”Rescue”

by Barbara E. Magera

We do not study the winds forming off the west coast of Africa until late August or early September, but this year is different. The tropical climate research center in Colorado predicted a doubling in the number of category 4 or 5 hurricanes for this season. What does anyone living high up in the Rockies know about coastal storms anyway? They probably never dipped their toes in the ocean, so how can they be so sure?

The first bad omen was the appearance in Charleston of Jim Cantore, Chief Meteorologist for the Weather Channel. Later that day an impressive lightning show commenced, followed by drenching rain that continued for hours. Storm surge in Charleston was predicted at three to four feet. Within two days, the Holy City received 14 inches of rain, but 60 miles inland, in the rural town of Moncks Corner, 22 inches of rain fell in the first 24 hours followed by more rain 36 hours later. The numerous streams, lakes and tributaries of water swelled into rushing rivers and lakes overflowed.

Jenn’s home and kennel are located on wetlands, but she is at least 800 feet from any standing water. Yet, she prepared as best as a single head of household could do with piling sandbags around her garage, front and back doors. Her six show dogs moved from their kennel into her house. All were more than happy to sprawl out on her bed leaving her just enough room to sleep clinging to the side of her king-size mattress. She did prepare with boarding up windows and doors, moving lawn furniture into her garage, and securing any outdoor plants or yard art into her potting shed. Her most-coveted recent storm preparedness was a recent purchase of a home generator that would provide power to her AC system, refrigerator, and, most importantly, the freezer housing raw meat for her dogs. Additionally, her RV was packed with dog crates, food, batteries, solar lights and other necessary supplies should an evacuation be necessary. After days of preparation, Jenn felt confident that she was safe even when the rain started to pound her roof. Exhausted from her strenuous labors, she and her Boykins fell into a deep slumber.

About 2am, Jenn awoke to furious banging on her front door. She could hear men in loud commanding voices giving orders and directives. She stretched to turn on a lamp but quickly realized she had lost power. With a flashlight in hand, she fumbled down the stairs and cautiously opened her front door. A burly rain-drenched man shouted, “You’ve got to evacuate now Ma’am or you will be underwater like the rest of your neighbors. We’re from the fire department. Get in our boat so we can bring you to dry land”.

Jenn was so stunned at their words that she could hardly speak. When the burly fireman tried to physically pick her up and transfer her to a dingy boat is when she came to her senses. “My dogs”, she screamed “must come with me. They are my show dogs and my family and I won’t leave without them.” The rescuers looked perplexed, but agreed to transport the canines on the condition that they jump into the boat within the next few minutes. Jenn ran upstairs to the bedroom where all six confused Boykins were barking. She managed to lead the bewildered pack down the stairs to the front porch. Fortunately, all were collared with a GPS tracker device linked to Jenn’s phone.

When the men saw the six Boykins, they lamented they had room for only a few dogs. Jenn screamed panic-driven profanities at the top of her lungs. The men understood she was not leaving any of her canines behind. She directed each Boykin into the rescue boat, and although the quarters were tight, she squeezed her slim body among the pack. She yelled out commands to her dogs who were confused with the rescue commotion. The night was pitch black with no street or house lights to provide a glimmer of hope.

Bolts of lightning struck the dark night sky with roars of thunder following. Then the hard rain bands commenced. Finally, the  deafening sound of strong winds characteristic of a tornado were heard. This severe weather spooked two of the Boykins, causing them to jump out of the boat into the murky water. Through the rushing water, all that Jenn could hear were their terrified whelps crying for help. Within seconds, the dogs’ pitiful yelps were drowned out by the crashing of tree limbs, explosions of transformers, rushing waters, pounding rain, and wails of sirens indicating rising waters. Jenn was screaming the names of each dog, hoping her voice could orient them to the direction of the boat. Her efforts were futile.  Crackling thunder, pelting rain, and freight-train pitched wind overpowered their cries for help.

With overflowing riverbeds, fresh waters merged with brackish swamp waters. This commingling of water masses allowed alligators and snakes, particularly copperheads, to infiltrate the swollen waters. The chances of a man or dog fighting to remain afloat among the vigorous water currents were now complicated by potential attacks from reptilian predators.

Jenn was hysterical over the loss of her two prized Boykins and begged her rescuers to return to the murky waters surrounding her home. She was convinced that one last rescue attempt could save her lost dogs. The head fireman sternly declined and said, “Lady, I’m trying my hardest to keep you and your dogs from falling into those rushing waters and get y’all to safety. We may not be able to save y’all in this flimsy boat. I pray we don’t sink or get hit by lightning.” Suddenly, a pulsating blue-white light approached them emanating from a larger rescue boat. “We will guide you”, a captain yelled through his loudspeaker. “Just follow us.”

