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Saving Spike A true Katrina tale about two Brendas and a dog named Spike Brenda Shoss From the moment I found my Cartoon Network junkie glued to the evening news, my life changed forever. "Elijah, why are you watching the news?" I asked my four-year-old son. "Mommy, I want to see if the people get out of their broken houses." That was how I learned about Katrina, the unmerciful hurricane that swept through Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama. Like everyone, I cried for the people drifting on tree branches and floating down rivers. I watched them cling to fragments of shredded homes. Where would they all go? The one thing I knew for certain was who would get left behind. Pink-bowed girls in rhinestone collars. Outgoing boys with big floppy paws. A spoiled princess who slept on their beds. A soft tabby who nestled in their laps. Some say it doesn't matter. They’re only animals. But I wanted to help all of Katrina's stranded victims. By the time New Orleans evacuee Brenda Johnson called begging me to find her dog Spike, I already knew him. He was the faceless puppy left behind. Now he had a name. "Can you save our Spike? He's a big Yorkshire Terrier, probably 15 pounds, left upstairs in our apartment on Roger Drive. We thought we'd be back in a couple of days. I'm sure he's under my daughter's bed, probably really scared." I overheard children, an aunt, a niece and a brother from her crowded hotel room in Lake Charles, Louisiana. I also heard the crack in her voice. The Johnsons fled on Sunday at 2:00 a.m., just before Katrina struck. I filed missing pet reports. I scanned lost pet photos. And I heeded the advice of new friends from California to Michigan to Louisiana united in a nationwide effort to save15 pounds of furry love. I got through to "boat people," animal rescue groups, parish sheriffs, and ordinary citizens. On Brenda's behalf, I granted permission to break down doors and shatter windows. But with each passing day, I wondered "Is tonight his last? Will the heat, starvation, or water finally take him?" On September 16--more than two weeks after the Johnsons evacuated--Brenda called me. "They found Spike. He is alive." Brenda Johnson, a lower income African American storm victim, and Brenda Shoss, a Jewish mom in the Midwest, screamed with joy for one full moment. Because in the end, it doesn't matter whether it's pet or person. It is about saving life. Reaching across phone lines and internet. Navigating broken roads, dark rivers and ruined towns. Searching for tiny heartbeats amid the wreckage. Spike is alive and I'm his new "Auntie Brenda." This story is about love. It’s about saving Spike. |