I lay awake most of the night, my mind mulling over the events of the day like a video on an endless loop. I couldn’t stop thinking about Mandy, the sweet-faced, red-coated little Mastiff mix we’d left behind at the animal shelter, where her future remained uncertain. I didn’t just want to get her out of there, I had to get her out of there. But there were obstacles to overcome first. Bringing her home with me was impossible and Angels Among Us Pet Rescue was already overflowing with animals and not enough foster homes. Later that day I’d even called a couple of dog-friendly acquaintances to see if they could house Mandy temporarily but neither were interested in taking on a young, untrained and very active shelter dog who would need food and housing for an indeterminate period of time. It hurt me to the core, thinking about that sweet little girl lying alone and confused on that cold, hard cement floor, just because she had nowhere safe to land. But in the end, wasn’t she just one of thousands, even millions of shelter dogs who find themselves in that same tragic predicament every day in this country? Still, I tried my best to nurture a tiny flicker of hope as I thought about all that had transpired just hours earlier.
My heart had ached as we’d driven away from the shelter. From the sanctity of Jennifer’s comfy SUV, we gazed out at the bleak scenery before us – dilapidated houses, shoeless children, broken down cars, people in disheveled clothing walking around aimlessly or sitting like statues on shabby porches, their eyes staring into nothingness – all snapshots of a typical disadvantaged inner-city neighborhood. How could a city like Atlanta, with so much wealth and abundance at its disposal, condone such chronic impoverishment? And how could its citizens throw their animals away like trash, including such sweet and deserving dogs like Mandy, whose only mistake was being born into the wrong circumstances. I will never understand why human society must work this way.
We were seconds from getting onto the freeway when Nick touched my shoulder and suggested we turn around and go back to the shelter. What if we took some pictures and made a short video of Mandy and then posted them on the Angels foster Facebook page? Maybe by some miracle someone would come forward and volunteer to take her in. Certainly giving up and driving away wasn’t going to get her out of harm’s way but going back and doing whatever we could to save her just might. Jennifer looked over at me, beaming, and promptly made a U-turn at the intersection.
I couldn’t wait to get back to the kennel and pull Mandy her out of her run. When I approached she was lying in her original spot, wrinkly head between her paws, dozing. I called out, “pup, pup, pup,” and her head snapped up. Her soulful eyes met mine and she leapt to her feet excitedly. Nick let himself into the run and looped a leash over her head, all the while holding her kennel mate, the frantic blue pit bull, back with one leg as he pulled Mandy to freedom.
The moment we let her loose in the play yard it was like someone had flipped a switch. The once sedate, solemn-faced dog immediately transformed into a happy, playful puppy, diving for the nearest squeaky toy and running around with it in her mouth. She was sweet, affectionate, beautiful and adorable. Other dogs walked by and it was obvious she just wanted to interact and play with them. There wasn’t an aggressive bone in her body and she seemed to love everybody she met. Jenn, Nick and I looked at each other and practically cried out in unison, “what an awesome dog!”
After spending a little time playing with her, we took some pictures and made a video. Nick insisted I do the talking, which typically isn’t my forte, and I had to force myself to keep from crying as I stared into the camera and pleaded with our foster network to consider taking her in. Although returning her to the kennel was tough – the blue pittie began dominating Mandy as soon as she returned – this time we walked away hopeful. We had done what we could and would leave it up to one of our kind-hearted foster volunteers to jump in and do the rest.
Still, as I lay there that night, picturing Mandy’s sweet, wrinkly face and confused, pleading eyes staring back at me through the chain link as we shut her back in her run, I felt tears trickling down my face. I wondered if perhaps I might be experiencing some displaced grief for Mandy’s namesake, my dear friend Amanda, whose death several days earlier still seemed incomprehensible to me. But whether I was crying over Mandy the canine or Mandy the human, either way I became inspired to do something I hadn’t done in years – pray.
