Sometimes when you go on vacation, you come home with warm memories and a camera full of pictures. Other times you might bring back a memento or souvenir. And then there are those times you come home with puppies.
I suppose I should back up a month or so, to Labor Day weekend, when my husband Bob and I set off for one of the great U.S. vacation destinations—Glacier National Park in Montana. We’d been there a couple of years ago, were bowled over by its beauty, and vowed to go back soon. This year’s trip was meant to pick up where we left off; specifically, we wanted to explore the park’s eastern, “wilder” side.
Day One of the trip started off just as planned. We left our hotel in West Glacier and headed east up Going-to-the-Sun Road; crossing the Continental Divide, we began our adventure into what, for us, was uncharted territory.
Up in the mountains, the clouds had descended and a light rain changed to snow. The surrounding terrain was rugged; the road, deserted. “Maybe we’ll see a bear!” Bob wished out loud. (He’s a fan of “big wildlife” and had his heart set on a bear sighting during our last Glacier trip, but had to make due with bighorn sheep, chipmunks and a garter snake.)
Instead, we saw a dog. At least we thought it was a dog, or something in the dog family. (Bob thought coyote, I thought dingo, until I remembered dingoes live in Australia.) The confused little beast, all wet and dirty, was scurrying down the middle of the road in the way that dogs, and other members of the dog family, scurry when they really have no idea of where they are or where they’re going.
Being soft-hearted folks (or, as some say, suckers) we stopped the car and tried to get the dog-like creature off the road, just in case another car should come along. She was a shy little thing, but a bit curious too, and came when I whistled. It didn’t take a whole lot of effort to get her into the rental car, and we headed toward the nearest town, Browning, MT, to see about getting this wee critter—that was, indeed, a dog—reunited with her owner.
Long story short, our efforts to find an owner were futile; the dog was a sweetheart; a vet visit confirmed that she was healthy; and we found ourselves trading in our train tickets for a rental car and driving Miss Gracie 1,800 miles home with us.
And that’s where the puppies come in. The Montana vet who assured us Gracie was in good health somehow missed the fact that she was also in a family way. By the end of September we certainly had our suspicions but, like so many Oprah and Maury guests, weren’t completely certain until the babies were born.
Around 2:30 a.m. on October 1, we became the proud guardians of One, Two, Three, Four and Five—squeaky, squiggly, squirmy and as cute as that night was long. Two boys, three girls; some black and white, some brown and white; and all expertly attended to by Gracie herself, who acts as though she has, just maybe, been down the motherhood path before.
We don’t know what twist of fate brought Gracie onto that rainy roadway in the middle of nowhere, but we do know her case is not unique. Even here in civilized suburbia, pets are abandoned every day—dog and cats, yes, but also rabbits and ferrets, snakes and turtles, even fish—especially fish—are “set free” with surprising regularity.
Disoriented, scared and short on survival skills, most of these animals are ill-equipped for life on their own. Those that do make it tend to disrupt the balance of our native wildlife—feral cats preying on songbirds, for example—and cross the line from forgotten pets to pests.
At the St. Charles Park District, we’re developing an education initiative that encourages people to find new homes for the pets they can no longer care for: Don’t Disown, Rehome. The program, we hope, will help reduce the number of animals that end up abandoned in our neighborhoods, parks and natural areas. Won’t you help us spread the word?
Pam Otto is the manager of nature programs and interpretive services for the St. Charles Park District. She can be reached at potto@stcparks.org or 630-513-4346.