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By Lori Fusaro

 

It began with a phone call. She started by saying, “This is a very big deal and I want you to know you can say no if you don’t want to do it.” Immediately I felt a knot of dread form. The call was from Rande Levine, the director of Karma Rescue and I was sure it was going to be bad news, like I needed to pick up a dead dog or something really horrendous had happened. It was bad, but not as bad as the possibilities that I was concocting.

South Central Los Angeles has the most hard-core shelter in the city. Hundreds of dogs are housed there, many abused, some abandoned and some have been used for horrific purposes like dog fighting. I hate shelters. My heart just can’t stand going inside and seeing those sad eyes, those lost souls. I want to love them all, make their pain go away and save them but it’s not possible. So I turn my eyes away and try not to think about it. That all changed with Levine’s phone call.

I braced myself as she continued, “There’s a dog that comes available tomorrow and no one can bail him out.”

I didn’t say anything and so she went on. “He’s only a year old and was brought in covered in gang graffiti.” My stomach lurched.

“I want to get him out,” she said. “Can you go save him?” To that my imagination added, “Before the bad men come and take him back.” I could only hear the echo of those words and it terrified me. My mind was stuck on the defenseless dog being spray-painted. It would have been scared while being held down by violent thugs who probably found it funny. I could see them in my mind - laughing, drinking and having a good old time. I could see the dog’s eyes filled with terror, maybe even with love and certainly with confusion and sadness. My heart broke into a thousand pieces at that moment. Broken-hearted, I knew I would go save him. Even if, and this was a painful thought, I had to see hundreds of others just like it that I couldn’t bail out - dogs with scars and eyes too sad to look into for long.

So I said, “There’s no one else?”

To which she replied, “No one.”

There was a long pause. I knew what I was going to say, but I still didn’t want to. “I’ll do it,” I said, “if you can’t find anyone.” What a dumb thing to say. I knew there was no one else. She had just told me several times. But that small part of me still wanted to stay in denial and not open my eyes the sorrow that lives in a shelter. But another part of me couldn’t. I held my breath.

She said, “I’ll make a few calls and see if I can find someone. But you’ll do it if I can’t?”

“Yes,” I said hesitantly. “Yes, I’ll do it.”

 I was shopping at the time and couldn’t concentrate on the list of things I needed. I was talking to myself while pacing back and forth. I wanted to call her back and say I changed my mind. I wanted to call her back and say don’t call anyone else, I’ll do it. I was torn, scared and sad - just like the dogs.

Her call came about an hour later, maybe less. It felt like forever.

“Bad news,” she began.

My imagination went into overdrive: Oh no, we’re too late, something really horrendous has happened to the poor dog - again.

“There’s no one else,” she said.

And so I took out a pen and paper and started writing down everything I need to do. I took down addresses, phone numbers, directions, I was told to bring animal birth control, micro chips, more phone numbers and after it all, I was given a “thank you.”

“Holy crap - can I do this?” I wondered. I was already panicking. I was going to South Central. “What if I was to get lost or shot? What if a gang member was there to retrieve him and was waiting for me outside because I got there first? What if he tried to steal the dog from me from me?” God, I’m dramatic! But that’s what was going on inside this brain of mine.

I’m ready, I told myself. My alarm was set. I had my itinerary. I knew just what to do. I didn’t, however, know what to expect. Levine told me that under no circumstances was I to go into the kennel and see the other dogs. She knew my heart would explode. She knew I couldn’t handle it. I told my husband. He knew that I might go into the kennel just to see. He warned me against it. I hoped I would listen. And so I fell asleep and dreamed of my coming adventure: Only I was a super hero with special powers. And in my dream I found myself hunting down the violent thugs of the world and bringing justice to all.

 

Look for the next installment of Lori Fusaro’s 3-part story next week exclusively in the News.

 

Lori Fusaro has been voted the best portrait photographer by FoxTV two years in a row. She lives in Culver City with her husband, four cats, and dog. Contact: Lori@FusaroPhotography.com, www.FusaroPhotography.com.

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