Now anyone who knows me well understands that I am not a religious or even a very spiritual person. I believe that when we die it’s basically game over. No heaven, no hell, no going to a “better place,” just nothingness. Sure, the idea of disappearing into oblivion isn’t a pleasant one, but then I like to reason that if not existing before I was born wasn’t horrible or scary, then why should the concept of not existing after I die be so terrifying? If anything, transitioning out of the physical body is probably like falling into a deep sleep similar to going under anesthesia, only you never wake up.
Logic and scientific evidence point to this being the most likely end-of-life scenario, yet almost every time someone close to me has died I’ve had experiences that have made me question the finality of death via incredibly vivid dreams that feel more like visitations. During these experiences I can feel their touch, see every detail of their faces, their eyes, their smile. And most of all, I can feel the love, that tangible bond between us. They tell me they have to go away, and while I’m sad and don’t want them to leave, I understand I have to let them go. When they hug me goodbye I can feel the warmth of their skin, their arms around me, their breath. And that’s when I wake up, usually in tears but at the same time elated, feeling as if I’d actually been with them. Twice those dreams have happened just hours before I even knew those friends had died, as if they wanted me to hear it from them first.
Being a rational person, I could easily tell myself that these are simply comforting hallucinations created by my brain to make the pain of loss and grief more bearable. Yet at the same time I must concede that the universe is an amazing, mysterious place with infinite aspects we humans have yet to even attempt to understand. So to keep it simple I will leave it at this – whether Amanda and my other loved ones have really come to me in dreams or whether those visitations are simply apparitions manufactured by my brain to make me feel better, I will never know, but I am grateful to have experienced them nonetheless. Life is a mystery, and so too is death.
Figuring it was worth a try, I began talking to Amanda, hoping that if my girlfriend’s energy was somehow hovering in the ether she’d hear me and maybe help me save this dog. What did I have to lose?
The next day found me in yoga class, trying to clear my mind and focus my breathing as I moved and sweated from pose to pose. Yet despite my efforts to quiet my brain I couldn’t stop thinking about little Mandy, wondering how she was doing and hoping one of the Angels fosters had been swayed by her Facebook video. So when I got to my car and saw there was a message on my phone from Jennifer and Nick, my heart leapt, and upon hearing their excited voices on the other end of the line began to sob. One of our regular foster volunteers, Chrissy Frey, had agreed to take Mandy, who would be released from the shelter that afternoon. I was ecstatic!
I felt like a crazy person, crying hysterically one moment and laughing uncontrollably the next as I silently thanked Amanda, wherever she was, imagining she’d somehow had a hand in this, my first rescue. Because the fact that Angels was so full and Mandy had found a foster home so quickly was nothing short of a miracle.
People who foster animals in-need are indeed their own breed of kind-hearted human. I have so much respect and admiration for them. They’re the kind of selfless individuals who think nothing of opening their homes and lives to homeless creature after homeless creature, happy to provide them with food, shelter, care and love for as long as it takes to find them forever homes. Whether caring for the sickly, rehabilitating the abused or comforting the neglected, foster volunteers are a crucial part of any successful rescue organization and are absolutely vital in helping these deserving animals achieve the kinds of lives they were always meant to live – that of beloved, cherished companions.
Chrissy is such a special person. Kind, intelligent, generous, nurturing and open-hearted, she is not only an experienced dog mom who truly understands the nuts and bolts of caring for canines and bringing the best out in them, but is also someone who goes the extra mile for every dog she takes in, whether they’re her own babies or just passing through on their way to new families.
Despite the fact that Mandy had no manners when she arrived in Chrissy’s home – along with tons of puppy energy and a host of destructive tendencies – Chrissy’s patience, calm, centered energy and loving attention has done wonders for the wayward, nine-month-old pup, who has been thriving in her care for over two months now. Every time I’ve had a chance to visit Chrissy’s home it’s obvious how secure, loved and happy Mandy feels there. And although part of me is envious that I didn’t get the chance to foster Mandy myself, not to mention develop the kind of special bond she has with Chrissy, I’m so grateful that such a wonderful person ended up being the ideal guardian for this precious dog. I don’t think there is anyone I could have chosen who would have been more perfect for her.
