volunteers, they provide low-cost spay and neutering programs. Their main goals are to help stray and abandoned animals, get them healthy, and find them permanent, forever homes.
A man I’ll call Jim was at the front desk when Connie walked into Logan’s Run with Sweetie in her arms. Jim took a photo of Sweetie for their Facebook page, then asked Connie to tell him how she came to find the dog. He took all the information down, and had Connie read it once finished. After that, Jim made an appointment for Sweetie’s spaying and sent the Chihuahua home with Connie until the surgery. When Connie asked him what the spaying and vet services would cost, Jim told her that an anonymous donor had already paid for everything.
He did remind Connie that she would be Sweetie’s foster parent until someone adopted her. If Logan’s Run were unsuccessful in finding Sweetie a forever home, Connie would be responsible for taking care of the Chihuahua from then on. Connie had already decided that if she could not find a safe home for Sweetie, she’d keep the small dog who had won her big heart. Connie said she smiled with Sweetie on her lap as she drove home. When she got inside her house, Connie called Karen and thanked her for everything. Karen had made a difference in Connie's life going forward, which I later realized was a turning point in the right direction.
*
A week later, Connie brought Sweetie to Logan’s Run to have the dog spayed. While she sat in the waiting room, everyone at the rescue center made over the Chihuahua, and the puppy performed her acrobatic tricks to the delight of the staff. When Connie told them Sweetie’s story, they were shocked and sickened by the act of violence against such a cute little dog. A vet tech took Sweetie into the operating room, and Jim told Connie she should go home and then call them in the afternoon to see how Sweetie was doing. He said Connie could take Sweetie home the next morning if all went well.
That next morning, Connie walked into Logan’s Run, expecting to pick up Sweetie and take her home. However, Jim said he had something important to tell her. Soon he led Connie to a small room in the back. That morning, he said, Logan’s Run had gotten a call from a woman I’ll call Betty, who saw Sweetie’s picture and story on their Facebook page. Jim happened to be the volunteer who answered that call. Betty gave him her name, number, and address. She said the Sweetie in the Facebook photo was her dog, whom she coincidentally called by the same name. Betty had pictures of the dog that she and her husband had taken. They ranged from when Sweetie was three months old to the present. According to Jim, Betty swore they loved the dog dearly and prayed they would get her back somehow.
Jim knew Sweetie’s sad story and asked about it, sure that Connie would never return the Chihuahua to the same people who had abused her. Betty said she understood that concern but begged for the chance to explain what she thought had happened that day. If she could talk to Sweetie’s foster mother in person, which was Connie, she felt it was better than explaining it all over the phone.
Connie agreed to the meeting, so Jim called Betty and suggested she come to Logan’s Run immediately. He told her that Sweetie’s foster mother was there waiting and strongly suggested that she bring the puppy’s photos with her.
Sitting in the waiting room at Logan’s Run was torture for Connie, she told me that evening. She was still upset that Sweetie’s owners now wanted her back after all that had occurred. Then, finally, a man and woman entered Logan’s Run. She said both were about her age and appeared to be everyday people. The woman had a kind face, and the man looked either upset or in pain. They went to the information desk, gave their names to Jim, and spoke to him for a moment or two. Finally, Jim stood up, ushered the couple into the hallway, and then they all disappeared from view.
Moments later, Jim walked up to Connie and explained that the couple who had just entered were the folks who believed Sweetie was their dog. They wanted to speak to her if she would follow him to the small interview room at the back. When Connie entered the room, she saw the woman crying, with the man trying to console her. She sat down and tried to keep an open mind as they told her their story. Jim remained standing but was off to one side.
Betty began by saying that the morning they last saw Sweetie, their thirty-five-year-old daughter Susan promised to take the puppy to the Blairsville Animal Hospital to have her spayed. Betty’s husband, Bill, gave Susan the money to pay the three hundred dollar vet fee for the spaying. Susan lived with her boyfriend outside of Blairsville, Georgia, did not have a job, and had been in trouble most of her adult life. Even so, Susan said that because her father, Bill, had been ill, she wanted to help and promised to take good care of Sweetie before and after the surgery.
