Kerry’s face was all smile as she wheeled the $5 cart  (yes she complained when she paid the five bucks) across the terminal canopy.  There was a single battered plastic pet carrier on it.  It was the usual bland tan color, with stripes of gray duct tape criss-crossing it.  Pets Alive NYC was written above the wire “gate” at the front.
I had tucked the rented van in behind a full-sized bus that was picking up crew members from American Airlines.  As Kerry and the pups passed by the crew members every single person craned their neck to get a glimpse of them.  I didn’t realize that where I had wedged the van to hide from the Port Authority Police “shoo away squad” blocked the driver from getting to the cargo doors for the bus.  He looked at me, looked at the crate, and waited patiently, without a sound.  When I picked up the crate off the cart and headed for the van he offered to help.  Nice guy.  It dawned on me later that he had purposely dragged his feet loading the bus so Kerry would have enough time to make the three trips to get the dogs.

While I was waiting for the next cartload, I examined our charges.  There were six in total, all from Yabucoa Beach in Puerto Rico.  Yabucoa Beach is nicknamed “Dead Dog Beach” because of the strays that roam the coast and are sometimes found dead of disease, starvation or gunshots.  They had left Dead Dog Beach at 9:00 that morning, and arrived here at JFK at about 4.  They were being loaded into the van for the hour and a half trip to Middletown and Pets Alive.  Most importantly, they were finally safe.
I had gotten shooed away twice and had to circle the airport while Kerry was rolling them two by two from the terminal to the van.  On one of my circuits around the airport I got stuck behind several Port Authority Police cars, lights flashing, blocking the road from all directions near the cargo area.  I was getting squirmy until I saw what they were doing.  A hearse followed by a vanload of Marines slowly made its way past where I was stopped, winding their way toward the airport exit.
Sigh.  So much death.  You don’t think about it.  You’re not even conscious of it after a while.  But it’s caustic.  It eats away at you, sometimes in little bites and sometimes in giant chunks.  Dead dog beach.
We had a bit of a scare just before the dogs were due to leave the beach.  One had severe damage to her back end.  The vet thinks it was from being kicked repeatedly and or beaten.  The surgery to fix her would be expensive.  Rob and Marisol stepped up and offered to pay for it.  She would be arriving at Pets Alive the following day, Wednesday.
She was actually not scheduled to be on the trip, but the rescuers at Dead Dog Beach had fallen in love with her and couldn’t leave her.  Neither could we.  They named her Hero.  Each time the rescuers came to the beach Hero would run up to them excitedly and try to get their attention.  When she got it, she led them to a puppy that was sick and needed their help.  She did this several times.  How did this sweet, selfless, intelligent dog end up here on this beach, disfigured from abuse and surrounded by pain and death?

Between the second and third trips I hopped up into the van and peeked in the battered crates.  As my feet hit the step I could hear the thumping of little tails against the side of the plastic.
I bent down and peered into the crate.  There were two puppy noses pressed up against the wire door, with tails wagging like crazy in the background.   This was Stacey and Casey, seven weeks old.  They squeaked in delight as I rubbed their heads gently.  I heard a loud thumping from the other other crate and I turned to see Macy, Hero’s sister, and Jenny, an absolutely adorable three month old long haired pup.  They were both ready to play.  Their sweetness and their willingness to trust always amazes me.  These poor souls had been through so much — getting dumped on Dead Dog Beach, fighting for survival, being abused and mistreated, then being stuffed into a crate and spending hours in the belly of a cold, large steel cylinder, ears popping and the fear of the unknown seeping through the rush of the artificial air supply.
As always, it was love at first sight.  Kerry returned with Jillian, eight weeks old, and Jack, twelve weeks old, and I loaded them gently into the van.  Out of the corner of my eye I could see the Police shoo patrol sauntering my way, and the officer blew his whistle at me.
Kerry climbed into the van and slammed the door.
“It was really sweet,” she said.  “People were walking off the plane into the terminal and stopping at the crates to say goodbye to the dogs and wish them well.”  Kerry said she heard the words of affection in both English and Spanish.
“Did you see them?”  She asked.  “So young.  Yet they have so much experience on their faces. In so many ways they’re old.  Old souls.”
And they are.  They have sweet young faces and are friendly and approachable, but their lives of pain and fear are etched into their faces, and they absolutely crave contact, even as they tentatively approach your proffered hand.
As we exit on to the Van Wyck Expressway the yipping begins.  They are stirring, excited to be on the ground.  Safe.  Still in motion but not scrounging for something to eat or cowering in fear or fighting for their own place on the beach.  They are pitifully skinny and malodorous.  But they are absolutely beautiful.  And they are safe.
The yipping becomes a symphony, reaches a crescendo then slowly decreases in volume and intensity.  Kerry is whispering to them soothingly, and as the sun sets they eventually fall asleep from the motion of the van on the Palisades and the exhaustion of their travels.
We bump down the rutted driveway at Pets Alive and I gently back the van up to the entrance.  We are bone tired.  They are bone tired.  But their little heads still perk up as soon as the motion of the van stops.  I always wonder what they’re thinking when the transport is over.  Do they hope?  Do they feel relief?  Can they sense the same feeling that there’s something special at Pets Alive that all of us feel when we’re here?
I remembered a conversation I had with Nancy the dog trainer about how dogs can sense our emotions.  For those who don’t believe that, it’s easier to believe that dogs have stronger senses, which causes them to pick up more cues from us and intuit things that we wouldn’t normally see or feel.  How’s that?  Anyway…Pets Alive relaxes me and brings me a sense of belonging.  Do they feel that themselves, or at least feel it radiate from me?

