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KANAB, Utah — Red rock. Blue sky. Cats and dogs, horses and bunnies —
creatures once homeless, abused, injured or abandoned — bask in the
splendor of Utah's Canyon Country, the home of Best Friends Animal
Sanctuary.
Such is the sight that greets me this spring Sunday (my birthday, in
fact) the first of four days my friend Claudia Dannettell and I will spend
volunteering at Best Friends. We are among more than 4,000 animal lovers who
come here each year from all over the world, using precious vacation time
doing what we love: petting, brushing and tending to animals. The sanctuary
is home to 1,500 dogs, cats, horses, burros, birds, farm and wild animals,
so there's no shortage of critters needing our attention.
Occupying 33,000 acres in Angel Canyon, the sanctuary is operated by Best
Friends Animal Society, an organization that works with shelters, rescue
groups and about 250,000 members throughout the country, and sometimes
beyond, to further its mission: No more homeless pets.
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When we arrive, Anne Richardson, our spirited orientation guide,
takes us by van to Dogtown and Dogtown Heights, two clusters of canine
facilities where official "greeter dogs" — Gina, Marietta and
Blue among them — descend on us with noisy fanfare. We stop to pet them
and to admire the roomy indoor/outdoor runs and landscaped walks that
accommodate dogs of every ability. Richardson explains just how much Best
Friends has come to rely on volunteers like us.
"Volunteers are key in socializing the dogs, playing with them,
walking them and getting them ready to go to new homes," she says. The
staff spends most of its day scrubbing the indoor areas, handling the
twice-daily feedings for some 500 dogs (many with special dietary needs) and
washing mountains of doggy beds and food bowls. And, of course, supervising
volunteers.
Best Friends was founded in 1984 by a group of "best friends,"
including current president Michael Mountain. Its annual operating budget is
around $17 million per year. Volunteers come on their own dime; there are
new cottages on the grounds that rent for $125 a night, and other onsite
accommodations. The closest major airport is Las Vegas, a four-hour drive
from the facility. Claudia and I stayed at a cheap motel a few miles away
from the ranch.
We motor on through canyons dotted with pastures, where horses graze in
groups of two or three. There usually are about 25 horses here, all of which
are available for adoption.
Our van passes the center's veterinary clinic, where a staff of three
full-time vets, six technicians and veterinary students attends to the needs
of every animal at Best Friends, from initial evaluations to neutering
(mandatory) to surgeries. This is a no-kill shelter, and only those animals
in incurable pain are euthanized.
The bumpy ride continues. Along the way, Richardson points out other
habitats: the aviary, the rabbit "retreat," Horse Haven. We stop
at Angel's Rest, a burial park where small gravestones, each labeled with an
animal's name, spread out before us in neat rows.
We finally arrive at the TLC Cat Club. Hundreds of cats peer at us from
covered enclosures radiating from stucco buildings like spokes from a wheel:
cats posing like Egyptian statues atop lookout posts, nestling in
fleece-lined beds and on miniature couches, engaging in friendly wrestling
matches, lounging in the rafters above.
Richardson singles out Rajah, a striking 8-year-old Bengal, shamelessly
soliciting strokes from every human in sight. Originally semi-feral, Rajah
has been transformed into a loving pet. In fact, he is scheduled to go home
with his new owner, a volunteer who lives nearby.
"Cats all the way"
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For volunteers, the work day is divided into morning and afternoon shifts,
each spent in an animal area chosen by the volunteer. Lunch, $4 and all-vegan,
is from noon to 1. Claudia and I return to the TLC Cat Club for the rest of
the day. Tomorrow, she will work at Dogtown Heights in the morning and Horse
Haven in the afternoon. For me, it's cats all the way.
Bonkers, the orange tabby "greeter" inside the cat
headquarters, is napping on the job when we arrive to sign in. We wander
over to the building called Morgaine's, which houses the youngest and
healthiest: the most adoptable cats. Most animals at Best Friends are
available for adoption, though special-needs animals are harder to place.
(Some do luck out, though; see accompanying story on Seattle's own Milo, who
found his home through Best Friends.)
Afternoons are a laid-back time for volunteers, devoted to
"socializing" cats. Equipped with brushes provided in the lobby,
Claudia and I plant ourselves in rooms filled with bright-eyed, beautiful,
energetic felines.
And here they come: Sebastian, Higgins, Cowboy, Cupcake, Vivian, Clark,
Jack. Others abandon their outdoor perches as word spreads that two
cat-crazy women have arrived to spoil them. One jumps into my lap, another
nuzzles her out and takes her place, and then another. Purring, meowing
critters surround me, all vying for a few moments of precious human contact.