When Susan returned to their home in the early afternoon, she was tearful and a mess. She told her parents that before they left to take Sweetie to the animal hospital, her boyfriend needed cigarettes, so they stopped at the wholesale grocery store to pick some up. Unfortunately, they were in a hurry. When they parked their car and ran into the store, they accidentally left one of the car doors slightly ajar. Somehow, Sweetie must’ve gotten out and then ran away. They looked for her for more than an hour but decided someone must have picked her up and taken her home. On top of all that, Susan’s boyfriend had stolen the cash for Sweetie’s surgery and refused to return it.
Susan put on quite a show, Betty said. She cried, claimed how sorry she was, and that it was all a terrible accident. Of course, they did not believe her; she was a habitual liar. Even so, they were devastated by the loss of Sweetie. After a few days, Betty had an idea. Maybe the person who picked up Sweetie in the parking lot had eventually turned her over to one of the shelters. They called every animal shelter within forty miles, but none had a Chihuahua puppy in their facilities. Then Bill suggested they look on Facebook since the site had pages dedicated to lost or abandoned animals. That’s when they found the Logan’s Run’s page, saw the photo of their dog, and read Connie’s story about Sweetie. Because of the story, they learned their daughter had lied, probably kept the money herself, and, worst of all… tried to kill their dog.
After learning the truth, Betty said they called their daughter and asked her to come to their house since they needed her help. When Susan arrived, they confronted her about the lie and the horrible things she’d done. They showed her Logan’s Run’s Facebook page with Sweetie’s photo and the story about her abuse. Eventually, Susan admitted that Connie’s story was true. She blamed her boyfriend for forcing her to…get rid of that stupid dog. Susan stormed out of the house, saying they loved that damn dog more than her. Betty and Bill didn’t correct her.
Betty then handed Connie a stack of photos of their dog, Sweetie. Connie took her time going through them, studying the dog’s body language and checking to see if Bill and Betty looked like they really cared for the dog. When finished, she returned them and looked from one to the other. Then she said, “So if I agree to give Sweetie back to you, how will you keep your daughter from abusing her again? If you ask me, once an abuser, always an abuser.”
Bill replied forcefully, “We have forbidden Susan from coming into our house again! We will never allow her to be in the same room with Sweetie. I promise we will ensure our dog has a safe home. We love her and need to have her back home with us. Sweetie has been one of the few positive things in our lives lately. We are sickened by what Susan did, which will never change as long as we live.”
After wiping her eyes with her hand, Betty said, “Please, give us a chance to prove we’ll be a loving family for Sweetie. We need her.”
Connie said, “If I ever hear that Sweetie’s being abused, I’ll go down to Georgia and take her back myself.” She asked Jim. “Can you bring Sweetie here to see how she acts with them?”
“Yes,” Jim said, “it will take a couple of minutes.”
After about ten minutes, Jim opened the door. Sweetie was in his arms and had a tiny plastic cone around her neck to keep her from bothering her stitches. Jim carefully put her on the floor.
She seemed uncertain about walking with the plastic cone and was unsteady. But after a moment, Sweetie ambled over to Connie, who reached down and rubbed her head. Then Sweetie turned, saw Betty and Bill, and wobbled over to their chairs. She tried to stand on her back legs and climb up Bill’s pants but couldn’t. He bent down, picked her up, and handed Sweetie to his wife. Holding her gingerly, Betty whispered something into Sweetie’s ear. The dog turned and licked Betty’s face from forehead to chin. Everyone in the room was smiling.
Connie looked at Jim and said, “It’s obvious that Sweetie is their dog and that she loves them. Can you do what’s necessary so they can take their dog home?”
While Jim was getting the paperwork for the dog’s discharge, Betty had a question for Connie. “What we can’t figure out is how you knew her name. Why did you call her Sweetie?”
“I call all my dogs sweetie or baby, but it was more than that. She’s a sweet little dog.”
About twenty minutes later, the three people who loved Sweetie walked outside together, with Betty still holding the dog. At the last moment, Connie leaned over and kissed the Chihuahua’s head. Then, after saying her goodbyes, she turned away and headed toward her truck.
*
I will never forget Connie’s story about Sweetie the Chihuahua puppy. At first, I was shocked, angered, and horrified, and then I realized I had heard a Guardian of the Road tale of the highest order from a genuine Guardian of the Road!
