It has been a year — no, more than that — since I have written here. I have missed it, but have also struggled with a sense of continued purpose. Pretty much all I do is tell animal stories. In the world as we now know it, a world that is screaming for saving on a cataclysmic level, how exactly does sharing vignettes from a life with animals contribute to the greater cause? Well, it probably doesn’t, but maybe that’s too high a bar. Maybe, just providing a moment of respite or refuge from the toxicity of the news cycle is worthy enough. In one of the first interviews she gave after the bizarre election results of 2016, Hillary Clinton confessed that she had been doing little more than scrolling through cute kitten videos as a means of processing, or not, what happened. See that right there? Animals as escapism therapy.
I have stories, my friends. I have so many stories gifted to me by the animals that have galloped, been carried, hurtled, and fallen into my life. Some of those stories have already been told here. They are Rescue Stories in the sense that things were going very badly for a creature (usually because of bad humans) and then good intervened (usually because of caring humans). But they are also Rescue Stories in that those “acts of good” reaffirm what we humans are capable of and, I think, desire to see more of in the world; the telling of which “rescues” a little bit of hope that goodness will prevail. There is nothing more powerful that acts of compassion and caring for a soul who exists outside of yourself. Well, by my view, anyway.
I am going to start by resharing Molly’s Rescue Story. Please, please follow the link. The “bad human” part comes first, so brace yourselves; years have passed and I still feel the anger. I look forward to sharing the good parts of Miss Molly’s story and will do so soon. Thank you for coming on this journey with us.
findingjubilee 
so glad you’re writing again. Your blogs ALWAYS send chills up my spine, but I could read them over and over again. Please never stop. Your words sing.
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Thank you, Barb. I have let myself get so buried by the world’s anger and dysfunction; it is hard to find relevance for stories like these. But Molly mattered and the others do to and so I am going to carve out my own little space to tell their stories. Thanks for being in that space. Hugs to you. ❤
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oh, and one more comment: the country needs your messages and your stories right now, more than ever.
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This is my third attempt to comment. Me and WordPress don’t seem to like each other much. The good news is that each time I’m getting a little less verbose. 🙂
Yesterday FB posted a memory picture from 2015 of my first senior rescue, Scarlet. It wasn’t an awful senior rescue story, but it was sad. So today when I saw that you had posted in your blog, I was excited!!! But when I saw it was about a senior rescue, i prepared myself. Most of the stories are hard ones.
I cried reading Molly’s story. I would have cried four years ago too, but today I cried really hard because I feel the weight of the last four years.
You inspire me in more ways than one, Lisa. I am happy to see you writing again. Thank you.
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Yes, exactly, Jeanne! “The weight of the last four years”. How are we even able to breathe? My self imagery is that I am hiding under a blanket telling stories to my toys, to myself. It’s the only way I can do this because the stories seem so irrelevant to what is going on outside. Thank you for sharing. ❤
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