While Mandy appears to be well on her way to finding her happy ending, I have been coming face-to-face with the hard, cold reality of Amanda’s tragic life. Not long after she died, I reached out to one of her old boyfriends, one of the few men she’d dated back in the day who’d actually been good for her and treated her well. He finally called me back a few weeks ago, and it was so great to hear that deep, familiar voice again. As we spoke he brought it all back to me, the fun times we’d had hanging out in L.A., just the three of us or with our gang of crazy, colorful friends. We were young, irreverent, edgy and cynical back then, yet still optimistic about our futures as artists. None of us expected to change the world, only to achieve enough success so we could be free to do what we wanted and enjoy our lives. But there was nothing lighthearted or nostalgic about the conversation that eventually ensued.
Unlike me, Amanda’s ex had stayed friends with her after she’d abandoned acting and left Hollywood, continuing to be her shoulder to lean on whenever she needed him over the years, which was usually when she was hurting or in trouble. As he began to fill in the blanks for me, describing what had happened to her during the two decades I’d been out of her life, it began to dawn on me that the person I thought I knew so well was actually someone I barely knew at all.
What he proceeded to describe was a crazy, haphazard, dysfunctional existence fueled by drug addiction and abusive relationships, resulting in several arrests, jail time, three children from different fathers – none of whom she was able to maintain custody – and a number of failed attempts at sobriety. She’d lived in trailers, on the streets, shacked-up with various men, sometimes running from dangerous people but always running from herself. Eventually she did get off the hard stuff and ended up crawling back to her family, who had since hardened their hearts to her after so many years of enduring her insanity.
As his story continued to unfold, I realized with sadness that I’d only known the version of Amanda she’d wanted me to know. So many of the things she’d shared with me about herself had just been partial truths, downright lies or lies of omission. While I understand that most people are untruthful in order to protect themselves from rejection and judgment, it still hurt that she hadn’t trusted my loyalty enough to know I would have stuck by her, no matter how ugly her secrets turned out to be. Yet at the same time I really had no right to be offended – I was the one who’d walked away from our friendship. But once I was able to put my ego aside, I felt grateful for my newfound clarity, of being able to see and understand her in a way I’d never been able to when she was alive.
In the end, Amanda had never really, truly gotten sober. After all, she had a good excuse for self-medicating – pain. Due to a host of health problems in recent years, she was often in great discomfort and began using an assortment of painkillers to manage it. An accidental morphine overdose was what finally freed her from her troubled life.
I wasn’t able to save Amanda. I wasn’t there to drag her to an AA meeting, sit with her while she went through withdrawals, or talk her out of it doing something self-destructive. I probably wouldn’t have been able to, anyway – Amanda lived by her rules and always did what she wanted to do. Her life and her death were a tragedy, but she lived and died on her own terms. Maybe that’s why saving her canine namesake, and seeing her through to a new life with a loving family, has become everything to me. And while that may not be enough to make up for abandoning Amanda in her time of need or to ease the pain of losing her forever, it has gotten me further along the road to healing, to finally forgiving myself.
I think ultimately some of us rescue not only because we value the lives of animals but also because deep down we’re trying to save and heal those lost, abused, neglected and vulnerable parts of ourselves. I know that’s true for me. And while Amanda wasn’t able to find peace and happiness in this lifetime, I believe Mandy will.
I’d like to think that if Amanda had lived she would have eventually revealed the truth of who she was, what she had done and what had happened to her. I’d like to believe she would have trusted me enough to let herself be radically honest, knowing I would have been there to listen, not to judge, and that I would never have abandoned her again. That eventually, there would have been no more secrets or lies between us. I have to go on believing that. And so I will.
“Saving one dog will not change the world, but surely for that one dog, the world will change forever.” – Karen Davison