Once upon a time there was an unscrupulous ogre-breeder-abuser-user who lived in a rural part of the Best State in the Country in Which to be an Animal Abuser. She had many, many dogs; dogs in kennels, in boxes, in cages, tied to trees, under buildings, and in freezers. She had pigs in dark places and horses with no water. One bright, hot, sunny day, someone called the county and offered to help the county do something with all the dogs, and pigs and horses. And the county, finding a way to solve their problem without actually having to fix the problem, agreed to what the person offered. So, on an even brighter, hotter and sunnier day, many, many like-minded people put on masks and gloves and their dress whites, boarded the ferry on the river Styx, and descended into a hell of sorts.
There was a flotilla of trucks, all decked out in their very best crates, who wound down a country road like a funeral procession going to a graveyard that they knew to be haunted. They got to the hell-place, and were stunned at the shear numbers and smells that assaulted them. But this brave group of warriors didn't flinch; leashes in hand they marched into battle and came back up the river with 112 freed prisoners. It was a quick and efficient battle, and it was days later that they allowed themselves to think about how many had died before they were able to march into this hell-place, and then they cried for those whose bones still lay at that graveyard and wished they could have removed those too.
When the flotilla came back up the river, they found themselves in a different world. A world of motion and efficiency and light. They found medics who were doing what medics do for the very most needy. All the warriors there battled the sores, and the blood, and the crap, and the worms, and the disease, to help the animals take a turn in their roads that would change their lives forever. Hopeful dull eyes looked up out of clean shiny crates, and it was the fuel that speared the warriors on into the wee wee tiny hours of the night; the hours when life comes in and life goes out. Those hours inbetween dark and light.
All of the warriors that day and many the next day too, through dazed eyes, worked until the work was done. It was later that they allowed their emotions, which had been locked away in safe places while work was to be done, to peek out of their safe places and then do their purging work.
Some of the freed prisoners didn't live long enough to make the turn in their roads, but did live long enough to be held in love by hands of angels, and to have water. They did not leave this world from the place that had killed them, but from a bright light place of compassion. And the warriors have promised those freed that they will never go hungry again or be without water. Never. Ever. There is no happy ending yet to this story, but there is a beginning for those whose lives were changed - and I'm not talking just about the animals. The end.
And.....personally from one board member to those who helped in this endeavor:
I have intentionally not sent out a thank you to all those who helped with this awful but wonderful endeavor. At first, I had no emotions to call upon to thank everyone; they took their time coming back to the place where emotions play. Then, I had too many emotions to thank everyone, as I knew it would be a blubberingfestofthankyous. Now I think I'm hitting my median again, and so I want to say thank you thank you thank you to each and every one who played any role whatsoever in getting these animals out of that hell hole. And I want to thank every single one who will play any role whatsoever in assuring these animals only the very best homes. From the vets to the clean up crews, thank you thank you thank you. You made a woeful chore bearable, you brought in the light to so many; you saved so many lives. I am blessed to know you, and blessed to love you all. Thank you.