*
EUGENE, PHOENIX, AND BUSTER’S MARVELOUS ADVENTURE
My husband Al was walking our dog Murphy early one morning. He sometimes allowed Murphy to choose which way she’d like to go. Their usual route took them north down our dirt and gravel road, then left at an intersection onto a side road, which dead-ended after about half a mile just past the wicked witches’cabin. This morning, Murphy decided she wanted to hike in the opposite direction, heading south toward a bend in the road, then right down a narrow trail everyone called the Thames Road. That trail eventually led to the Nottely River. As they were moseying down the narrow trail, Al thought he heard a dog barking. He knew no dogs lived in that corner of our neighborhood, so he let Murphy lead him toward the sound.
Standing near the river was a fawn-colored Pug with no collar. Murphy, who usually loves all dogs, went up to the Pug, and they sniffed each other as friendly dogs often do. Then Murphy barked at the dog, and the Pug ran into the woods. Al and Murphy headed home with a story to tell me: there seemed to be another stray dog in our neighborhood.
Ten minutes later, I was in my studio on the lower level when the phone rang. Al was upstairs and answered. It was Connie. She told him three of her Pugs …Eugene, Phoenix, and Buster… had found a low-lying spot under their outside kennel and crawled through it to freedom. The runaways had been missing since the previous afternoon, and although she’d called them for hours, she’d found no trace of the freaking rascals, as she fondly called them.
Al explained that he had just spotted a fawn-colored Pug while walking Murphy down the Thames Road to the river. He described the dog to her, and she was sure it had been Eugene since the other two runaway dogs were black. Al told her he’d not seen Buster or Phoenix, but they could be hiding nearby. Connie asked if he’d show her where he’d seen her dog.
This time, we left Murphy in the house, not wanting her to spook the Pug again. On the phone, Connie told Al that all three Pugs had never been away from home, but Eugene had been Ritchie’s favorite dog. If she failed to find Eugene, Connie was positive that Ritchie would return from the grave and haunt her forever. Al didn’t think she was kidding. And she wasn’t!
Connie was waiting for us in her truck at the bend in the road. We left our vehicles at the gate to Thames Road, and then all three of us walked down to the river, calling Eugene. Connie headed out into the woods, hoping he’d come directly to her since he’d had little contact with other people and would be afraid of strangers. We’d just about given up hope of finding him when the little rascal ran up to Connie, barking as if he’d just returned from vacation and wanted to tell her about his adventures. Connie scooped him up with her one good arm and cradled him to her chest. He licked her face and squirmed in her arms, obviously happy to see her. She might’ve had tears in her eyes, but I’d not bet money on it.
There were still two dogs missing, Buster and Phoenix, both black Pugs. They were daring dogs, but they’d never been anywhere outside of their yard. Connie planned to spend the afternoon walking the mountain road directly behind her house, searching for her two boys. After we promised to watch for them, Al and I got in our Jeep and went home. Connie asked if I’d type up a notice about the lost dogs and post it on the bulletin board at the mailboxes if someone spotted the Pugs and wondered about them. And I did.
*
Two days after finding Eugene, Al was walking Murphy on their usual morning route and thought he heard dogs barking. He was at the intersection of our road and a side road that went left and ended at the wicked witch's house. The other side of that road went right and wound up the mountain on a rocky and rugged trail. Al stopped and signaled for Murphy to go into her Sit position, which she did. They both waited quietly, hoping to hear the dogs again. There were few people in our neighborhood during that time of the year. So hearing dogs barking at the intersection, which was simply two dirt roads that crossed each other, was highly unusual. Al decided to take Murphy home, then return in the Jeep to see if what he thought he’d heard…might be the two missing dogs.
At home, Al told me that he was pretty sure he’d heard dogs barking near the intersection of the side road. So he intended to take the Jeep, turn right, and drive on the steep trail heading up to the top of the mountain. He was hoping he’d run into Phoenix and Buster along the way. So I grabbed two bottles of water and several handfuls of milk bones for the dogs, and we climbed into the Jeep and took off. We came to the intersection in minutes, and Al turned right, heading up the steep trail. Good thing we owned a 4x4 Jeep since it allowed us to go where cars and some trucks would’ve gotten stuck or might not have been able to traverse the rocky road. Neither of us had been on that road before, but we were game to try it. After making the turn, Al drove about an eighth of a mile when we saw something surprising.
