A small token for saving many lives
Donation protected
My friend, David, has a heart that shines with bright effervescence. What he particularly likes to do is help homeless shelter pets.
David doesn’t have much; he’s unemployed. I met him when he was volunteering for a small, local pet rescue. These local non-profit pet rescues are typically run by one lady who lives with the constant struggle for finances. How it usually works is these ladies will have an animal of specialization, or a category. They are grassroots: one lady loves bunnies, another cats, and yet another commits to pit bulls, and another, small dogs.
Most of these ladies who run these small such rescues pull red-listed animals from high-kill shelters. Red-listed animals are those to which people have shown no adoption interest, and so to conserve space and costs, shelter staff put them to sleep. The only offense these animals have committed is they became a burden to their humans, and were subsequently discarded. Most of the time the animals are healthy, but they would face certain death if not for these ladies and their small, grassroots volunteer-only rescues.
David loves the discarded pets, as well as the compassionate ladies who devote their days and nights to bailing these quadrupeds out of peril. Money, time and (wo)manpower is what these small rescues lack. David spends many weekends volunteering on behalf of these ladies and the pets they in turn rescue. What’s impressive about him is he is constantly thinking about the next best event he can create that will attract interest in the missions of these rescues. One year he planned a Halloween carnival from scratch – creating and making games, preparing candy bags, and even dressing like a pumpkin in order to raise funds for and awareness to a cat-only rescue in the San Gabriel Valley, California.
When he has time, he gives it. When he has money, he gives it. I know he has spent time in the military, though he doesn’t talk about it much. And I think because he has a military mindset, he sees a problem that needs fixing, and he fixes it. And the problem of homeless, abandoned and/or discarded pets is endless, but David never complains. He does what he can to fix the unfixable, knowing if he raises $200 in six hours it will barely put a dent in the deluge of veterinary bills that come as part of the package deal for shelter pet rescuers.
Regardless of any hard work put forth by anyone involved with pet rescue, from those in the trenches doing the pulling of the red-listed animals, all the way to the circumforaneous volunteers and fosters, there are animals fitting into certain categories that render them the least adoptable. Animals unfortunate enough to fall into one or more of the following categories stand even more of a chance of leaving the shelter system in trash bags: black, pit bull, cat, Chihuahua, those with special needs, and seniors.
David has taken in animals from all of these categories; some he’s adopted, others he’s fostered. As anyone who adopts senior pets, or fosters knows, household pets rotate fairly regularly. At the moment, David has a black pit bull/Lab mix named ELLen, a cat with FIV, and a turtle about the size of a dinner plate. If you are unfamiliar with FIV, it is Feline Immunodeficiency Virus – similar to HIV – which means if a cat becomes ill, it stays so longer. Shelters will tend to treat FIV as a death sentence, and from a financial standpoint it is understandable. These cats, as a rule, do not get adopted, making it illogical to provide them with some cage space in the overcrowded shelters.
David’s cat is named Sophie, and the shelter staff let her live to nurse her FIV-negative babies long enough for them to find homes, but had no room for her anymore. David adopted her at 4 p.m. from a shelter which had adoption hours ending one hour later, and was due to put her to sleep at 8 a.m. the following morning. He just does that; he cares a lot.
What I find particularly poignant, though, is the time last summer when David saved MY life. I have an acquaintance who purchased tickets to a play at the Saban Theater and ended up not being able to attend, and I bought the tickets. David is a grown man who had never once in his life eaten macaroni and cheese. So I made a reservation for a restaurant in Beverly Hills which was included on the list of top ten Los Angeles eateries for macaroni and cheese.
After David and I finished watching the play, we were crossing the street to walk a mile or so to the place where we were eventually going to have dinner that evening. The moment we stepped out into the street to cross, a man driving a van made a stop at the stop sign, prepared to make a right turn, but did not look to see if the street was clear. David’s body was touching the passenger side of the van, but I was three feet ahead of him and my body was touching the center of the vehicle. I was trapped, shocked, my mouth agape. David rapped on the hood, “Hey, stop!! Stop!!” The driver failed to hear him, and the driver’s girlfriend saw me frozen in front of the van, her mouth agape.
The driver was proceeding to make the right turn. I blacked out; I thought that van was going to run me over. The best way I have been able to explain it is I had a near-death experience without the angels. My life flashed before my eyes. The driver was proceeding, and in the instant I was frozen there, I thought if I got knocked over maybe I could keep from hitting my head. But the driver’s side rear tire would come rolling right over at least my legs, and if I fell and couldn’t manage to keep my head off the ground, well that was it. I was going to die. I was stuck there in front of the van, frozen, with nowhere to go even if I could have loosened my feet from the asphalt.
