The Dogs Were Rescued (And So Was I) by Teresa J. Rhyne Read Free Book Online

hated that she had to. And, no surprise, I loved those beagles. Appalled by what I was hearing, I listened intently to the plight of these poor dogs. Shannon lifted Comet from Vanessa’s lap and picked up one of his floppy ears. She showed us inside, where a long number had been tattooed.
    “This is the federal ID number that was given to Comet. This is as close to a name as he had until we rescued him in December. Bogart has a similar tattoo. And do you notice how quiet Comet is?”
    I had noticed. Neither Comet nor Bogart made a noise—in stark contrast to the steady AAARRRRROOOOOOOOO coming from a certain beagle at the hors d’oeuvres table.
    “They don’t howl because the labs have the beagles debarked—a cruel practice of cutting the vocal cords,” Shannon said.
    I cringed. A beagle’s howl is intrinsic to a beagle. I couldn’t imagine Seamus without his signature howl. It had been one of the first things I’d noticed about him. Well before I had even seen him in his kennel at the shelter, I had heard him. My neighbors could have done without his howl, but that was beside the point. Beagles howl. It’s their thing.
    I watched Bogart, cuddled in Kelle’s lap, content and calm, and Comet, now returned to Vanessa’s lap, leaning far into her and resting his head on her chest.
    “The reason beagles are used in the research is not just because of their size, short hair, and good nature, but precisely because they are so trusting and forgiving. The labs use those very characteristics against them to subject them to a shortened lifetime of cruel testing. There are seventy thousand beagles in labs across America being tested on every year.”
    Seventy thousand. Beagles.
    I was stunned.
    I knew then I wanted to help—needed to help. I instantly thought about adopting one of these dogs and glanced over at that sweet-faced Comet who still needed a home. But this wasn’t the time. Seamus was an only-dog kind of dog. He’d shown no interest in sharing his time and total dominion of our household with any other dog. Maybe one day, after Seamus was gone, I’d look at adopting a Beagle Freedom Project dog. But that wasn’t a day I wanted to think about just then. I filed the thought away. It was my turn to address the audience.
    I handed Seamus’s leash to our friend Todd, aka “the beagle whisperer.” He and his wife, Tiffany, have six beagles, and Todd can magically make them all behave. (And Seamus was in many ways the equivalent of six beagles.) I walked to the front of the room.
    “Well, you may have all noticed that Seamus looks a little different than he does on the cover of the book,” I said. And I saw several people nodding, though no one had mentioned it during the wine tasting.
    “Seamus had another bout of cancer last year. And this time it was an eye melanoma. He had one surgery last December—a month I hate, as many of you know—but unfortunately the tumor grew back, and in September we had to have the eye removed.” I could hear the crowd wince and say “ooh,” and I could see the sympathetic faces. I’d gotten used to that in our cancer years. I knew Seamus, though, and he was not a dog who needed or expected sympathy. He’d adapted to his circumstances immediately and seemed to inherently understand that this was something he could use to his advantage. More treats!
    “But as you can see, it hasn’t slowed him down. And it definitely hasn’t affected his appetite.” At this the audience laughed. Seamus had a legendary appetite—an inescapable fact that everyone present had learned early in the event when he’d knocked over more than one plate and quickly gobbled up the spoils.
    “And he is cancer-free at this point. Luckily, eye melanomas very rarely spread to other parts of the body. So, Seamus, in his Seamus-esque way, has just added this permanent wink to his repertoire of cuteness.”
    Seamus howled on cue, as he was wont to do in these events. And, likewise on cue, another