Directly in front of us was a blacktop driveway; it headed up a sharp hill to the far left and ended at the top. A newer-looking cabin with an attached garage sat pretty among tall white pines. We had no idea there was a home on this rough road, and it was rare to see a garage next to a house in our neck of the woods. Al turned off the Jeep while we decided what to do.
“Perhaps a vehicle would scare away the dogs if they were somewhere nearby,” he said, and I agreed.
So we decided to park the Jeep and hike up to the house. We saw no other vehicles on the grounds or lights in the windows. It seemed to us that the house was vacant. I grabbed the bottles of water and the dog treats, and we began our long hike up the hill.
At this point, I still hadn’t had the first knee replacement surgery, so hiking up that hill was painful. I kept my mouth shut about the pain, fearing Al would make me return to the Jeep. I wanted him to find the dogs, but I also wanted to be there when he did. Of course, Al got to the top of the drive well before I did. I saw him turn to me and point to the right, holding up two fingers and mouthing the word dogs. I hurried my pace and finally walked over to where Al was standing. He was next to the garage toward the back of the building and looking to his right. Once close enough, I turned and looked behind the garage. There, about forty feet away, were Buster and Phoenix. Al and I stayed perfectly still, not wanting to drive them off. The two dogs stared at us, and we stared back, but no one made a sound or a move. Pure silence.
Then, the larger Pug took off and disappeared around the house on the far side. The smaller black Pug turned and headed into the woods behind an outbuilding. I handed Al some milk bones, and he went after the Pug in the woods. I hurried around the garage toward the front of the cabin. Standing on the cabin’s porch was the smaller and younger-looking Pug, but I had no idea if it was Phoenix or Buster. I stayed put, and so did the Pug. Then ever so slowly, I held out my hand with three milk bones glistening in my palm. I could tell he’d seen the dog treats because he kept licking his lips. Murphy makes that same gesture when she’s hungry or trying to tell me she wants a treat.
Then I made a mistake; I spoke to him. “I’ve got some tasty treats! Want some?”
He dashed away and was soon out of my sight. Shoot, I thought. I turned, and Al was walking toward me, slightly winded. He cursed, then said he’d lost sight of the other Pug.
We’d forgotten to bring our phone, so Al took the Jeep and returned to the house. He planned to call Connie and tell her he’d found her two rascals and where he’d seen them. Since they feared strangers… if they’d come to anyone… it would be Connie.
Waiting for them to arrive, I sat on the steps that led up to the front door of what looked like a lovely cabin. I could not help but worry about the two little Pugs wandering in the wilderness. They would be easy prey for the coyotes, foxes, and bobcats that roamed the hills in our remote little mountain community. I could see they were quick and agile dogs, but that might not be enough to keep them from wild animals intent on catching them. Then there were the human critters. Pugs, even adult dogs, sell for a pretty penny. So if the wrong kind of person spotted one or both of these dogs, they might try to catch and sell them.
It took about fifteen minutes, but Al returned with our cell phone. Then, Connie arrived, slowly driving her ancient F150 truck up the long blacktop driveway. They approached me with eager expressions, but I didn’t have good news. After Al left, I’d not seen any sign of either dog.
Connie told Al, “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you’ve done. First, you found Eugene, then you thought you heard some dogs and gambled that they were my two rascals. Then, you hiked up that hill and spotted them. If not for you, they’d have died out here without food or water. Now, all we need to do is catch them. I’d be pissed off at those two ding dongs if I weren't so scared.” She laughed, then added. “Funny thing, their mother Delilah ran away from home once, and we found her at this house. I’d forgotten that until you told me about this cabin. Maybe they scented their mother here, even though that was years ago.”
“I think we’ll find them, Connie,” Al said kindly. “But Kathy and I wonder if we are in the way. Buster and Phoenix seemed scared of us, so maybe if you stayed here alone and called them, they’d come to you?”
