22,000 Acts of Lovingkindness
What it takes to save a life.
Jenny pointed to an orange, 5-gallon bucket from Home Depot filled with sudsy water, a pair of Peeps-purple rubber gloves, two tattered washcloths, and a mound of 50 animals carriers teetering in a stack from floor to ceiling.
“Welcome to Leech Lake Legacy,” she chuckled through her double mask. From a distance of six feet away, she began to show me the process to clean and sanitize last week’s carriers used in transport. I sloshed a washcloth through the water, squeezed tightly as bubbles oozed, and steadied my knees at the entrance to an extra-large dog crate. As they say, “there’s no way but through.” I plunged inside, picking and scrubbing the dried bits of food and feces from some nervous pooch. One down. Forty-nine to go.
Fifty carries complete, it was time to move to the cat kennels. Forty stainless steel boxes of various configurations from one square to three comprised the cat care area. I grabbed my bucket and began scrubbing and rubbing and wiping and picking. I’d dance a little jig each time I turned a “dirty” card on the front to “clean.” The process became downright heavenly as I arranged fluffy blankets and towels and tidy litter boxes in each shiny compartment.
Six hours from start to bed, I was exhausted but buoyed by my contribution. “I got this,” I said as I tucked into the crisp, clean sheets of the new casino hotel for a much needed rest.
At 6:45 a.m., I drove the half-mile journey to “HQ” – the short form for the headquarters in the former one-room movie theater. There were no cats to attend to and no new carriers to wash, so I busied myself folding mounds of laundry, sorting bins of linens, and cooing to the howling dogs who’d already been surrendered.
“Pace yourself, Cindy.” I heard Philip muffle from under his mask. “This day may get long.” He wasn’t wrong. Fifteen of thirty cats that had been saved from a house fire came in one car load. Fifteen, frightened, adult tabbies were hissing as they backed tightly against rickety carriers. I helped Philip wrangle the unruly crowd into the once-clean kennels. I no longer danced a jig.
We weren’t through settling the group when another car with a momma cat and seven kittens entered the parking lot. “Too many cats” was the reason for surrender. A car with three dogs and four puppies was followed by a van with two cats and four kittens. Too many animals. Lost housing. Lost job. The death of a parent. A new rental won’t allow pets. And so it went, until 67 cats and kittens were stuffed into the once-clean kennels and 26 dogs howled and barked a cacophony of anxious commentary.
Heidi and Chris fed and walked the dogs and fed and walked the dogs some more. I scooped litter and dry food and filled water bowls and metal dishes with mounds of gooey food. Over and over I checked each door to be sure it was secure before I turned my back to another task.
Fourteen hours after parking my car, I plopped heavily into the front seat for the short trip, now in the snow, to the casino. One would think exhaustion would have ushered me to a very distant land of nod.
At 12:14 a.m. I woke with a start. Had I secured each kennel before leaving? Had Heidi checked the dogs kennels to be sure they were closed? I tossed and turned myself and my dilemma like a marshmallow on a stick.
An eerie calm greeted me when I entered HQ. The door to the movie room, where the cats and dogs were housed, was closed. It had been open all Saturday. My heart raced as my pace quickened. Sure enough, two crafty cats had escaped. Their breakout captured on the security camera seven minutes after Philip had checked all the kennel doors and shut out the lights.
“They’ll turn up. They always do,” a reassuring Jenny said as she hustled from the movie room to the lobby. There was always a need to hustle. We had 93 animals to secure in carriers on vans for transport to shelter and rescue partners scattered across Minnesota and western Wisconsin. On this Sunday, in the bitter cold, volunteers and fosters would wait to shuttle cats and dogs from our vans to cars or from van to building on the next leg of their journey to a second chance at life.
I drove south four hours to home, walked my dog, hugged my husband, fell into my bed from exhaustion, and strangely vowed to do it again!
I don’t venture north every month, but week after week, month after month, year after year, Leech Lake Legacy and a host of volunteers gather to ease the suffering of reservation animals and the people who seek better for them. This year, Leech Lake Legacy celebrated 22,000 lives saved through all those acts of lovingkindness.
**The two cats were found before the transport vans left. They were curled together behind a bag of cat food on a storage shelf! New locks have been fashioned for all the dog and cat kennels since the great escape.
***Because of generous donations from supporters, Leech Lake Legacy has begun offering veterinary services to the community. Volunteer teams of veterinarians and vet technicians conduct wellness exams, give vaccines, clip toenails, remove porcupine quills, and alter (spay and neuter) cats and dogs.
There are 574 federally recognized tribal nations in the U.S. Only a handful have veterinary services which means very few animals and the people who love them have access to care. Got time? Got money? Please consider a donation of either in support of non-profits serving reservation communities and programs that empower the advancement of veterinary education and professions in Indigenous communities.
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Thank you for this wonderful article. Your writing really conveys the urgency for rescue work and support for Indigenous communities. Thank you for your service.
You do good work, important noble work. I am in no financial position to contribute now, but when I can I will.