A moment later the van was brushing against my body as the driver was cranking it right. The world was swirling around me as I saw a rush of people running toward me from the diner located next to the theater. I realized they weren’t just running toward me, but toward David too, who was on my left side, flailing about like a flipped turtle. One man rushing toward us had a first aid kit in his hand. He thought he was going to have to render first aid to a lady with a head wound.
It took me a few moments to realize I was not dead; in fact, I was conscious and alert. I remember in my peripheral vision seeing David bounce up to his feet and offer a hand to assist me in doing the same. David had pulled me out of the path of a van’s forward motion. It turned out the van ran over his foot as he was grabbing my arm and pulling me in an arc conducive to allowing my body and appendages to clear the path of all the tires. This was no easy feat; he plucked me up and into the air like moving a chess piece across a game board. The people who had rushed out of the diner to our aid could not believe what they had witnessed, and neither did the van driver or his passenger. He stopped the van along the curb, and like me, was shaken, shaking, and could not see straight. All I was doing was giggling because I was in shock that I walked away from that. I should not have walked away from that.
David and I both received chiropractic treatment, having suffered bumps and bruises from the traumatic event. For months following the incident – which was July 18th, 2015 – I did not sleep, and I still experience nightmares relating to it. As I said, I thought I was going to be very injured, if not die in that moment. I have thought about how to repay this person for saving my life, and for saving the lives of countless homeless animals. He owns a classic car, a 1973 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. Since he got fired from his job after being hit by the minivan (and unable to work due to injuries), I know he cannot afford to restore it.
David watches car fixer-upper shows regularly. He sometimes shows me pictures or videos of the cars from the 1970s that received paint jobs and overhauls, then mentions he wishes his car could look so pristine. He says it makes him sad to see his classic car stored covered in a driveway, and wishes he had the money to fix it up and drive it around to show it off (and give it the respect it deserves). I am a graduate student, so I do not have the financial means to bring this dream of his to fruition either. I am wondering if you would consider helping me restore David’s car.
In order to be restored to pristine condition, it needs engine, body, and interior work, as well as paint. The recent California rains have also exposed a leak.
David doesn’t have much; he’s unemployed. I met him when he was volunteering for a small, local pet rescue. These local non-profit pet rescues are typically run by one lady who lives with the constant struggle for finances. How it usually works is these ladies will have an animal of specialization, or a category. They are grassroots: one lady loves bunnies, another cats, and yet another commits to pit bulls, and another, small dogs.
Most of these ladies who run these small such rescues pull red-listed animals from high-kill shelters. Red-listed animals are those to which people have shown no adoption interest, and so to conserve space and costs, shelter staff put them to sleep. The only offense these animals have committed is they became a burden to their humans, and were subsequently discarded. Most of the time the animals are healthy, but they would face certain death if not for these ladies and their small, grassroots volunteer-only rescues.
David loves the discarded pets, as well as the compassionate ladies who devote their days and nights to bailing these quadrupeds out of peril. Money, time and (wo)manpower is what these small rescues lack. David spends many weekends volunteering on behalf of these ladies and the pets they in turn rescue. What’s impressive about him is he is constantly thinking about the next best event he can create that will attract interest in the missions of these rescues. One year he planned a Halloween carnival from scratch – creating and making games, preparing candy bags, and even dressing like a pumpkin in order to raise funds for and awareness to a cat-only rescue in the San Gabriel Valley, California.
When he has time, he gives it. When he has money, he gives it. I know he has spent time in the military, though he doesn’t talk about it much. And I think because he has a military mindset, he sees a problem that needs fixing, and he fixes it. And the problem of homeless, abandoned and/or discarded pets is endless, but David never complains. He does what he can to fix the unfixable, knowing if he raises $200 in six hours it will barely put a dent in the deluge of veterinary bills that come as part of the package deal for shelter pet rescuers.
Regardless of any hard work put forth by anyone involved with pet rescue, from those in the trenches doing the pulling of the red-listed animals, all the way to the circumforaneous volunteers and fosters, there are animals fitting into certain categories that render them the least adoptable. Animals unfortunate enough to fall into one or more of the following categories stand even more of a chance of leaving the shelter system in trash bags: black, pit bull, cat, Chihuahua, those with special needs, and seniors.
