A black sedan took me to La Guardia airport, on the morning of Saturday, October 1/05.  After landing in Memphis, I flew to Lafayette, Louisiana and rented a car for the journey to Raceland, where  Pasado's Safe Haven had set up facilities for the animals rescued after Hurricane Katrina.  

My packed items included a flashlight, bug repellant, a sleeping bag, toilet tissue and other items required for sleeping in a car, which is what I intended to do during my stay in Raceland.  My Pasado's contact made it clear that volunteers should be prepared to sleep in their vehicles.  The SUV I had reserved ended up being a Chevy Impala, as the military had first priority on rental SUV's. I pulled out of the Lafayette airport and hit the road for Raceland, with my map, opened and beside me -- only to discover that the hurricanes had blown away most of the road signs.  I was navigating a strange highway, without signs; and I got lost.  I was glad it was daylight and still early enough in the day; and I did eventually get my bearings.  

My first afternoon at Pasado's in Raceland had nothing to do with the bag I had packed, or the car I had rented, or getting settled in.  I walked into that barn so anxious and frightened, and even homesick. I asked for Claudia or Kim (as I had been instructed to do beforehand). I was deferred to Jen, and then Celeste. I was wearing a yankees hat and Celeste embraced me in a bear hug. She knew the yanks had lost their prior game.  I didn't!

Jen quickly quizzed me on animal skills. I told her I was an animal lover, but had no technical training. I spoke about Dexter, my 15 year old tabby cat, and his diabetic need of insulin 2x a day. I explained that I taught American sign language to Bonnie (a deaf pit-bull). I had experience with little dogs, medium dogs and large dogs. I cried about Gatsby, my little chihuahua, who died of a neurological disorder, after being with me just two years. I mentioned Tiffany, my dalmation from childhood, and her epilepsy and her phenobarbital. I spoke of Angel (my childhood kitten),  and Hoss (my ex-boyfriend's bulldog), and Sophie (my four year old kitty), and all the animals I had encountered in my life.  Jen heard me.  Technical training aside; she put me to work with the dogs that needed it most.

My first night in Raceland was spent on the floor, in Jen's motel room.  Gail, another new volunteer also used Jen's room but got to the spare bed first.  I drove fourteen miles to Jen's motel at 12:30 in the morning, scarfing trail mix along the way, intending to write in my journal once settled into my sleeping bag.  I slept that first night in the clothes I had worn to the airport, not even bothering to brush my teeth.  I passed out with my pen in my hand.

A few hours later, I just woke up.  My back hurt and I knew not where I was. I felt an incredible urgency about the animals I had met the day before.  They were waiting.  Louisiana before sunrise is a creepy place. It is hot and cold. The bayous scream and hum. There are no people; just sugar-cane fields.  I was in the middle of nowhere.  I didn’t realize I needed to put on my defrost to get rid of the condensation on my car windows. I stopped 3 times and used my sock!

As the first glint of yellow broke the horizon, I pulled into the Pasado's facility. I had adrenaline shivers. The lights were out in the barn, but when I turned off my car,  I could hear the yips, yaps and barks of animals.  Not one animal. Not twenty. Not fifty. HUNDREDS of animals. And it seemed they were all thumping their tails simultaneously.   What a charge!

Which cage was I to go to first? I didn’t have a handle on routine. Brown, green and black eyes peered at me - the desperate stares of animals who need to pee!   A few were so excited at my arrival, they peed immediately in their cages. Others let out squeals.  Many of the cages were a mess with liquid feces.  All those wagging tails - thump, thump thump. I think I had a little breakdown at that time as I knew I couldn't open all their cages and walk all of them at the same time. Time to get my priorities in order!  Dogs with no urine in their cages, needed the emergency walks as they were still holding it.  Each would bound toward the grass and, during this early morning walk, would usually "do both".  Those dogs who had been unable to hold it, got their long walk first.  

It takes 2 people to tend to 1 animal. I walked as another cleaned, and cleaning was never about a quick wipe-down! The crates were sterilized and dried. Fresh bowls of food and water were given.  Biscuits (dog treats) were placed in the back of each cage, by the cleaner, so the animal would seek it out and easily slip out of the leash. This worked most of the time. I understand why the dogs didn’t want to go back in their cages. With each walk, I would explain that this was a temporary thing - a "better off" thing - and a means to a wonderful future. I explained it as best I could. Each time I closed the cage door on a wet snoot, I touched the snoot and explained it again.   And, eventually, they began to hear me.   The thump, thump, thump of tails calmed to a tick, tick, tick.

I learned how important eye contact is when working with dogs. A Yankee baseball hat freaked them out, because they didn’t see my eyes. I got rid of the hat and never again approached the dogs while wearing head gear.  Trust begins with the eyes. There were moments when animals refused to come my way. I sat down in front of them and spoke softly about what I am about and how I understood what they had been through.  I told them about my own pets.  It was wonderful to see fear melt away (their's AND mine); to get a paw in my hand, or a sniff, or a lick.  We became friends.

The intake dates on their cages were 5, 4, 3 weeks earlier. I was the newbie in their barn.