by E K Stapleton

Created on: January 27, 2009

Nothing grabs your attention like the cries of a baby in distress. Whether that baby happens to be outfitted in clothes or covered in fur really makes no difference, as the innocence and helplessness of that beautiful little being tug at your heart strings just the same. I was never more aware of this than on that frosty night at the end of October, when two furry little babies beckoned for my help.

An evening walk with my Coonhound, Buster, had been as uneventful as all the others preceding it, until Buster and his super sensitive sniffer picked up a scent. Figuring it was a squirrel, I thought I'd let him track it for a while. With nose to the ground and tail waving proudly, he lead me on quite an adventure, until we were within hearing range of the faintest, most woeful little cries I had ever heard. Before long Buster had zeroed in on a large bush, which was sheltering two beautiful kittens, about five weeks old. They were cold, shivering and huddled together. Their cries for help made it quite clear how afraid and alone they were. I tucked them inside my coat and headed home.

Getting a better look at them at home, and in the light, revealed they were skinny, filthy and crawling with fleas. The poor little things had been through enough trauma, and now I had to subject them to a bath. They tolerated the bath quite well, maybe because Buster was there to supervise the entire process. Once clean it was easy to see they had ear mites, one had an eye infection, and they both had discharge from the nose.

They had no idea how to eat on their own, so I used an eye dropper to provide them with kitten milk. With Buster as a role model, it didn't take them long to grasp the concept of eating. Unfortunately they were helping themselves to dog food. As Buster ate, they perched curiously on the edge of his dish, sometimes using a paw to fish out a piece of food to play with. As the days went on I began to introduce them to cat food, which they ate, but still retained their love for what could be found in Buster's dish.

A trip to the vet provided all the medication we needed to treat the ear mites, eye infection and upper respiratory infections. I was determined to nurse them until they were strong and healthy enough to find good homes for.

The next several weeks were a time of growing and learning, with Buster at their side. Whether playing or napping, the three of them could be found together. They quickly learned not to put up a fuss when a one hundred and thirty pound Coonhound decides to give you a bath, because like it or not it happened on a regular basis. He taught them how to get the lid up on the toilette, to enjoy a nice cool drink, and how to move the blinds to look out the window. There was just no end to their shenanigans. The three of them were inseparable.

I did manage to find a good, loving home for them, MINE. By the time they were good and healthy, I couldn't bare the thought of giving them up. I don't believe Buster would have permitted it anyway. He is so attached to them, and from the moment he found them under that bush I believe he thinks of them as his own. Not only did he rescue them, but he's nurtured, disciplined and loved them.

Since that fateful night, there's a lot more activity and antics in my home. It's hard to believe the beautiful cats that roar around are the same two helpless creatures, whose cries for help grabbed my attention that chilly evening. I just can't imagine a day without my "Three Amigos".

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