Best Friends (24 page)

S
teven Hirano had approached the construction of Benton's House as a general on a campaign. He had meticulously kept their members informed of each step of the building process, updated the appeals, and tracked every dollar with John. Finally, as the first snows dusted the mesa, he made the announcement. “We have the funds to finish Benton's House.”

Diana and Judah slapped an ecstatic high five. Michael nodded sagely. The meeting room at The Village exploded in cheers. “What a wonderful Christmas present!” Jana exclaimed.

Benton's House would be finished the following April. If all went well, the grand opening would be May Day of 1995. Michael and Steven planned a very special newsletter inviting everyone to join them for the moving-in day party. Those who couldn't make the trip were encouraged to lift their glasses at 7:00
P.M.
Mountain Time—after the cats had enjoyed their afternoon treats, and just before they got tucked in for the night—in a toast to themselves, the members, without whom there would be no Best Friends.

Michael added a footnote: “If you can't manage 7:00
P.M.
, the kitties have a way of transcending time, so they'll just rearrange the temporal continuum to your convenience.”

 

Amazing things happen when you put something good in motion.

From the first of the year Estelle was getting letters of confirmation to attend Benton's party. Other members asked if they could come a few days early to help with any final chores.

Then there were the presents: toys, blankets, beds, kitty furniture, paint, drywall, fencing. One couple sent a package of Norwegian salmon with a note:

The weeks leading up to the grand opening were a frenzy of building and last minute preparations. Diana fretted when the washer/dryer wasn't delivered. Judah obsessed over the arrangement of the kitty furnishings. Paul's concentration was on the “Great Wall of Contributors.” He personally designed the golden plaques and lovingly set each one in its place. Virgil kept everyone laughing with his out-of-the-blue chants for help as in a ship going down—“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!”

A few days before
the
day, everyone calmed as, with loving care, the 100 less-than-perfect kitties were moved to their new quarters. In Benton's House, hizzoner the Chairpurrson would hold court in a playroom fitted with carpeted nooks and hiding places in Benton blue. Bruiser and Harriet would comfort their broods in a cozy, sunny space furnished with toys, kitty condos, and extra large easy-access window ledges on which to snooze.

Tomato, of course, couldn't make up his mind where he should live. Finally, he settled on a north-facing room, which filtered the light. This was the special haven for white cats, who needed protection from the sun because of their genetic disposition toward tumors and cancer. By a series of insistent meows, Tomato declared it to be perfect for his new office—after all, it came complete with a white-collar staff. Michael accordingly provided an ancient typewriter and a small table for the exclusive use of the magazine's favorite columnist.

With Benton's House, Best Friends also incorporated an idea raised by Jana de Peyer. “More people are asking if they can adopt special-needs animals,” she reported on more than one occasion after coming back from tabling.

Anne Mejia seconded her observation. “Me too.”

Michael knew exactly what Jana was saying. “People are always talking about the unconditional love of animals, but what you're seeing is the unconditional love of
people
for animals.”

“Exactly,” Jana exclaimed. “These folks aren't looking for the perfect pet. They want one they feel really needs them.”

Michael nodded. “I think this is just the beginning of something. And can anyone tell me why these little creatures shouldn't have a chance for a loving home of their own?”

Nobody could quarrel with that argument. So in Benton's House the less severely handicapped were given their own “adoptables” room.

From its opening, the response to the “adoptables” room astounded everyone. It pioneered a program that, in the years to come, would encourage thousands to offer homes to less-than-perfect members of many species.

For their willingness to try this radical new approach, Best Friends would receive widespread recognition as a refuge for the truly helpless. Their example would blaze a change of thinking throughout the whole animal movement: No creature should be lightly cast aside; all deserved a chance to live.

 

On May Day of 1995, it was time for celebration. Hundreds had written in to report that they were celebrating at home, and 150 people flew in from around the country for the festivities. Michael wasn't sure who had the better time: the members, who sensed they were part of something truly special, or the animals, who were outrageously spoiled and coddled all day long.

