Our Sally is 17 years old now – not a bad achievement for any dog. She has her share of senior issues and she sleeps most of the time. But she still enjoys life in her way and she is always more than ready for chicken treats. We have accepted that her time is almost up and we believe she will tell us when. One recent night that time nearly arrived before it was due – and in the worst possible way.
My story today is about how our neighborhood – strangers and friends, first responders, landscape and maintenance contractors – came together and with the help of modern and ancient technology (a drone and a machete) saved Sally from a lingering, painful and lonely death. We feared we had lost her, but miracles still happen. Our old Sally is now snoozing under my desk, snoring as I write this. I have many determined people to thank for it.
Sally is a “shelter special” – also known in DNA parlance as a Supermutt, meaning that much of her genetic history is too thin to interpret. She has short legs, a long body, and elegant mascaraed eyes, and her ancestry is anybody’s guess. She came to my wife Jean and me as a pup from Marin Humane with the name Roxanne but our granddaughter said no way to that and her name had to be Sally. She was shut down and stressed as many shelter strays are, but has known only love and care for the past 17 years and is devoted to us, her family.
A few years ago Sally developed a condition, quite common in seniors, called Idiopathic Vestibular Syndrome or Old Dog Disease. It is an inflammation of the inner ear and the symptoms can be alarming – staggering about and loss of balance, fluttering eyes, uncontrolled urination and confusion. Our vet reassured us that recovery was likely – which duly happened, but with some lasting side effects. Sally never regained her balance fully and her hearing was permanently diminished. She also lost sight in one eye but that may have been a separate issue. Nevertheless, she was able to live a fairly normal life, unbothered by infirmities.
Sally’s bed is at the foot of our bed. We were startled awake about 4 am recently when Sally began crying loudly, barking and running frantically around the bedroom. Maybe, we feared, it was an even worse vestibular episode or maybe she needed desperately to go out to relieve herself. Nothing we did calmed her down. We got her out to our courtyard where her behavior was even more out of control. Then, in the midst of what looked like a seizure, she ran down the hillside to a nearby road and kept running. I called after her but she disappeared into the night. I was left standing barefoot in the wet grass.
Jean and I dressed hastily and drove around the neighborhood in Sausalito’s Northern Hills, shining flashlights everywhere but finding nothing. In fields and bushes I saw reflecting critter eyes, startled raccoons and a long-eared hare. My hopes soared as I drove down a dark road and saw a dog trotting in the distance. I called Sally! – but it was a coyote and it took fright and disappeared. That was a very bad sign; Sally stood no chance against a pack of hungry coyotes. They are in our neighborhood every night and often in the day.
It was impossible to go back to bed knowing my dog was in extreme distress and great danger. We are located close to Highway 101 which is busy even in pre-dawn hours. Mental Images of dead raccoons and deer on the highway kept recurring as I drove up and down. Over and over I drove the streets in our area and beyond, seeing nothing. There are few worse feelings than being helpless at a time when your help is really needed.
At sunrise, Jean posted a report about Sally with her picture on Next Door, the neighborhood chat group on the Internet, and we were encouraged when many people replied that they would look out for her. Two neighbors – Deirdre and Kathleen – thought they had heard a distressed dog in the bushes between our houses and the highway and immediately started searching there, much of it impenetrable because of thorny bramble bushes. We could hear and see nothing in this very large area when we got into it as far as we could. I started looking for circling buzzards and crows in case they might guide us to a kill or injury site – but, there again, nothing.
Unwilling to give up on the bramble area where she may have been trapped, Jean went to our local fire station to ask for help and four young firemen came to join the search. But they too found no sign of Sally and said it was impossible to get into the brambles, even with a chainsaw.
Then, late on the second night, Deidre and Kathleen – both veteran dog shelter volunteers – heard a dog in distress again but we were too exhausted to even hear their knocking on our door. Next morning, acting on Deirdre’s suggestion that a drone might be useful, Jean asked Andrew Johnson, who runs our townhouse landscaping operation, if he knew anyone with a drone – and, yes, he owned one! And it was in his truck! Soon it was flying over an area where barking had been heard.
Andrew and Leo, the property maintenance manager, peered intensely at its control screen, looking for anything that might help the search. Andrew noticed that the canopy of leaves in one spot was moving slightly differently than its neighbors and was particularly interested in a small a darkish mass in the vegetation. Could there be an animal trapped there? There was only one way to find out – to fight a way in. The two men found a way into the bramble area but their search found nothing. Then Sally started barking. We all heard it. Andrew ran back to his truck where he kept a machete.
Swinging it like a jungle explorer he started slashing his way through the brambles, ignoring the painful scrapes and scratches they left on his body. Then he called out words we will never forget: “I can see her!” In her confused panic two nights earlier, Sally had run blindly into the brambles and got hopelessly entangled. Andrew could see her suspended above the ground, unable to free herself and largely hidden by the dense green leaves. Ironically, the brambles had also saved Sally’s life by preventing her from running onto the busy highway – and no coyotes or vultures, however hungry, could have reached her in the thorns.
Grinning broadly, Andrew hacked Sally loose and carried her out to safety. She was exhausted, dazed and extremely thirsty – but alive. Soon she was on her way to the vet where a cut on the surface of one eye was treated, discharging wounds were cleaned, and thorns were removed from all over her body. Remarkably for an old timer there appeared to be no other serious damage. Sally had proved herself to be a Supermutt indeed.
Sally has resumed her life. She has enjoyed some easy walks, regained her appetite, and reclaimed her special place on the futon in my office. Right now – as I type this – she is in another favorite spot: under my desk with her head on my foot. She looks comfortable. Actually, a lot more comfortable than I because I cannot move my leg. But I am very, very happy that she is there.
Deirdre, Kathleen, Andrew, Leo – and other searchers whose names I don’t know. They were Sally’s guardian angels. And they made history. Sally’s vet said she had never before heard of a drone finding a missing dog.
