A Eulogy And The Importance Of My Own Species

I started this blog to document the journey and recovery of my kindred spirit, Villere, whom I rescued from a dumpster in 2010. Preoccupied with my work at The Sula Foundation and Your Pit Bull and You, I only ended up writing 2 posts here. But today, I felt compelled to post about my mother, my family and my friends.

Me and my mom

My mother left this earth last week, after a long battle with emphysema. I've been with her and my family, 70 miles away from home, for 2 weeks now. When you're deeply entrenched in rescue/shelter work, you tend to forget about the importance of human relationships (at least I did). But these past 2 weeks have given me a renewed appreciation for my own species, and the profound significance of having them to lean on.

Dad, Mom, Cissy and me

It's incredibly moving, and deeply consoling, to see how those who care about one another come together in times like these. This has been the hardest thing I've gone through in my life, no doubt. But thanks to the unwavering support of those I love, I got through it. Everyone whom I cherish assumed his or her own role throughout this melancholic time - whether it was my brother's handling the arrangements because he knew that my sister and I were too overwhelmed with grief to do so, my dear friend Kacy's bringing me an embroidered handkerchief to wipe my tears at my mom's service, my precious little cousin's comforting me with the stories that comprise my mom's legacy, my husband's holding down the fort and taking care of our dogs while I was away or the beautiful poignancy of my niece Logan's sorrow over the loss of her grandmother.

Each unfiltered expression, each act of kindness, each selfless gesture, each sharing of oneself - they all melded together in a beautiful assembly of compassion and empathy that has allowed me to walk away from this experience feeling whole.  

1981

Writing and delivering my mom's eulogy was the most cathartic experience of my life. Reflecting on the mark that she has left on this world, and sharing that with those whom she touched, healed me in a way I never thought possible. I've included it below, because her legacy deserves to be shared again.

When I think about how my mom would have wanted to have been remembered, what she would have seen as her legacy, I am reminded that there was no one on this planet quite like her. She was truly one in a million. She wasn’t your typical mom. Yes, she was kind, caring, loving, compassionate, and all the traits that people often use to describe a recently lost loved one. But more importantly (to me at least) she was her own person. She knew exactly who she was, and she truly loved who she was. And that love, that certainty in self, that raw authenticity, was profoundly magnetic. Everyone wanted to be around her. She was like a sponge – collecting more admirers than she ever even wanted. And there was never a dull moment in her presence.

A few days before she passed away, as I was sitting by her bed, holding her hand, I said to her:

“Mom, you’re my favorite person.”

She smiled and replied, “Who else have you said that to?”

“No one,” I said, “you can only have one favorite.”

“What’s your favorite thing about me?” she asked.

“Your honesty,” I replied.

“Oh, I’m not always honest,” she said.

“I know,” I said, “but you’re honest with yourself.” 

And when it came to protecting her children, she had no problem bending the truth. During the final months of her illness, she tried to disguise her shaky voice and shortness of breath when we spoke on the phone. “I’m fine,” she’d say, when she was anything but. She never let me, my siblings or my nieces know how bad things really were, because she couldn’t bear the thought of us worrying about her. She was a special kind of selfless.

Growing up, I told my mother everything. Every thought I had, every unwise thing I did, everything I experienced, I experienced with my mom, whether she was physically there or not. It wasn’t as though I could hide anything from her anyway, even if I wanted to. One glance at my face, and she knew exactly how I was feeling. It didn’t matter if I was depressed, elated, ashamed or numb, she could read it. There were no secrets with my mom.

The only standard that she ever wanted me to live by was the fulfillment of my own happiness. She never pressured me to play sports, to get perfect grades, to write thank you notes, or to behave in any sort of expected or proper way. Because all that was secondary to what she wanted most for me: whatever I wanted for myself.

I will always cherish the memories that she has left me. The sound of her rustling in the kitchen while I napped on the couch. The morning that I insisted on riding my bike to school, and she followed me in her car to make sure that I made it safely. The sound of Alfred Hitchcock episodes emanating from the den when she finally sat down to relax. The stories that she would tell me of growing up in New Orleans: the alley cats that snuck into the bedroom of her childhood house on North Dorgenois Street, the fact that she always knew that she was the smartest and most beautiful girl in her class, the first time she ever met my dad and the Bermuda shorts that he was wearing, the fact that she had to tell my dad that it was time for them to get married. These stories, this language, her legacy, I will carry with me forever.

Thank you for giving me life, mom. And for being the authentic, hilarious, and magnetic being that you were. You have left your colorful stamp on this world, in the hearts of those who loved you.  