“You’re right. Buster and Phoenix have lived all their lives with Ritchie and me. Everyone else is a scary stranger. So you guys go home; I’ll let you know what happens. I have a pack of hot dogs, and those two ding dogs can’t resist them some hot dogs. And hey…thanks again for finding them.”
*
Connie spent over an hour at the cabin with no luck. Later that evening, she returned with her hot dogs, but her Pugs remained runaways. The next morning, Connie cooked a pot of pasta and beef, a dish all her dogs loved. She took a big bowl of it over to the runaway’s cabin. That’s when Buster showed up. Connie said he came for the macaroni but, like Eugene, had probably gotten tired of his rough life on the run and finally wanted to go home. He ate the pasta like he’d not had food in a long while. Finally, she bundled him into her arms and put him in the front seat of her truck. Connie told me later that he fell asleep instantly while she drove him home.
That left one dog still on the lamb, Phoenix.
A couple of weeks passed with no one reporting that they’d seen the Pug. Some of Connie’s neighbors called, wanting to know what happened and whether she’d found them. She told me it upset her to admit the dogs had run away. Connie felt it was her fault, and now everyone in the neighborhood would think poorly of her. I reassured her that this could happen to anyone with a dog. Look how many strays we’d spotted since moving to this neighborhood.
*
Connie was feeding her chickens early one morning when Phoenix came running down her driveway. He was barking his hello like a college kid home for vacation and seeing his momma for the first time in over three weeks. She dropped what she was doing and scooped him up in her arm. Like Eugene and Buster, Phoenix licked her face and cooed his joy, glad he was home again. She told me she wanted to scold him but didn’t have the heart. He was back, and that was all that mattered. She did wonder how he’d survived that long without food. But looking him over, Phoenix smelled clean, like he’d just gotten a doggy bath with scented shampoo. He had a new-looking blue collar around his neck, was still his husky self, and didn’t seem to have lost any weight. She took him inside, and like his two cohorts, he went to bed in his crate and slept all day.
*
A week later, Connie was outside doing chores when she heard a man call out: “Blacky, Blacky…come here, Blacky!”
What the heck, she wondered at the time and called up to him. Once closer, she saw he was the man who had recently bought a house just down the hill from her. He’d heard her call and walked down the driveway with his young grandson beside him.
The man told her that they’d lost their new dog, Blacky. He was a Pug, and they’d put a blue collar around his neck. Connie said she instantly got peeved. Phoenix was her dog, and he’d had no right to claim him. But she checked her anger (which is hard for her to do) and thanked him for caring for her dog, Phoenix. He’d run away weeks ago, and she’d been searching for him since then. About a week ago, she told them, Phoenix came running down the driveway, home again at last. The boy looked sad, so she told him he could get a dog at the shelter or at Logan’s Run. The man offered to buy the Pug, but Connie told him Phoenix was not for sale and she’d never give him away. The man thanked her, then he and his son hiked up the hill empty-handed.
********
I call the Pug’s story….Eugene, Buster, and Phoenix’s Marvelous Adventure. If not for Al, I do not know what would’ve happened to them, and I refuse to think about the worst possible ending. But what I did begin to think about was Al’s status as a Guardian of the Road. Years ago, I’d dismissed his candidacy because of things he’d done as a teenager and then as a young adult that, in my opinion, would disqualify him from being nominated as an official GOTR. He will never be a HOSP (high-order sensitive person). Still, after all the animals we’ve rescued together, taken in, and loved. Now with his sweet relationship with Murphy Brown, he deserved a second chance. He is a wonderful dog dad to Murphy; he’d helped to train her and spent much of his free time every day making sure she received a lot of exercise and love. Maybe I’d been too harsh in my evaluation because we know each other’s shortcomings. It took Eugene, Buster, and Phoenix’s Marvelous Adventure to make me rethink my position. People change over time, and I know my husband has grown concerning his attitude toward animals and their need for us to be their protectors and activists if necessary.
Not everyone can be or wants to be a Guardian of the Road. However, I hope that people like Al, who have done their best to improve their actions regarding animals in need, will continue to work hard to become a Guardian of the Road. I feel I’ll be working on his official GOTR certificate at some point in the near future.
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