And all of them get it.
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Lynne Madrigal of Seattle
recently spent a vacation volunteering at Best Friends, an
animal shelter in Utah. Here, she enjoys one reward for her
hard work, playing with Honey Bear, left, and Max.
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Two of the vast indoor/outdoor runs here are dedicated to
cats with feline leukemia, which is contagious to other
cats; another is for those with the FIV virus, also
contagious; yet another is known as the
Incontinental Suite (which doesn't smell particularly bad, by the way). I
head over there, brush in hand.
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Two hours streak by, and it is 5 p.m., the end of the work day. We head
back to our motel.
The next morning, I report for duty to the cat headquarters. I am
assigned to Benton's House, another building for ailing cats, those with
kidney disease, skin cancer and other illnesses.
There's hard work to be done here: Floors and tables, windowsills and
colorful cubbyholes ascending the walls must be thoroughly cleaned and
disinfected. The vast outside enclosure needs sweeping.
During break, I meet two other volunteers: Mary and Karen, both from
Pittsburgh, both spending part of their vacations as well. "I want to
be a part of helping the animals," Karen says. "This place is an
inspiration."
After lunch, I ask at headquarters which cats are least visited by guests
and volunteers. They send me to Mondrian's, home of the feral and semi-feral
population, intermixed with some "friendlies."
Many of the dozens of cats there are afraid to approach, but others
cautiously inch toward me, lured by the brush in my hand. Photos of every
cat are posted on the wall, so I am able to address each by name as I groom
and cuddle more than 20 needy cats.
Outside, a group of caretaker employees gathers on a break, telling us
how happy they are that we are there.
"Volunteers are our bread and butter," says staffer Cathie
Toops. Brooke Hodges chimes in, "We don't always have time for
the loving and brushing part that volunteers provide."
Later, I visit Jill's Diner, where there are rooms for elderly and
diabetic cats, and cats with FIV. At every turn, angel-faced beauties clamor
for lap space. I spend the rest of the day here.
When I meet up with Claudia, we trade stories. She walked 12 dogs in the
morning, and in the afternoon she groomed a 26-year-old horse named Angel
and met gelding Dee, who, at 44, is the elder statesman of Horse Haven.
The critter connection
It is Wednesday, and I have time to chat with Faith Maloney, sanctuary and
animal-care director, and the president, Mountain.
Maloney tells stories of volunteers who return year after year, and
singles out Tom Kirshbaum, a music professor and orchestra conductor from
Flagstaff, Ariz. Volunteers like Kirshbaum, Maloney says, "enable us to
add quality of life for our animals here. They also notice things about the
animals that we don't."
She says she also has been in awe of the bond between volunteers and the
less-than-perfect residents: "The big surprise has been discovering how
many volunteers are more than willing, in fact eager, to care for
special-needs animals."
Mountain believes the animals can give as much as they receive,
especially to the special-needs children who spend time here.
"When they come here, they are emotionally shut off," he says.
"Around the third day, one in the group will make a connection with one
of the animals, and they realize it's just like them. This gives the others
permission to open up."
Later, I revisit the cats I've met. It is my last afternoon here, a
bittersweet occasion, though I already have decided to return next year.
Toward the end of the day, I see Ciera Barnes, a staff caretaker.
She is walking the handsome Bengal, Rajah, on a harness with a blue leash.
Her eyes are wet with tears.
"He's leaving Friday for his new home," Ciera says haltingly.
"He's my favorite cat," she says, because he is so active and
loving — and has a "huge" personality. "I'm really, really
happy for him, but I'm going to miss him so much."
I ask whether she prefers to be alone, but she says no. Together we sit
down on a ledge, watching Rajah explore the red dirt and desert brush around
him.
For me, this was the essence of the Best Friends experience: animal
lovers coming together to celebrate the lives of gentle creatures once
homeless, now lovingly embraced by one huge family.
www.bestfriends.org: Information
on Best Friends Animal Society, volunteering and staying at the sanctuary.
Lynne Madrigal runs a cat-sitting business in Seattle: www.lapofluxury.info;
e-mail: catcuddlers@yahoo.com
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Posted
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
on the Best Friends
website "Favorite Photos" section
Ever seen anyone so happy to be
nibbled on? Lynne, a visitor from Washington didn't mind a little
love nip from Gingerbread. After all, how many people can say
they've been nipped by a real Gingerbread Man?
Photo by Troy Snow. |
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