  |
|
The Last of the MohegansOne hot summer day while in the small town of Holland, Massachusetts, I waited at the hardware store cash register to purchase some items I needed to repair my summer home. Just in front of me was a woman who was purchasing roofing nails asking the attendant whether they would hold down tar paper. My curiousity rose when she stated that she was trying to make some repairs on the town's dog pound. I had lived in the town for over five years and never knew there was such a place. I introduced myself and asked where the dog pound was. She said that it was just around the corner behind the Highway Department Building. She further explained that she was the town's dog officer, but had very little money to provide for the dogs there and often brought leftovers from her house to feed them. She said her name was Christina and she would show me where the dog pound was, so I followed her. 
Just as she told me, there it was, the town dog pound. I must admit to you when I cast my eyes upon it I cringed. Barely standing in the middle of a sand pit without water or electricity, on a ninety degree day, stood a rickety leant-to type structure almost resembling that of what I know as a manger. In it were dogs barking and struggling for attention and asking to be free from what I considered Canine Hell. That summer my partner Linda and I, with the town's permission, brought food and materials in an attempt to improve the Holland Dog Pound. Linda, who has many friends in the building trades, convinced one of those talented people to build four new dog houses that were delivered one day in a truck. There was only one dog at that time sitting there, almost in a noble fashion, seemingly removed from his dilemma and greeting us as we placed the dog house into his cage. He quickly pounced upon it and sat on the top and watched us finish our task, almost looking down with his approval. 
Time had passed and it became late fall and this regal dog remained a resident for two months. Ironically, unlike most dogs, he didn't bark or complain but kept his composure. As time advanced the temperature started to drop below freezing and even though I knew dogs could survive in the colder temperatures I convinced the town's selectmen to shut down the dog pound for the winter. I also asked them if they would give me the dog so that I could bring him to the dog pound in Chicopee, Massachusetts. Having a dog already in my house I felt I had enough pets, but I felt the Control Center would give this dog an opportunity to have others view him, and possibly give him a home. I can remember while driving him to the facility this beautiful dog laid his head on my lap, almost conveying a sense of relief and gratitude for his rescue. After arriving at the facility, the clerk filling out the paperwork asked me what the dog's name was. I thought for a moment and blurted out "Mohegan". This name seemed logical because he represented the last dog coming out of the dog pound in Holland before it was shut down, so he truly was the last of the Mohegans. Something strange happened that moment when Mohegan was being led by a leash to the cages in the building. He looked back at me, stopped and looked in the eye, with almost confusion as if to say "You will be back for me?" Still believing that Mohegan could find a home I asked if I could advertise his existence and story to the public with the hopes of finding a new owner. The director of the shelter agreed. I wrote posters, put an ad in the paper and talked to friends to no avail. Weeks passed and Mohegan was still there. Finally, in almost an act of desperation I asked the director if Mohegan could appear on a television show during the news so that people would find it in their heart to adopt him. He did appear on television but was not adopted. Several days later the director of the Control Center called me with the decision that Mohegan was scheduled to be destroyed. She stated that he had developed kennel depression after many months of incarceration and would not even rise when someone would come and look in his cage. I asked how long he had and she told me he was scheduled to be destroyed within hours. Thinking back at this brave dog's struggle and the extraordinary effort to save him, I made a decision. I would adopt Mohegan rather than see him put down. Have you ever had the sense that you were part of an unrealized plan? Well, when Mohegan's eyes met mine coming into the lobby of the Control Center, I knew I'd been had! In his anxiety to move towards me this ninety pound dog knocked over papers, tables, chairs and even people (yes this same dog that was deemed depressed!). The clerk from behind the counter seeing the commotion declared to me and the others in attendance, "Looks like you have come for your dog." 
It has been more than five years now and Mohegan, who I jog with, eat with and at times talk to, has truly taught me the meaning of friendship and love. He has provided comfort, protection and companionship all without saying a word. Today Mohegan is one of two dogs plus a cat in my family. The act of adoption that saved Mohegan's life gave me enrichment and a new purpose for mine. I would help others like him find homes through adoption rather than see these wonderful animals arbitrarily destroyed. Now, as Paul Harvey would say, "you know the rest of the story". Adoption of this regal, self-assured dog expanded my view of love, affection and life. Dr. Stephen Dean Sadly, Mohegan passed in September of 2005 at the age of 15. Click here to read his Memorial Page. He will be missed. |
About Us |
