Oogy's Story
Oogy - The Third Twin
When our dog Oogy was about ten weeks old and weighed 20 pounds he was tied to a stake and used as bait for a Pit Bull. The left side of his face including most of his ear was torn off. He was bitten so hard a piece of his lower jaw was crushed. Afterward, he was thrown into a cage and left to bleed to death. He was found by police when they raided the facility and taken to an emergency service operating out of Ardmore Animal Hospital, in a suburb of Philadelphia. There, Diane Klein, the Office’s Director of Operations, simply refused to allow the dog to die. Dr. James Bianco, the head of the hospital, operated for several hours to staunch the bleeding, replace the lost blood, and suture the gaping meat that Oogy’s face had become. With the help of everyone on the staff somehow, beyond any calculation of the odds, Oogy survived.
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...my sons Noah and Dan and I took our 17 year old cat Buzz to AAH for what would be his final visit. The staff had just gathered Buzz in when this pup on a leash came trotting out from the back of the hospital where the doctoring gets done, ready to go for a walk outside. He exuded such joy that he seemed to shimmer and dance. He was pure white except for the left side of his face, which was swollen, raw pink scar tissue, as though it had melted. His right ear was flopped over the top of his head; the left ear was a jagged stump a thumb’s width high. You would not put on what he looked like for Halloween. He was as smooth as butter and covered us with kisses. We fell instantly in love with him.
Life goes out one door and comes in another. As Noah said not long after Oogy came home: “I really feel bad about what happened to Oogy, but if it hadn’t of happened he wouldn’t be here.”
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When we are out and about it is difficult for people not to notice a large white dog with one ear. As people hear the story of what happened, they can’t help but be taken in by Oogy’s dignity and serenity. The word “sweet” is used to describe him more than any other. A simple truth is that everyone –everyone- who meets Oogy falls in love with him. I have often wondered what it is about Mr. Happy Dog that that resonates with people. To a certain extent, each has his or her own connection. Some see in him the survivor they see in themselves, an indomitable spirit in the face of adversity. Others, emotionally damaged, who yet hope still to be loved, see another kind of optimism. Some appreciate the second chance he has had, just as they hope that they will get theirs. But there is a common element, too, and it took me a very long time to realize that what appeals to everyone is that Oogy is living proof that what we all know is lurking out there, the awful unexplainable, the tragic loss, the seemingly insurmountable occurrence, can be survived with love and grace intact, and that there can be happiness on the other side of horror.
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On a recent Saturday afternoon Oogy was curled up on the couch asleep, his head in my lap, and I was thinking about how his life is now, as opposed to the way his life had been before: daily acts of unspeakable violence for no comprehensible reason until the ultimate, searing horror. Had he sensed he was dying as he lay in the bloody puddle of his life disappearing? Was he conscious when the police put him on a rubber sheet and took him to the hospital? He could not have comprehended the significance of the siren wailing the journey as his head was beaten with hammers. Oogy went to sleep in a world consumed by terror and pain and awoke surrounded by angels in white coats who put out the fire in his head, who were kind to him, who stroked him gently and talked softly to him. Instead of people who tortured him, he was surrounded with love and kindness and healing mercies.
I realized then that Oogy probably did not know that he had not died and gone to heaven. So I told him. I said, “Listen pal. You’re may not believe me, but it only gets better after this.”
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