The Fetching Heart

Transitions can be the most challenging of times—for not only us but also for our beloved animals. This particular transition involved moving from a 60 acre horse farm to a townhouse and then on to another farm. I was going to my new townhouse with Spotty, my three year old farm cat, Charlie, my German Shepard and Winston and Jacquelyn, my Bouvier des Flanders. Salvador, my farm manager, and Brandy, my golden retriever would remain on the farm with the horses until the move to the new farm.1

Brandy was nine years old and had been raised in the city of Chicago. He had been my sister’s dog and three years prior, when I originally made the move to the horse farm, my sister decided to send him along to make the transition from city dog to country dog. He was quite thin and on a diet of special dog food to treat a nervous stomach. As money is always tight on a horse farm, I said that we would try to do without the special (expensive) dog food and see how it went. It was evident within a few months that Brandy was gaining weight and thriving. What I didn’t say was that as Brandy spent most of his time with Salvador, I knew his new diet of special dog food was tacos.2

I have to admit that I often made fun of Brandy’s intelligence, or rather, lack there of. My German Shepard and two Bouvier des Flanders were each fairly complex dogs. They were like presumptuous children with keen intelligence and demanded special attention. Brandy, with tail wagging in perpetual motion, was as complex as a rock, and I’d been known to compare his intelligence to one. To him, life was all about playing fetch.. Each time one of my customers arrived at the barn, there was Brandy, tail wagging, stick in mouth and hoping to play fetch.3

About a month after the move to the townhouse I had a friend over for dinner. During dinner there was a typical Midwestern rain storm with a great deal of loud thunder and lightening. As my friend, John, was leaving, we chatted for a couple of minutes with the front door open. He left, and I took the dogs for a walk and went to bed.4

The next morning, after walking the dogs, it was time to feed everyone. The dogs were ready to eat, but I couldn’t find Spotty. She was three years old and had only known the freedom of barn life. She was adjusting to being an indoor cat and was quite good at hiding from the dogs. While it was odd that she didn’t come into the kitchen for her food, it wasn’t unheard of. She preferred to enjoy her meal alone after the dogs and I left for the farm. I was late for my first lesson, so I left.5

My truck was parked right in front of my townhouse so I loaded the dogs and made the five minute drive to the farm. When I arrived, Salvador was waiting because he needed the truck to go buy some horse feed. I told him I was worried about Spotty and as soon as I finished my lessons, I was going back to the townhouse to make certain she was all right.6

I had was teaching a lesson when Salvador approached. He said, “I don’t know where Spotty is now, but I know where she was. There is gray cat hair in the engine of the truck. The truck wouldn’t start, so I lifted the hood to inspect the engine and saw the hair.”7

My heart sank. She had been frightened by the storm the night before and had sneaked out when John and I were chatting with the door open. She knew my truck and climbed into the engine to get out of the rain. But that meant she must have been in the truck engine for the five minute ride to the farm.8

How do you even begin looking for a petite cat on a 60 acre horse farm? There were four of us there at the time. We just spread out and repeatedly called, “Spotty, Spotty, where are you?” This went on for several hours with no luck.9

We were about to give up for the day. Brandy came running up with a big stick in his mouth to play fetch.10

I looked at him and said, “Brandy, I wish you had some brains in that head and then you could fetch Spotty instead of that stick. Where is Spotty?”11

Brandy looked up at me and with tail wagging, barked a couple of times and took off running.12

We all looked at each other and said “No way!”13

But he kept running and I decided there was nothing to loose and took off running after him. He never altered his course, running directly toward the front of the property. He stopped at the base of a 150 foot pine tree. The tree was so big that Brandy could barely get to the trunk and I had to crawl to fit under the branches.14

I followed Brandy to the trunk of the tree. There was Spotty! And she was breathing! Without taking time to completely assess her condition, we wrapped her in towels and rushed her to the vet.15

Spotty was in the hospital for two weeks. She lost her tail and came very close to loosing her left hind leg. The vet said that mites had already gotten on her and she had very little time left. Brandy saved her life, as they say, “in the nick of time”.16

This all happened in June of 1990. As I sit writing this in 2002, Spotty is asleep in a chair next to me. Now that she has no tail, everyone thinks she is an exotic Sphinx. I just know that she was lucky to have been given a second chance at life.17

Brandy lived for about three years after saving Spotty’s life. He had always been treated with love, but after saving Spotty, he was treated by all (especially me) with a new-found respect.18