Finally, both boats reached a clearing where humans and canines disembarked to higher ground. Jenn kept slip leads in her pockets and managed to secure a lead on each Boykin. She desperately wanted to remain on shore and scream the name of her two lost Boykins. The rescuers hurried her and her pack onto buses where they were transported to an evacuation center.

The evacuation center consisted of rows of cots in a large gymnasium. There were no dog crates available, but there were plenty of water bowls set out for thirsty canines. Filled with heartache and fear, and overcome with grief, Jenn collapsed on a cot and cried. After an hour or so of heavy tears, she fell asleep. The exhaustion of the rescue and loss of her dogs drained her mind and soul.

When morning came, so did more rain bands that continued to soak the Low Country. Drone video revealed rushing waters, washed-out roads, and collapsed dwellings. The building of a well-known eatery was washed away in the aggressive flood waters. A tornado flattened a fast food restaurant.  Entire neighborhoods were cut off from evacuation routes as major roads, including a state highway, were underwater. Jenn tried to track her lost two dogs using the GPS app on her phone. Despite repeated attempts her GPS never got a signal locating her missing canines. Frustrated, Jenn sat with her Boykins crying heavy tears for her lost dogs. She prayed that if they succumbed, they died quickly.

At the shelter, Jenn’s friends and neighbors exchanged embraces and tears. They realized Jenn was immobilized by grief. Several quickly volunteered to feed, walk, and care for her Boykins while in the shelter. Jenn buried her face in her hands and just cried. Her canines instinctively knew that Jenn needed to be left alone to grieve. The Boykins remained quiet and lay near her cot.

Later that evening, one of the burly firemen forcefully shook Jenn’s arm to wake her. “Ma’am, the local animal shelter was washed away tonight.”

Jenn gruffly shouted, “Why are you telling me this terrible news?”

He replied, “Somebody found a terrified dog shivering on the banks of the tail race canal. The poor dog was terrified but alive.”

A flash of hope immediately flooded Jenn’s mind, but then she asked, “They only found one dog?”

Her rescuer explained that the scared and near-starved dog was brought to a makeshift animal shelter in a neighboring town. A Veterinarian manning the shelter evaluated the condition of a Boykin spaniel who suffered superficial wounds that he treated. Otherwise, the Boykin was intact but hungry.  The Veterinarian, who anticipated finding lost animals, carried a microchip reader in his emergency pack along with his laptop. After several attempts, he was finally able to identify a microchip number on the terrified Boykin. His staff correlated the microchip number to a national listing that identified Jenn as the dog’s owner. The staff contacted the evacuation shelter. Luckily, one of the rescue firemen remembered the, “hysterical lady who wouldn’t leave her house without her dogs.” He volunteered to reunite the lost Boykin with its owner.

About midnight, Jenn felt a wet nose press against her cheek. She awoke, startled, and stared at the injured face of her lost Boykin. She cradled his soft muzzle in her hands while he whimpered and covered her with sloppy wet kisses. Jenn threw her arms around her beloved dog, Sully, while the pack chimed in with happy barks. After several minutes of joyful tears and tight hugs, Jenn ran her hand around Sully’s neck. His GPS collar was gone. A deep voice gently said, “Ma’am, I found your dog. I knew you were heartbroken but I wanted you two reunited as quickly as possible.” Through tears, Jenn hugged her rescuer and crying thanked him profusely for bringing her lost dog to her.

Jenn then told him, “If it hadn’t been for his microchip, I probably would have never seen Sully again.”

She finally regained her composure and related that a second Boykin was still missing. She said that the GPS collar was probably missing too as her phone app could not detect a signal.

The fireman replied, “Your town and roads are flooded and suffered a lot of damage including a tornado. But Ma’am, I know how much your dogs mean to you. We will keep searching for your lost dog.”

Jenn softly whispered, “Thank you for finding Sully and rescuing all of us. We could have all drowned that night of the storm. You and the other firemen are true heroes.”

Her rescuer replied through moist eyes, “God and his Angels saved us that night. We were just doing our job.”

“Sully” photographed, owned and loved by Jenn Cannady

Barbara E. Magera MD, PharmD, MMM (Caracaleeb) is a Cavalier fancier, exhibitor and breeder, dog photographer and writer who lives and practices medicine in Charleston, SC.