|
Nikita's
Story
7-19-2005
To Live Another Day:
On the day my story begins, I recall waking underneath another
night’s blanket of white snow, no longer able to clearly
remember the joy of life I once knew. A wooden fence lessens
the bite of the bitter cold wind and seems to be the only
pleasantry that life still has to offer. My feeling of
hopelessness is interrupted only by the morning’s bright
sunshine; however, it is merely offering the aphoristic view
that another day of survival has begun.
A woman walking her dogs nearby subtly reminds me of a better
time when I had a family of my own. Avoiding the dangers that
strangers and other dogs impose has become a requirement of my
continued existence; however, watching these three reveals my
aspiration to be part of a family again and overpowers my
intuition to hide. As they come closer, my instinctive fear
is realized when one of her dogs
senses my presence. They start to walk in my
direction, so I quickly retreat to an area hidden by the edge
of the house. If the woman approaches me, I know that I must
inevitably run at the first opportunity. I hear the rattle of
the other dog’s metal tags and prepare for my flight. To stay
safe, I must go now, so I start running with the highest speed
I can attain. I suddenly realize that my quest for life
forces me to flee from the very life that I so deeply desire.
The end of my hasty voyage finds me resting on the porch of a
house where I sometimes nap- quiet, dark, and seldom
interrupted. Just as I am recovering from my sprint, I see
the same woman getting out of a vehicle. She approaches me
again, causing yet another panic. This situation quickly
escalates to reveal a greater threat than I have faced for
some time. I run again. With the growing number of people
that appear to be aware of me, I am forced to start practicing
my best evasion techniques.
The weather is still so cold, and I continue to stay close to
the house with the wooden fence. Tonight, death may be
especially close with these two narrow escapes, leaving me in
a state of exhaustion and weakness coupled with the lack of
food. Little do I know that today will be the true turning
point in my life, a point that would offer me just that, life!
Over the next few days, I repeat my nightly resting close to
the wooden fence and feel glad that the snow is now gone. My
ongoing hunger has been partially satisfied by remnants of
food that now appear in the mornings close to where I bed and
where the woman first saw me. I thankfully accept these
offerings, as I am famished from my consistent lack of
nourishment. The plastic food bowl with its accompanying
water again induces my longing to reclaim the wonderful
experiences I had as a puppy. It has been so long, and
recalling these few precious memories seem to be my only
reason to sleep again the next night.
During the next three months, I discover the provider of my
life sustaining
food source is the woman that has tried multiple times to
catch me. With this revelation, I feel concerned that I need
to remain extra cautious to not let her see me again. The
spring weather once again affords me the luxury and safety of
a nocturnal lifestyle, without enduring winter’s homicidal
elements.
While seemingly lessening any human awareness, the night’s
darkness offers its own dangers that rival those of the
daylight. I have learned through many painful encounters that
the other animals are not friendly and territorial battles
only invite the presence of angered people. I sometimes have
to fight with a family of raccoons that have discovered my
secondary food source. This food is the same as what the
woman leaves, but is placed nightly on the front porch of a
house one street over. This source has become even more
important as the frequency with which the woman leaves her
bait diminished some time ago.
Now it is mid June and the sun is especially hot this year.
My long black coat that protects me so well from the cold, now
burdens me with the heat. I spend the daylight hours bedded
in some shrubbery that stays shaded throughout the day, and
the morning sprinklers keep the ground cool and damp. This
plot is located only a couple of houses down from where the
woman now comes again daily to leave her gift of bait.
Today I have allowed my languor to jeopardize my secrecy.
After eating the day’s rations, I’m awakened by the noises of
the metal tags jingling from the woman again walking with her
dogs nearby. I can only hope she does not see me. I watch
her as I try to stay hidden as best I can. The woman has
stopped walking. “Does she see me? Did the other dogs
catch my scent? Do I continue to hide, or should I run now
while I have the chance?” I hear a man talking with the
woman. He starts to approach so I flee, once again narrowly
escaping the fury that has apparently pierced the hearts of
all people since my orphanhood.
July has come and the sun’s heat has left drinking water
scarce. I find myself still depending on the woman to bring
her daily offering of life, but even more so for the water she
leaves. I continue to make my nightly trips to the other
house where the food and water it empathetically offers, can
still be found on the porch.
