Washing Little Moo

27^th July 2014

Dear Cassi,

I’ve heard the expression every now and again ‘it works as well as washing a cat’.  Well, today I washed a cat and she was okay about getting her fur cleaned. Little Moo has a mouth infection and so has trouble cleaning herself. It came to be that her front legs were both covered in goo, and so she needed a washing.

Now Little Moo was a cat I found at my work and she was so timid on her arrival that feeding her was hard. I didn’t give it much effort at first as she would just run away when she saw me, but then I got a good look at her and noticed the skin hanging loose on her tail. It was at that point that I made up my mind to get food to the poor animal.

It came to pass that one night someone found a kitten on property. They had informed us they were from a cat rescue, and so we gave them pass to remove the animal. I thought this cat was Little Moo and went out to help them. By the time I got there they had the cat but it wasn’t Little Moo as I saw her in the bushes.

On my way back in I showed Little Moo a can of cat food and opened it before leaving it on the ground for her. When I came back in the morning the can had been picked clean. The next day Little Moo came out of the bushes to see me. She wouldn’t make eye contact but rather sat on her hind side looking at the ground, hungry but expecting nothing, and seaming so pathetic.  

From that point on she was at my car every day. That is until my work forbad me from feeding her, and so I ended up taking her home. I’ll tell you that story some other time.

As it came time to bathe Little Moo I was not sure how she would react. She never minds being handled, and she loves to be petted. Still I donned my heavy handling gloves and carried her to the kitchen.

The sound of the running water was more to blame for her fear and she tried to get away but never in that time clawed at me. Her greatest objection came from the soaking and with water I could see the flee sand as the white of her fur came red. She seemed to like the scrubbing which I did with a surgeon’s brush and Dawn dish soap. Then I wrapped her in a towel and she was so calm that even Pickles was willing to pat her head.

Little Moo does not like Pickles and he’s has a healthy respect for her claws. This would be the first time in more than a month of her living with me that the two made contact.

Today was a good day for the little creature. I can only hope that there are more.

Find the love, little sister,

Richard Leland Neal

Lost Dog Comes Home

Let me remind you that I send these letters as a means of making someone feel better so if this is too candy for you my apologies. I thought this was a nice anecdote, and I hope you do as well.

3^rd September 2011

Dear Cassi,

A few days ago the most curious event took place that I know you would like to hear about. The darkness of night had well taken my neighborhood, but the heat of the day had not yet given up its hold. I trod out the front door to water the flowerbed when I saw a black shape at the end of my street.

    

At first I thought it was a child shrouded in the darkness with the street lamps to dim to give it shape. As the thing moved I could see that it was in fact a large black and white dog. I stood without moving as the animal approached. It sniffed at me but gave me little notice.

    

I walked after it as it passed, and I could see a collar on the animal’s neck. Finding him friendly, I examined his ornament to find that he had no tag. I went and got a few dog biscuits to see if the dog had been out long, and as he took no interest in food I could tell he had recently gone astray.

    

On his caller there was a handle which I took into my hand and the dog responded the way my own August would by walking along with me on the path he knew so well. I figured his best chance was for me to let him lead the way home. If I turned him into the animal authority he would have no chance unless he had a microchip in his back. I had to find the old dog’s home or abandon him to euthanasia.

    

We walked together for half a mile, and as I passed along I asked whoever I came across. You find folks all over at that time of night where I live. Finally I found a family who said the dog lived next door to them, and that his name was Alex. However, when I tried to take the dog to that house he resisted. I let go of his caller, and he ran.

    

He went across the street and scratched at a white gate. I grabbed his caller again and took him to the front door. I rang the bell and two men answered. I asked if they knew the dog and the first man said, “Yeah, how did you find me?” I told him that the dog had just brought me there. He told me that he had named the dog after the Spanish word for wanderer.

    

Old dogs just need understanding as do most folks. We don’t need guides but gentle souls to walk with us and we can find our way home.

Stay safe, Cassi,

Richard Leland Neal