Kellee Dog’s Story

We stood in the stillness of the winter night, calling out her name…”Did you hear that? Over there, did you here it?” Pointing across the dark ravine. We begin calling frantically, stopping every few seconds, listening intently. “That was her, that was her bark.” Minutes pass, then hours, it begins to rain. Nothing,..I lay awake aching for my sweet girl. Freezing rain tapping the window, a lone coyote calling at a distance. My mind racing between hope & loss. Please Lord don’t let her suffer.

That Sunday in January was unusually warm and dry for the Pacific NW. Spending my day off, pruning pear trees while the kids played nearby. My Kellee Girl always at my feet. She had joined our family at the age of 4.

I first saw her sweet, round yellow face via a local pure bred rescue website. I’ve always felt vulnerable without a dog around. It was still early in our grieving, having lost our beloved chocolate lab Kena to cancer, just one month prior. Our next pup had to be a gentle lab, the only breed I’ve ever known. With small kids in tow, we drove to meet this pup in person, currently taking up residence with a local foster.

Upon arriving, we found a sweet, skeptical chubby gal barking furiously with the deepest brown eyes I’d ever seen. Almost human I thought. I took her outside on the stairs, letting her smell me, while caressing her fluffy neck. Our speed date, led to her melting in my lap, looking up at me studying my every feature. So much kindness in those eyes. Welcoming to the kids, while offering only a low growl to my husband. “We are taking her home” I proclaimed. Having endured years of my impulsiveness, “What? Are you sure?” Kids right on cue, preverbial begging to back me up. My hubby, clearly outnumbered turning on his heels to pay the lady standing at the door. We collect her paperwork and load her into the car, snuggling between the kids smiling intently with those eyes. I believe that Kindred Spirits find each other, and today I had found mine. We had an instant indescribable connection. Her paperwork showed that she had been raised as a pup in Moses Lake with a woman and her daughter. Apparently the woman had become allergic…Cheers to Fate & Doggie Dander!

Our 100 year old farm sits back off the road. The orchards are separated from the main road by a large field, dotted with red animal sheds and two large veggie gardens. The entire property just under ten acres. Years fly by, kids grow like weeds (should have stopped watering them long ago). Too many animals to count, Kellee remained a constant, following me everywhere.

High up on the ladder pruning away, ever present, I hadn’t noticed her wandering the field toward the road. After emerging from the house for a short break, I realized she wasn’t with me. I search the orchard, briskly walking around the farm calling for her. As evening approached, I told my husband that something was wrong, we needed to go look for her. We searched well after dark, traversing the outer perimeter of the field, along the roadway, calling out for her. Still Nothing.

The next morning, we awake expecting to find her asleep on the porch. Still not home, she was officially a missing person. Subsequent days & nights were filled with hanging posters, visiting the humane society, calling microchip agencies, posting on lost pet social media pages, & leaving flyers in mailboxes. None of it made any sense. Was she injured, trapped? Did someone take her?

By day 3, neighbors had come out of their homes to join us in search of our sweet pup. We were so moved by the support. Making friends with all The Jones’s within a two mile radius. Hour after hour, day after day, into the night, the search continued on…

That evening, I received a call from a man who said he had seen our girl hit by a car several days earlier. He had been jogging with his own dog at the time. He described a speeding black jaguar sedan (only in Gig Harbor, insert eye roll). The distracted driver swerved, clipping her backend, as she sniffed the grass along the edge of our farm. Describing the exact location where the homesteader of our farm was killed in 1930 by a car speeding by from the old ferry landing. A dangerous corner indeed and not a place we frequent. In fact Kellee had never been up that far, what compelled her to go there? Hearing her yelp, he looked back to see her running down the field toward our home, figuring she would be okay. He had so much regret in his voice. We thanked him for stepping forward providing the clues we so desperately needed. The search turned more frantic, as we looked for an injured or possibly deceased pup. We had friends help us search along the creek in the thick forest behind our farm. Hoping to somehow sniff her out. Crawling under every bush, no stone unturned.

I sat in the moonlight filled window, eyes full of tears thumbing through photos of my sweet pup. She had been such an important part of our family for six years now. Heartbroken that we may never see her again. Photos of her sitting patiently while our toddler dumped cold soapy water over her head, playing dress up. Getting skunked on the trails of Montana. Forever coined our Smelly Kellee. So accepting of barn cats, goats, pigs, the endless fur & feathered over the years. Even tolerating the mean Muskovie duck who jumps on her back daily. Never snapping or harming a flea. Boarding the school bus at the end of our driveway to greet the kids. Wagging warmly to neighborhood farm stand friends.

Returning home from yet another night of canvassing the same areas multiple times, my level headed first responder turns to me, conviction on his face “You need to accept that she may not be coming home” “We can’t search for her forever”. I had blown off work, halting all professional & parenting commitments. The earth had literally stopped rotating. I replied filled with determination: “If YOU were lost, I would find You.”