As dusk lengthened its shadows over Angel Canyon, the rush of the past weeks suddenly hit home, and a weary Michael felt the need to be alone for a while. Few noticed when he slipped away and steered his Jeep toward his own personal sanctuary.

The Englishman was in a reflective mood and almost dismissed the flash of color he caught out of the corner of his eye. He parked by the trailer and walked unbelieving toward the red dirt mound under which he had buried Sun.

The knoll was a profusion of multi-colored blossoms. How had he possibly missed them? Michael stared down at a carpet of golden aster, sego lily, mule's ears, Indian paintbrush, sweet clover, angel trumpet, and wild rose. He inhaled the sweet, heady fragrance of evening primrose. “Good grief,” he murmured wonderingly, “Sun's turned into flowers.”

Michael sat down beside the petaled grave, clasped his arms around his knees, and looked out over his kingdom. Sun was showing him that there was no finality to death. What was dog was now beautiful plants providing food for bees, hiding places for insects. What a splendid gift the Doberman was bestowing on his old playground.

He recalled Paul Eckhoff's suggestion only a few months earlier that they dedicate a memorial park near Angels Landing for themselves and their members. Cyrus Mejia had immediately designed a great domed gate eight feet high, wondrously adorned with rabbits, cats, dogs, birds, and lilies. The canyon's own red rocks would be laid one upon the other to fashion a wall to surround the sacred place.

They chose a flat, shaded plateau across from the horse field on the road to The Village to create their Angels Rest. Now, as he sat in the quiet of the fading afternoon, Michael imagined he could hear the faint cathedral music of its wind chimes echoing across the mesas.

Michael gently ruffled the delicate blossoms that honored Sun's place. The Doberman had been one of the first to come to Best Friends. It was only right that the canyon's most fragrant flowers should bloom on his grave. Slowly he eased to his feet.

“We'd better be careful when Benton passes over the Rainbow Bridge,” he murmured. “That cat will demand an Amazon rain forest to sprout in his honor, complete with parrots.”

G
regory Castle hurried along the corridor toward the Green Room, the holding area for guests booked on KSL television shows. He was slated to appear on the “Our Town” program in less than fifteen minutes. The anchor wanted to focus on the Festival of the Animals in Trolley Square, which was fine with Gregory. That's where the adoption fair was being held, and from all reports things were going well.

Actually, the soft-spoken man from Best Friends was quite enjoying himself. Gregory projected a natural ease and passion for his subject that was appealing to viewers. He was a popular guest, with hosts often asking for a return appearance.

Even more important for the success of Utah's Week for the Animals was his discovery of heretofore hidden diplomatic skills. The state was home to a dozen or so often-fractious animal welfare groups. With his bold new idea, Gregory managed to persuade them to reconcile their differences and work together for the common good. Then too, the response from the schools was more than they could have hoped for, thanks to Nathania's gift with children.

Above all, the weather was smiling on them, unlike last year, when the worst ice storm of the season all but scuttled the opening festivities. Only a few brave souls had turned out for the inaugural dinner last November. This year Best Friends had gotten smart and moved the event up to early October.

When he put it all together, Gregory was most pleased with the way things were progressing. He was so engrossed in his thoughts, he almost bumped into the gregarious young man who strolled out of a studio ahead of him. “Sorry, Nick.” He smiled an apology to Salt Lake City's popular news anchor.

Nick Toma flashed his famous elastic grin. “Didn't I just see you on a “Pet-of-the-Week” segment this morning?”

“Yes,” Gregory smiled. He had gotten to know many of the personalities around the NBC affiliate's studios in the past month. It was a big joke around the station that Gregory must have a secret camp in the basement. After all, how else could this man manage to pop up on television at least twice a day with such unruffled ease.

“Now let me guess.” Nick Toma pretended great concentration. “You're on in fifteen minutes with Shelley Osterloh?”

