Columnist Sandy Thompson: Caring for the ‘helpless’ no easy task

Sandy Thompson

Saturday, Feb. 10, 2001 | 12:08 p.m.

Sandy Thompson is vice president/associate editor of the Las Vegas Sun. She can be reached at 259-4025 or e-mail at thompson@lasvegassun.com

IT WAS A call that many mothers could expect from their 20-year-old daughters.

"I fell in love yesterday," she said.

You could feel the glow through the phone receiver.

"We went out and then came back home and laid on the couch all night," she added.

Oh?

"Was it romantic?" I asked, not sure if I was prepared for the answer.

"Romantic?" she replied with a giggle. "It was a dog, Mom."

My college student daughter had been talking for some time about getting a dog. She had grown up with dogs and often prefers them over people. After all, they are loyal, loving, playful and always happy to see you.

But a one-room college apartment is no place for a dog, no matter how lonely you are. And the lease says no pets. And dogs chew and they have to be walked and ...

She took none of that into consideration when she found an older, sickly dog lurking around campus. It was one of many regular strays in the area. But this one was friendly. Too friendly.

It was dirty and scrawny and in desperate need of love and attention.

She took it home and it stayed by her on the couch all night. The next day she went to a groomer to have it bathed and checked out.

"The dog is a sweetheart," she said.

The dog, who by this time was named Punk, wouldn't leave my daughter's side. She took Punk to an outdoor class assignment, tying the dog's newly bought leash to a nearby post. It didn't take long before Punk chewed through the leash and ambled over to my daughter.

The next day, Punk slept and slept. The dog would not eat food. My daughter had to drag Punk to the water bowl and make her sip.

Several more phone calls home.

"She won't eat. I think she's sick," my daughter sobbed. "She just lays there."

Some reassurance from Mom and Dad that all would be OK, and a strong plea to take the dog to a shelter. Don't keep her. What will happen when class rolls around Monday?

At 7 a.m. Monday, Punk wagged her tail and woke up her mistress, who by this time had a serious headache from crying so much the day before. Punk jumped on the bed and snuggled against my daughter.

Six hours of class loomed and Punk was still a question mark as to how she'd fare alone in the apartment when her mistress was away. When the time came, Punk was put into the bathroom with a blanket, a bone and water. All essential hair and bath products were put out of reach.

It was off to class.

Six hours later, Punk's nervous mistress returned home to find the new bathroom floor torn up and part of the bottom door frame chewed.

It was time for Punk to go.

More sobs, more phone calls, a bit of parental yelling because Mom will have to foot the bill for a new floor ("we told you so" was the wrong thing to say).

After finding a 24-hour animal shelter in the phone book, my daughter spent a tearful half-hour with Punk.

She then placed the dog in the back seat of her car and drove to the shelter. During the ride, Punk jumped in the front seat and nuzzled against my daughter by the steering wheel, causing the car to swerve. At the shelter, Punk looked forlornly through the glass as my daughter filled out the paperwork.

"No one will adopt an old dog. I may have signed her death warrant," my daughter sobbed.

Afterward, she drove home and then walked to a friend's apartment to pick up a tape she needed. On the walk back to her place, she heard footsteps behind her. She turned to see Punk's friend, another regular stray who had not been as friendly as Punk and previously would not come when called. Now he followed my daughter home. Luckily, he stayed outside the apartment complex gate.

Who knows what the torn floor and door frame will cost. (Or what the apartment manager is going to say.) There is a more valuable lesson here. For my daughter, it is listen when Mom tells you that something won't work. For me, it is listen to someone who cares deeply about those who can't take care of themselves. And hope she's there to take care of her Mom and Dad when they are old and sick.