The next day brought some hope. As we were tireless resuming our door to door canvasing with flyers in hand. We came upon a man on a ladder, pruning his apple trees. My son approached him “Have you seen this dog” dismounting the ladder he replied “Yes I’ve seen that dog” pointing to his neighbors yard “slept under that rodedendron the other night.” Chills ran through my body. She was alive! We began to frantically canvass the surrounding yards. Our eyes darting every which way. This area was homesteaded by Scandinavian settlers in the early 1900s. A vast patchwork of unique properties & small farms, irregular borders, long driveways, thick vegetation. The man (now affectionately named Apple Tree Phil) with his charming little house backing up to a wooded drop off, the ravine between our properties. A lost dog would clearly roam the neighborhood looking for food and water, not retreat into the forest, my mind reasoned. That bark we heard came from this direction. I knew it was her! Smothering my son in hugs & high fives. As darkness fell, I ran home and typed up a new flyer. Surely the Jones’s would want this new information. Hadn’t the earth stopped for everyone?

Morning was filled with delivering new flyers to mailboxes we had canvassed days earlier. That afternoon, I received a phone call from an unknown number. I quickly picked up. “Hello” a soft spoken male voice responded “You don’t know me, but I’m your neighbor just a few properties down, my name is Paul” Telling me that he had a dream. Self assurance in his voice. “Your dog is in the ravine behind your farm.” Insisting that we needed to look down near the creek. His dream was very clear and he has hunches about this sort of thing. I politely thanked the man, assuring him that we had been looking in the forest with no luck and hung up. I turned to my hubby, rolling my eyes “oh great here come the quacks.” Unphased, I continued my pursuit, pulling together a search party via social media for the next morning. Normally afraid of strangers, I found myself inviting anyone and everyone to my home to meet up. I was desperate to find my girl, I owed it to her.

Hubby & kids already gone for the day. I counted at least a dozen folks had shown up for the search. Always organizing my organization, I hand out google maps, dog treats, leashes, exchanged phone numbers & communication plans. We head out. I return to the area adjacent to Apple Tree Phil’s, just above the ridge overlooking the forest. Knocking door to door asking to search yards. Neighbors friendly & accommodating. As I look over the edge into the steep ravine, I see a man in a bright blue coat about 400 feet down holding a machete. I could not believe my eyes, no one goes down there. “Paul?” Peering up from the thicket “Yes” “What are you doing?” I hollered. “I’m looking for your dog” he yells back, echoing the ridge. It was that crazy guy with the dream. I question again “What should I do?” He replies “You just keep looking up there, I’m working down here”.

Not sure what to make of that. I head to a corner house at the end of the block. A man invites me in to meet his little sausage dogs and engage in neighborly chatter. Having been there far too long, I graciously cut him off, time wasting away. As I quickly retreat his porch, my phone rings. A familiar voice, “I found her, I found your dog” “Shes injured, your gonna need people to get her outta here” Shocked. I run to the edge of the ridge clutching my phone. What is up with this guy, my mind racing. “I can’t see you where are you?” I shouted “About 100 yards down from where you saw me last” his echo fainter now. I run along the ridge desperately looking down into the thicket, spotting his blue coat deeper into the ravine. “I can’t see her, show her to me” I cry. He shouts up “Your gonna have to trust me, she’s laying in the creek here at my feet”. I desperately yell for my friend, fingers trembling unable to operate my phone, tears streaming. I ask my friend to summon the others back to the farm. She helps me dial my husband currently training on Silcox Island. Elated screams follow that we found her and we need help, my hubby unable to leave his duty, he hangs up quickly to dispatch some off duty fire family.

Numerous cars fly down our dusty road, a neighbor responding to all the commotion. I run frantically toward the orchard to grab pruning tools, sending someone to the goat barn to fetch a dog crate. A retired firefighter friend grabs me by the shoulders “We need bedsheets” he says firmly. I send random strangers into my house to strip the beds. Pruning Tools! We will need lots and lots of tools, my brain fixated on one thing. Supplies in hand, we all march down the hill toward the ridge, several football fields in length. Reaching the edge, I call down for Paul. We can’t see him, but we hear his faint voice deep in the woods. I shout to the volunteers instructing them to follow me, the only safe way down. Muddy, wet slippery leaves cover the trail. I notice two goats falling into line, as if summoned to be part of the rescue. Someone must have let them out of their enclosure. What the hell ever, no time to worry about goats.

Several minutes hacking away at the thick vegetation along the hillside, we drop down to the creek bed, traversing along the wet hillside. I emerge around a corner and in front of me there is the man, small in stature, face & hands scratched up, his blue coat now covering Kellee. Her lifeless body laying immersed in the shallow creek. I run to them, calling her name. She looks up. Giving just one wag of her tail, laying her head back down, eyes closed. I drop to my knees hugging her, emotion overwhelms me. My sweet girl.

Paul summons the men to get busy. Retired Captain Kenny taking charge of the scene, checking my dogs vitals while instructing others to help tie sheets together. I notice complete strangers jumping in, shouting to one another. Everything moving in slow motion. One, two, three they lift my heavy girl and begin to walk straight up the cliff. Several strong men slipping on the steep slope, determined to get her out of this ravine. Unsure of how much time she has left, needing the quickest route possible. Each one sliding backward at every step with Kellee wrapped in her makeshift bedsheet gurney. Halfway up the hill still struggling, sizing up the impossible.