Gregory nodded happily. Raphael de Peyer's persistence had paid off. “You leave the bookings to me,” he had assured Gregory. “I'll have you doing three interviews a day before I'm finished.”

Raphael outdid himself when he arranged for Questar, the local gas utility, to promote a reduced-rate spay and neuter program. For twenty-one days leading up to Utah's Week for the Animals, Questar donated a sixty-second spot on NBC's coveted “Ten O'clock News.” Every night people were encouraged to call the Best Friends 800 number for a referral to a veterinarian in their area participating in the low-cost program.

“Tell your media guy he's all right. If he ever needs a job, I'm sure we could find a place for him,” Nick Toma assured him as he passed out of sight.

Media guy? Raphael would get a kick out of that tag. “Thanks, I'll pass it on,” Gregory called after the retreating newsman.

Forty-five minutes later the man from Best Friends was soothing two large dogs in the back of a taxi on its way to the KISN radio station. Three-legged Shamus wasn't much trouble. The shepherd mix had become comfortable with being fourth greeter in line after Amra's eagle-eyed approval and Rhonda and Cameron's trotting enforcement of the Sheriff's wishes.

The sweet dog had the most endearing habit of sitting with, as Faith described it, an “eyes 101” gaze that made visitors search frantically in their pockets or purses for any kind of treat to assuage the soulful plea.

Buster, on the other hand, was a rambunctious hound left behind by the Crams when they moved to town. Mary and Norm loved their pooch dearly, but Buster had lived all his life in the canyon, and he knew Best Friends. The galumphing creature would often disappear only to be found, long, pink tongue salivating, outside Octagon Three at feeding time. “I think he'd be happier with you all,” Norm Cram groused when the dog refused to leave.

Shamus, Gregory knew, would steal the hearts of Todd, Erin, and Fisher, the drive-time talk show hosts. Buster would probably provoke havoc. On the other hand, a little lively interaction might be just the ticket.

The three radio personalities were waiting when Gregory and company arrived. Buster took an immediate liking to attractive, strawberry-blonde Erin. The great hound placed two hairy paws on her shoulders and proceeded to demolish all traces of her makeup with his affectionate tongue. Erin melted. “No, no, it's all right,” she smiled when Gregory attempted to restrain the happy animal.

Host Todd was playing with Shamus. “Hey, boy. You don't know you've got only three legs, do you?” Shamus conferred his best “eyes 101” and lifted his front paw for a handshake. Todd broke up. “Did you train him to do this?”

“He's a natural born ham,” Gregory affirmed.

Erin wiped her face with a tissue. “We don't really need you, Gregory.” She grinned mischievously and winked at her co-hosts. “We planned to only interview the dogs. Of course, you can speak for them, but do you think they could sort of bark and growl or just drool on cue?”

Gregory was sure the dogs would articulate most any sound Erin asked. Buster, he could see, was totally in love. Shamus couldn't take his eyes off hip Todd with his dark hair to his waist and urban chic jeans and shirt. Gregory fished a liver cookie from his pocket. “Shamus will bay at the moon for you if you treat him right,” he smiled, handing over Shamus's bribe.

Fisher shook his head laughing. “Five seconds to air time. Let's do it, guys.”

A side bonus of Utah's Week for the Animals was the semi-load of dog bowls, blankets, pooper-scoopers, kitty toys, doggie gyms, and cat scratching furniture contributed from all over; and the soaps, disinfectants, cleaning products, and incredible forty tons of cat litter donated by Huish Detergents, Inc.

In every issue of the magazine, Michael and Steven found room to feature other animal organizations that needed assistance. When lady luck smiled on Best Friends with such an abundance of goodies, it was only natural they share the wealth.

Michael would always remember the devout Catholic couple who ran a lovely little sanctuary outside Santa Fe. They drove twelve hours in a pickup, trailer attached, to load up with supplies. “You have no idea how much this helps,” they repeated again and again along with their novenas.

All in all, Gregory pronounced Utah's Week for the Animals the best thing he had ever initiated.