Tonight I returned to my landscaped residence to find an
intrusion. There has been a familiar structure placed near
the spot where I bed. As I investigate, I am haunted with
memories from a very long time ago. This object greatly
reminds me of the crate that bestowed upon me a warm, safe,
den-like bed before the loss of my family. I feel emotionally
confused because even though my few memories generally tend to
comfort my loneliness, with these I feel so deeply saddened.
It has been so long since last time I cried.
Two of the last three nights have staged me falling asleep
while looking at the crate, forcing seizure of further
memories from my past. I wonder why this resurgence of life
has left me with such a cruel existence. Tonight, the third
night, there is something very different about the crate.
There is an odor emanating from inside, an odor that brings
to mind yet another memory. I vaguely associate this smell
with a treat my family would sometimes give me. My heart
feels warmed by this thought and this is a much-welcomed
feeling. My desires are not to only know the security and
comfort of a crate again, but to also pursue the source of the
smell that is becoming so overwhelming. I slowly, slyly enter
through the opening of the crate. The inside seems much
deeper than I recall, but it has been a very long time since I
experienced a crate from the inside. I continue towards the
rear of the crate rummaging for the potential treats. I find
the treats and the taste proves my recollections. As I start
to indulge in another, there is suddenly a loud crash from
behind me. I whirl around and am terrified to find there is
no longer an opening to the crate. I am trapped.
I tremble in fear for what may happen to me next. My
apprehension is soon answered with the sounds of the woman,
who leaves the food, and the man who accompanied her on the
last encounter. My inability to run this time suggests that I
must suffer the wrath of all the anger and rage of the people
that I have so desperately tried to avoid. All I can do now
is be submissive and endure the pain I’m sure to receive.
These people do not retrieve me from this trap, instead, they
pick the trap up and we start to move. A short trip through
the back of several yards places me inside the backyard of
another house, but still confined in the trap.
The
people go inside for a brief time and return with their two
dogs and a leash. I’m confused because these dogs seem
friendly, and the people act very happy with my presence.
They are talking to me with voices sounding higher pitched and
more excited than the ones they use among themselves. “Are
these people really friendly? Has life’s brutality rewarded
me with the possibility of a new family? Can this be real?“
I am soon released from my incarceration. The leash that now
restrains me offers a symbolic arraignment that somebody is
once again willing to take care of me and that life has not
abandoned me. I discover that this is the same house where I
find the food on the front porch, and it becomes apparent that
this family has been taking care of me all along. My tail is
now wagging with elation. I candidly feel excited to see what
may happen next.
Over the last few weeks, I have been to the vet, taken many
baths, and have been offered a nightly choice as to sleep in
an actual crate of my own or lay on the softness of a high bed
with human companionship. Tonight I realized that the woman
with the dogs not only saved my life with her daily rations,
but also refused to turn her back on me even when I spent
everyday trying to circumvent her efforts. The snow, ice,
pouring rains, and hot sun never deterred her from making sure
that I was, in fact, taken care of.
This life-lesson has taught me that even when life seems at
its worse, you should never lose faith in finding love and
kindness from caring strangers, and even if you can’t find
this love, the love of a rescuer may find you.
The preceding story chronicles Nikita’s rescue as told through
her perspective. Nikita is a small-framed black female
Sheltie and was taken off the streets the evening of July 4th,
2005. This rescue started approximately January of 2005.
When first examined, Nikita was in surprisingly good shape
with the only visible problems being a bad tooth and badly
matted hair. Upon the Sheltie Rescue providing a thorough
vet’s examination, Nikita was found to be approximately six
years old, heartworm free, spayed, and of good body weight.
It is only from the relentless efforts of Alex Taylor that
Nikita’s story could be written with such a wonderful ending.
Alex, from the hearts of both rescuers and their rescued
alike, thank-you for the life you have saved.
 (Taken the
night of capture)
About the story:
Written by Patrick Taylor, this paper is to fulfill an English
assignment demonstrating a narrative essay. The intended
primary audience is rescued dog owners and their respective
rescue organizations. The implied thesis is revealed during
the last moments of the story and could be simply reduced to:
“The one in need should never give up
hope, because the rescuer will never give up trying to help,”
however another
concept is to share the joy
felt from the rescued when they feel again loved and part of a
family.
|
