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Forlorn souls make a love connection at pet shelter

By SUE CARLTON
Published September 26, 2005

Behind the sign that said Hurricane Katrina evacuees, the dogs were barking like crazy.

A pack of beagles bayed in their pen. A Jack Russell terrier bounced like a spring. A golden retriever, some labs, a few mutts, they all chimed in as people walked by their cages: me, me, over here, over here!

The dog had arrived a day earlier, rib-skinny at 108 pounds, stinking of muck, rescued along with 32 dogs from Louisiana.

Humane society volunteer Lisa Lewis remembered the first time she saw him. Four volunteers from Florida had arrived in St. Bernard Parish, mostly deserted but for military types. Two veterinarians had put together a makeshift pet shelter in a warehouse. The shelter had already been looted for food and medicine.

When the volunteers got there, tails started wagging. Lewis and Sue Lambert saw the big dog at the same time and looked at each other. A St. Bernard, in St. Bernard Parish.

"He just looked like, "Oh, please, just get me out of here,"' Lewis said.

* * *

Pam Bondi wasn't ready. No way. Not so soon after Donovan.

He was her St. Bernard, her 165-pound baby. Bondi, a prosecutor at the Hillsborough State Attorney's Office whom you may have seen on MSNBC, sometimes brought him to work. People would scratch his massive head and try to avoid his good-natured drooling.

When Donovan was diagnosed with cancer, Bondi did everything she could to save him. She got him the best medical treatment. She had plastic cancer bracelets made that said Donovan and Believe. But on Sept. 13, he had to be put to sleep.

Last week, Bondi was only half-listening to a story on the news about rescued pets arriving in Clearwater. Then in the briefest clip, she saw the St. Bernard from St. Bernard Parish.

No way. Not this soon.

She made calls. She and her boyfriend, Billy Howard, kept replaying a tape of that news clip. Okay, she'd go see him. But she didn't know if she could do this.

* * *

There was no knowing what the animals had been through during the storm and after, how they got separated from their owners, how they survived. They were filthy from making their way through water and sludge. They had cuts, bruises and infections.

When Bondi and Howard stopped at the St. Bernard's pen, he looked up. He had brown eyes that were like Donovan's and not like Donovan's. His tail thumped. Then Bondi was inside the pen with him, then Howard, scratching the dog's belly as he rolled on his back, paws in the air.

This dog was coming home. It wasn't an insult to Donovan's memory, it was a way of carrying it on.

They know now that he can sit and shake, that he politely scratches the door when he needs to go out, that he can get up stairs but hasn't figured out down, and that he's mostly respectful of cats. They also know he doesn't like to go outside alone, loud noises scare him and he scavenges for food. They named him Noah, for obvious reasons.

Bondi is his foster mom until Oct. 15. If his owner hasn't been found by then, he is her dog.

She thinks everything happens for a reason, this St. Bernard who survived St. Bernard Parish and ended up a few miles away at a time when she was mourning her Donovan.

"I think we saved each other," she said.

[Last modified September 26, 2005, 01:17:04]