A Boy Named Bear

Last month, the Sula Foundation evaluated a group of over 20 pit bulls that were confiscated from a vacant property in Biloxi, Mississippi.  There they lived, anchored to the ground with chains, with just enough slack to come within inches of each other’s faces.  They were starved and covered in open fighting wounds and scars.  By the time we arrived, they had been transported to the County Farm, where they sat for weeks in their dilapidated crates within the dark stalls. 

Some of the dogs we met will be euthanized today, including a boy named Bear who already haunts my soul.  While we were doing our assessments, he stood on his hind legs and gently pressed his body against mine.  I held him in my arms for what seemed like 5 minutes; I didn’t want to let go.  I wondered how he could hold his head so high after the trauma he’d endured.   I wondered if this beautiful, stoic creature had ever experienced human affection.  I wondered how he could feel so safe in my arms.  I wanted to tell him that his suffering had ended; that we were there to give him the life that he deserved. 

But I couldn’t save Bear.  He was not at all tolerant of other dogs - barking, lunging and snapping at the ones we tested him with.  I told myself that his behaviors were modifiable.  That he could be rehabilitated.  That he could go to an only-dog household.  That with proper management and consistency, he could be a wonderful dog for someone.  I tend to think that way, given that my own Kiana (who came to me from a hoarding case in Ohio) would never have passed any assessment test.  In fact, her reaction to dogs was much like Bear’s when I first adopted her.  And she is my everything.  So I know that Bear could be someone’s everything. 

The sad reality (that not enough folks in rescue are willing to acknowledge) is that advocating for dogs like Bear isn’t fair to the millions of dog-social dogs that are euthanized each year.  They sit in holding areas in shelters across the country, waiting in line for a spot on the adoption floor; most never make it.  No-Kill shelters don’t fill the gap, because they’re habitually full with less-adoptable dogs.  Rescues also run full, often with dogs on a waiting list for intake.  Unfortunately, there are far more unwanted dogs than there are homes for them.  So if dogs are going to die, it makes sense to save the ones that are most likely to find permanent homes.

And permanent homes are relatively few and far between.  It’s disturbing how unwilling many dog owners are to work with their dogs.  Something goes wrong, and that’s it.  They’re done.  They try to dump their once-beloved dog on us.  And they do so with such entitlement, as if they deserve a medal for not simply discarding their dog at the local shelter.  That would be easier, after all, right? 

 

So given all that, would it be fair for me to advocate for a dog like Bear, who could only be adopted by a dog-less, experienced handler who’s willing to put in the significant work he needs?  Would it be fair when millions of perfectly social dogs are surrendered and euthanized every day?  What chance would Bear have?  I wish I could have given him that chance.  I wish that I could have made up for his suffering.  I wish that I could have hugged him one more time.  Rest in peace, sweet boy.  I’m sorry for what we humans have done to you.  

I'm thankful for being rescued

It's been a week since I was pulled out of that scary construction dumpster in the 9th Ward. 

The people who saved me say that I wouldn't have lasted much longer there.  I'm not really sure why I was thrown away, but the lady who pulled me out says it's because I'm kind of a wussy.  I'd rather give kisses than fight with anyone, so I wasn't very useful to my old owners.  

After I got out of the dumpster, I met a nice man who has written books about homeless dogs.  He also has a group that helps owners take better care of their pets and makes sure dogs like me find good homes.  We were fast friends. 

I was trying to be REAL cute for everyone so they would take me home.  I didn't want to go to shelter, because I can't give enough kisses there.  

How do you think I did?  

click here to see!

I must have done something right because they brought me to a house!  And then, I got to go on the NEWS with the nice man who helps dogs like me.  

click here to see me on the news!

He was talking about a calendar called "The Pit Bulls of New Orleans".  It has lots of pictures of other dogs who The Sula Foundation has helped.  He said that next year, I may be able to be in the calendar so everyone can see how well I'm doing!  

After I was on the news, they brought me to the vet.  This wasn't very fun, but I was just happy to be out of that dumpster.  I was actually in pretty good shape, just really skinny.  

Oh, and they looked at my leg that's always hurting me.  They said it's hyper-extended or something.  That's why it hurts so bad when I walk and I can't run anymore.  I'm starting to feel much better and my parents say I'm gaining weight.  But my leg still hurts and I can't chase squirrels when they come into the yard.  I really want to because I'm feeling better, but I can't.  

We don't know if I can have the surgery yet.  It costs a lot of money.  I hope we can because I deserve to run.  I've earned it.  

-Villere