Suddenly out of nowhere, a young familiar firefighter appears at the top of the ridge. Bryson, a strapping mountain climber. Radiating with the morning sunlight, he looks like Thor encircled with an aura behind him. He slides down the hillside, scoops my dog up in his arms and climbs back up the hill. Exerting zero effort whatsoever. We all stand in awe. The men scattered along the hillside, still holding dinosaur bedsheets. Thorson Man continues marching with limp dog in his arms. Up the gradual slope he goes, past the pond, past the barn. Race walking the steep road that runs between the grapes & raspberry hill, all the way to the house. Several of us running along side, trying to keep up. Stupid goats still following. Kellee’s eyes still closed, looking very weak and in pain.

He gasps under heavy breathing “Call the emergency vet clinic on Durango Street, they can help her.” I open my hatchback. He lays her limp body inside, eyes still closed. One friend on phone with hospital, the other jumping in drivers seat. Through the crowd, I see our sweet niece Ellen with her little ones. She lives far north haven’t seen her in years, how is she here too? I glance at my watch, my kids buses are due any time. She offers to grab my kids & corral the ruminants. Reaching my hand out to Paul thanking him as we speed off to the vet, leaving all these known & unknowns at my house. Trust is a powerful thing, when you are desperate to save someone you love.

My first call after leaving the emergency hospital was to Paul, my mysterious hero. I just had to know the details that pushed this man to act in such a selfless way. He explained that he grew up in this area, spending his childhood playing in that gully and having come across a deceased dog trapped down there as a young boy. He admitted when seeing the first lost dog flyer, that he tossed it on the table, not giving it another thought. Upon seeing the 2nd one, he slipped into bed that night, awakened by a dog nudging him at his bedside. So real, that he said that he sat up, turned on his bedside lamp and asked his wife “Is there a dog in here?”. The next morning he awoke recalling his dream of seeing Kellee in the gully, the same dog vividly nudging his arm while he slept.

That’s when he made that call to me. Incredible. I was speechless. He said that he could tell by my demeanor that we wouldn’t be searching the ravine any further. So he decided to stay home from his busy engineering firm, bundled up, grabbed a machete and headed out. He described walking up to the southern edge of the ravine, peering down into that daunting dark canopy of blackberries and just walking in. Traversing along the creek, crawling his way through the thick brambles until he ultimately found her laying there, quietly dying in the creek alone.

Kellee spent her first night at the emergency hospital without us. Her injuries included broken ribs, punctured lungs, cracked bones around hips, legs & severe dehydration. The vets unsure of how she might respond to treatment those first 24 hours. Recapping the events with our kids who missed the rescue. My hubby also in his regretful absence, admitting he was the one who dispatched Bryson to the rescue.

Night falls, the house is quiet. I call the hospital every hour for updates. No news yet. As I sit in the dark with only the light of my laptop worried about my girl. Conversing with virtual friends on the lost pet social media page. At around 2am, one of the LVTs working the night shift posted a photo of my girl, letting me know she was giving her lots of love. Words cannot express how awesome that was to see my girl, tubes everywhere with her sweet dark eyes open. I was so thankful to that technician, to my community and to Paul. All these good humans showing up to help find her, many virtually following along this journey, providing encouragement, the local Tacoma News Tribune even putting her story on Sundays front page!

The next morning good news from the veterinarian, she is responding, but still critical the lungs the focus of their concern. I know deep down she will make it. She is a fighter. They prepare me for many days in the hospital ahead and that dreaded bill. All secondary, I beg to come see her. Allowing a short visit, we scramble into the recovery area whispering her name. There she is, her beautiful brown eyes wide open, she lights up as she sees us, gratitude in her face. Her family never gave up on her…

Fast forward several years, Kellee is now a 15 year old retiree, with severe arthritis throughout her body. Likely a result of the trauma from her accident. Her eyesight and hearing limited, back legs atrophy, floppy, but she continues to insist on following me around the farm. It takes her much longer to catch up, taking short rests along the way. Her breathing is labored, as I prepare my heavy heart that her days are growing shorter. She still has those sweet longing eyes, her face covered in warts. Spending her golden days alongside our newer chocolate pup Roxie, who takes care of grooming her ears, doing her best to keep that mean old duck away and deer out of the orchard.

We learned that when an animal is injured they will not respond to calling. They will often seek a cool water source downhill. Microchips help of course, but searching with eyes to the ground, rallying neighbors, and engaging social media is truly the best way to bring them home. We remain grateful to all our neighbors, friends, firefighters, Gig Harbor lost & found pets Facebook page and the veterinary hero’s at the BluePearl Tacoma Emergency Hospital. This experience changed my outlook on so many levels, instilling new found trust and faith in my fellow human beings. Reminding me never to give up hope…No amount of fresh eggs delivered weekly will ever repay our friend Paul for acting on a dream. ❤️

See TNT Kellee & Paul’s story here: https://www.thenewstribune.com/news/local/news-columns-blogs/larry-larue/article26289589.html