Preface

In late August 2005, Hurricane Katrina slammed into the Gulf Coast region, flattening towns and cities and turning New Orleans into an uninhabitable, toxic swamp. In the days immediately following, tens of thousands of pets were left stranded without food or water, their owners expecting to return to them in two or three days.

One week later, I volunteered to go to the region, and Best Friends Animal Society agreed, sending me down as an embedded reporter to write for its Web site and magazine. By early September, I was on the ground documenting the rescue effort.

As word spread, with footage of marooned animals airing each day around the world, those wanting to help flocked to the Gulf, in the same way that I was drawn to the area. Afterward, when I returned home, I was haunted by the stories of the pets and the particulars of their lives. As both a journalist and an animal lover, one who shares a home with rescued and fostered dogs, those stories struck a personal note. I felt lucky to have gone down to the region with a professional rescue group to witness the first massive animal roundup. And I wanted to put on paper what I’d seen.

Best Friends Animal Society was the first into the area—the first to arrive in boats to rescue animals from the floodwaters—and the last to leave. It was nearly nine months before the largest no-kill sanctuary in the United States, based on thirty-three thousand acres in Kanab, Utah, would pull out of the region, waiting until the last dogs and cats were either reunited with their people or placed in new homes. All told, Best Friends’ teams rescued roughly seven thousand pets. Between the various rescue groups, it is estimated that some fifteen thousand—possibly more—domestic animals were saved from the ruins.

The pets rescued by Best Friends were taken to a center erected on the grounds of the St. Francis Animal Sanctuary in Tylertown, Mississippi, ninety miles north of New Orleans. During the storm, the sanctuary lost its electricity because of the winds. A day after the storm, Best Friends arrived in the region. In less than a week, they had assembled a crew that brought in generators, fixed fencing, and repaired runs. They set up their own animal relief center—called Camp Tylertown—on the St. Francis property and began going into New Orleans each day to pluck animals from the water, rubble, and ensuing muck. At the end of each day the animals were taken to Camp Tylertown, where they were treated and cared for.

The rescue events that unfolded in the wreckage of Katrina were marked by the refugee pets’ tremendous will to live. Whatever the circumstances—in the water, on the streets, inside homes or locked schools—many animals ended up the winners, despite their needs being ignored because of an official order forbidding residents from evacuating with their companion pets.

A percentage of animals not only survived, but, in large part because of the love and care afforded to them by their two-legged friends, also moved on to live happy, healthy lives. New federal legislation means they will never again have to be abandoned during a crisis. Moreover, rescue groups will be behind the scenes at the next disaster, reminding officials of their commitment to the animals.

Although my enthusiasm for Best Friends Animal Society is evident throughout these pages, it does not discount the extraordinary efforts made by many other groups and individuals who did their part in making a difference in so many pets’ lives. And if I anthropomorphize the pet victims, that’s because it’s difficult to scientifically describe love.

The pets left behind have become symbols of the courageous spirit of those who endured the events that unfolded on the Gulf Coast. Events themselves can’t be courageous; people or animals can be. These are their stories, from my frontline vantage point and from the lens of photographer Clay Myers.