ANNA MONICA / L’Observateur / January 5, 2000

You know what the height of meanness is? It’s the person or persons who put a puppy in a bag and threw it out on the road in Garyville. My brother-in-law saw it while jogging and sent help back. You know what the heightof compassion is? It’s young Riverside student Blake Duhe, who went to get it and has been taking care of it ever since. It’s now a pretty puppy andmy nephew, Wayne Stein, says Blake is just another “Dr. Doolittle” with aspecial love for animals.

You know what the height of tolerance is? The little bird that flew around Delchamps for several months. They had managed to put it outside severaltimes, but it kept finding its way back in. When I first saw it I was sosurprised and thought I was the only one who knew. Then when I found aworker and told him, he smiled and said, yes, they knew, but the bird must like it there because they couldn’t keep it out. The bird’s favorite spot wasover the cold storage section near the deli, and everyone, including the bird, just went along their business. It was, however, very disappointingto me when I found out recently they had evicted the bird, and I didn’t really care to know how.

You know what the height of patience is? At the Belle Terre Golf Course, this man who makes his regular rounds in a golf cart each morning putting out water along the course and at the tennis court with this little dog following him. Without fail it follows him the entire way every day, andall of us thought that it was his pet. But it isn’t. The dog lives somewhereon the golf course and just accompanies the man. It makes a cute sight,though. The two get along very well.And, do you know what the height of cruelty is? The person who shot a helpless, non-edible little white egret. It is a sad story. It was woundedwhen I found it while jogging one day. It was trying to do what naturemeant it to do – fly. But it could not. In sympathy, I picked up the littlebird and took it home. Not knowing what to do I took it to my neighbor,Albert Oncale, who knows a lot about wildlife. Albert said the little birdhad been shot (in the wing) and probably would not be able to survive.

Not willing to accept this, I took it home anyhow, put it in a box and tried to get it to eat. It was so helpless. At work in New Orleans the next day Imade several calls, one to Wayne Norwood of the Sheriff’s Office for help and one to a local veterinarian. Wayne wasn’t in at that time (but did callme that evening and would have helped), and the vet’s office said it would help if I could get the bird there. I appreciated their compassion so much. It wasn’t possible, though. My sister, Cookie, was willing to go get it andtake the little bird to the vet but didn’t have a car that day. No one elsewas available. It was dead when I got home. I cried while burying it in myback yard.

Having a pet of your own, I believe, makes a person kinder and more compassionate toward all forms of animal life. As for the animals, I justfirmly believe that if you cannot help them, the least you could do is not hurt them.

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