While I’m having my philosophical debate internally, Kerry is a bit more practical.  She yells at me to get moving (that’s a paraphrase).  We unload the pups and bring them into their home in the room next to Janet.  We pop them out of the crates.  There is, of course, a giant bowl of food, warm and soft blankets to lie on and plenty of newspaper for more esoteric needs.
We both stand there for a moment, watching them and smiling.  Once they are sated they turn toward us and climb up on the wire Ex-pen fencing, wagging their tails and preening.  They are some of the friendliest dogs we’ve had at Pets Alive.  They are sweet, gregarious, gentle and very affectionate.  Sigh.  They’ve been through so much.
We gently close the door and turn our attention to Macy and Jenny.  We let them out of their crates in the Volunteer Lounge and they quickly gobble up a bowl of food.  Macy looks up at me with eyes of pure love and melts my heart.  She’s a little tentative, but as I gently rub below her chin she leans into me and looks up at me with those eyes.  I am in love.  Her tail wags.  First slowly, then increasing in tempo.
She is giving me her heart.  And I feel the age of her soul.  The pain, the suffering, the loneliness and the despair that comes from not knowing where you will eat or sleep or live another day.  I feel her small, ridiculously thin body shudder as she sighs.  It moves me beyond words and I give her my heart right back.  This poor girl has lived decades in just a few months.  An old soul in a young body.   I’ve seen it a million times and I know that in a week or so she will let it all go and realize that the rest of her life will be okay.  She will be loved and cared for and have a home, and the first few months of her life will fade until her body catches up to her soul.
And then there’s Jenny.  She seems to realize right away that things have changed.  She bows down on her front legs and starts running around the room, ready to play.  Macy darts between the crates and situates herself right next to me.  Kerry comes over and they are on her like Spandex.
The exhaustion starts to seep in and we play as long as we can before we tuck them in for the night.  As we carry them back to the isolation part of the kennel, Macy gets frightened and hides her head under my arm, shuddering.  I gently stroke her until she’s okay.  We stay by the kennel for a few minutes until they get settled, and then we head for home.  I think about them all as I am getting ready for bed.  More souls saved from certain death.  Another day at Pets Alive.
Kerry gets in the next morning before me and goes to check on the pups who are doing great.  When I get in I run to the back kennel to check on Macy and Jenny.  When they see me they wag their tails so hard it looks like they are going to shake themselves apart.
I jump into their kennel (don’t tell Janet – she’ll yell at me about quarantine rules) and they are all over me.  So sweet.  I spend some time with them, stop to see a few of my favorite dogs and then head up to work.
Later that day I get word that Hero has arrived.  She looks a lot like Macy, except that her back legs bow out in different directions.  She has trouble walking, favoring one leg or the other from the beatings she received.  She is as sweet as her sister with one little twist…she’s a talker.  She looks at you with the same eyes full of love and gives a little hoot as her tail wags faster.  Like Macy she’s a little more tentative with males but she is an absolute love.  I couldn’t take my eyes off her and I couldn’t let her go.  So much suffering, such an old soul but what an amazingly sweet dog.
Whoever adopts these dogs is going to be very lucky to have their love.  Thanks so much to Rob and Marisol and all of you for making it possible for Kerry and I to experience the joy we feel on days like this when its more privilege than job, which is most of the time.
I can’t help but think of the dogs left behind on Dead Dog Beach, and all the old souls out there that suffer and die every day.  Every day Kerry and I, the staff at Pets Alive and our volunteers and supporters go home tired.
We always wish we could save more Macys and Heros.  Thanks to you we will.