Bart, The Cemetery Dog
An abandoned dog finds forever love
I crawled on my hands and knees on the wet, mushy grass of a Jewish cemetery in Northeast Philadelphia. I was dressed in government-issue camo pants and jacket, dragging a net with a long pole along the ground, hoping I’d be invisible to the stray dog we had been trying to capture for almost a year. My friend Jen hid behind a dumpster nearby, next to the cemetery fence.
Jen had named him Bart because St. Bart’s Catholic Church was just across the street from the huge cemetery that had been his home for almost two years and the occasional dumping ground for unwanted dogs. It was also Jen who asked for my help. Animal control had given up on Bart as had several other rescuers; Bart never allowed anyone close enough to grab him.
I am sure Bart had been a beautiful, adorable puppy, probably white although it was hard to tell now. His coat was filthy, almost black and so overgrown and matted, his eyes and face were completely covered by Rastafarian-like dreadlocks. How could he even see?
Bart slept on the other side of a large tombstone about 100 feet away, the ground indented by the shape of his body. I inched up, grateful that the darkness, the drenching rain and the noise of the traffic nearby concealed my approach. Luckily, we were downwind and that would mask our scent.
About halfway to the tombstone, I hugged the ground and wiggled along like a lizard, just like I had learned in the Coast Guard reserves boot camp, stopping every few feet to move the net quietly.
The rain seeped through my clothes and my short hair channeled the water onto my eyes and face. Why didn’t I bring a hat? I was soaked and shivering, but my heart was racing. This was the closest I had gotten to Bart and I was expecting him to bolt as he had every other time, but he had not moved yet.
Finally, I reached the tombstone. I held my breath and laid as still as the granite slab, not believing Bart had not heard me. Very slowly, I pulled myself up, sat against the stone to catch my breath and peeked around its side. He was still there, still sleeping. I had one shot. Before I could overthink it, I whipped the net around and dropped it over Bart.
Startled, he jerked, growled, snarled and thrashed against the net; a Tasmanian devil would have been impressed. I held on, struggling to keep the net tight against the ground so Bart could not escape.
I yelled for Jen to bring the heavy wool blanket and work gloves. She held the net while I pulled on the thick, bite-proof leather gloves. If Bart bit me before he was vaccinated, animal control could order he be euthanized.
We covered Bart with the blanket and wrapped it under the net’s rim. He was still fighting to free himself, but I could see he was getting tired. By the time Jen brought the crate and we wrangled Bart into it, still wrapped in the blanket, he had quieted down.
A 6’ iron fence wrapped around the massive cemetery; the only opening big enough to get the crate through was about 100 yards away. We were both very happy Bart was a small dog as we carried the crate to the opening and lifted Bart into my car.
I was drenched, muddy, cold and ecstatic. We had almost given up on Bart too, but now “the cemetery dog,” who had lived so long among the dead, was about to join the living.
It was almost midnight by the time we dropped Bart off at the emergency veterinary hospital. I went home to let my dogs out, got a shower, had a bite to eat and just as I was dozing off, the phone rang. It was the vet hospital, calling to let me know that Bart was ready to be picked up.
Bart had been shaved down, vaccinated and given a thorough physical. He had tested positive for Lyme disease — easily treated in dogs — but otherwise in perfect health.
By 5 AM, I was back home with Bart, who was now more than happy to nestle comfortably in my lap. He had gone to sleep the night before huddled up next to a tombstone, in the pouring rain, and now he slept on my bed, curled up next to me and my dogs.
There was one less abandoned dog in the city of brotherly love. It had been a very good night.
P.S. Bart was adopted by a wonderful family whose beloved dog had passed away not long before he was rescued from the cemetery. He made their loss a little easier to bear and lived the remainder of his life being spoiled and adored — as every dog deserves.