David has taken in animals from all of these categories; some he’s adopted, others he’s fostered. As anyone who adopts senior pets, or fosters knows, household pets rotate fairly regularly. At the moment, David has a black pit bull/Lab mix named ELLen, a cat with FIV, and a turtle about the size of a dinner plate. If you are unfamiliar with FIV, it is Feline Immunodeficiency Virus – similar to HIV – which means if a cat becomes ill, it stays so longer. Shelters will tend to treat FIV as a death sentence, and from a financial standpoint it is understandable. These cats, as a rule, do not get adopted, making it illogical to provide them with some cage space in the overcrowded shelters.
David’s cat is named Sophie, and the shelter staff let her live to nurse her FIV-negative babies long enough for them to find homes, but had no room for her anymore. David adopted her at 4 p.m. from a shelter which had adoption hours ending one hour later, and was due to put her to sleep at 8 a.m. the following morning. He just does that; he cares a lot.
What I find particularly poignant, though, is the time last summer when David saved MY life. I have an acquaintance who purchased tickets to a play at the Saban Theater and ended up not being able to attend, and I bought the tickets. David is a grown man who had never once in his life eaten macaroni and cheese. So I made a reservation for a restaurant in Beverly Hills which was included on the list of top ten Los Angeles eateries for macaroni and cheese.
After David and I finished watching the play, we were crossing the street to walk a mile or so to the place where we were eventually going to have dinner that evening. The moment we stepped out into the street to cross, a man driving a van made a stop at the stop sign, prepared to make a right turn, but did not look to see if the street was clear. David’s body was touching the passenger side of the van, but I was three feet ahead of him and my body was touching the center of the vehicle. I was trapped, shocked, my mouth agape. David rapped on the hood, “Hey, stop!! Stop!!” The driver failed to hear him, and the driver’s girlfriend saw me frozen in front of the van, her mouth agape.
The driver was proceeding to make the right turn. I blacked out; I thought that van was going to run me over. The best way I have been able to explain it is I had a near-death experience without the angels. My life flashed before my eyes. The driver was proceeding, and in the instant I was frozen there, I thought if I got knocked over maybe I could keep from hitting my head. But the driver’s side rear tire would come rolling right over at least my legs, and if I fell and couldn’t manage to keep my head off the ground, well that was it. I was going to die. I was stuck there in front of the van, frozen, with nowhere to go even if I could have loosened my feet from the asphalt.
A moment later the van was brushing against my body as the driver was cranking it right. The world was swirling around me as I saw a rush of people running toward me from the diner located next to the theater. I realized they weren’t just running toward me, but toward David too, who was on my left side, flailing about like a flipped turtle. One man rushing toward us had a first aid kit in his hand. He thought he was going to have to render first aid to a lady with a head wound.
It took me a few moments to realize I was not dead; in fact, I was conscious and alert. I remember in my peripheral vision seeing David bounce up to his feet and offer a hand to assist me in doing the same. David had pulled me out of the path of a van’s forward motion. It turned out the van ran over his foot as he was grabbing my arm and pulling me in an arc conducive to allowing my body and appendages to clear the path of all the tires. This was no easy feat; he plucked me up and into the air like moving a chess piece across a game board. The people who had rushed out of the diner to our aid could not believe what they had witnessed, and neither did the van driver or his passenger. He stopped the van along the curb, and like me, was shaken, shaking, and could not see straight. All I was doing was giggling because I was in shock that I walked away from that. I should not have walked away from that.
David and I both received chiropractic treatment, having suffered bumps and bruises from the traumatic event. For months following the incident – which was July 18th, 2015 – I did not sleep, and I still experience nightmares relating to it. As I said, I thought I was going to be very injured, if not die in that moment. I have thought about how to repay this person for saving my life, and for saving the lives of countless homeless animals. He owns a classic car, a 1973 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. Since he got fired from his job after being hit by the minivan (and unable to work due to injuries), I know he cannot afford to restore it.
David watches car fixer-upper shows regularly. He sometimes shows me pictures or videos of the cars from the 1970s that received paint jobs and overhauls, then mentions he wishes his car could look so pristine. He says it makes him sad to see his classic car stored covered in a driveway, and wishes he had the money to fix it up and drive it around to show it off (and give it the respect it deserves). I am a graduate student, so I do not have the financial means to bring this dream of his to fruition either. I am wondering if you would consider helping me restore David’s car.
In order to be restored to pristine condition, it needs engine, body, and interior work, as well as paint. The recent California rains have also exposed a leak.
Organiser
EMily M AdaMs
Organiser
South El Monte, CA
Invite friends to start a GoFundMe
