Dog Is My Copilot: Rescue Tales of Flying Dogs, Second Chances, and the Hero Who Might Live Next Door

by Patrick Regan

  Treatments are expensive—around $600 a month—and sometimes need to be continued for twelve months or more. Without help, says Murphy, “I’d be in way over my head.” But Sully’s spirit has won him a significant cheering section, and contributions have come in to ensure that he gets the antifungal treatments necessary to save his life—that is, to save his life again. One sponsor, who learned of Sully’s story on MBR’s Facebook page, donated $500 . . . then $500 more. A few months later, the man flew from Ohio just to meet his beneficiary. To date, the anonymous donor has paid nearly $5,000 for Sully’s medical treatments. There’s just something about this dog.

  “Sully’s story demonstrated the best and the worst that people can be toward animals. It’s an example of how caring, concerned people can take a suffering animal and turn its life around to bring joy to so many.”

  —Mike Gerdes, PNP pilot

  Sully is holding strong. The blastomycosis is stubborn and his immune system was left severely weakened by his long starvation. But the swelling is down in his leg. He still receives his medicine mixed into a peanut butter sandwich every morning. He still loves to romp and run with his canine housemates.

  Sully at home with his new forever family.

  Most important, he still has the support, love, and prayers of the many people he has touched since his weary, drawn body was handed over to astonished caregivers in the waning days of 2009. This boxer has so many in his corner.

  “People say I’m crazy to have taken this on,” says Stephanie Murphy, “but I’m not going to give up on Sully. Three of my dogs are rescued—they’ve already had somebody give up on them.”

  It’s been a long, tough fight, and there are still many rounds to go. But no one’s counting Sully out.

  Runt Triumphant

  NAME: McCloud

  BREED: Terrier mix

  AGE: Puppy

  TOTAL MILEAGE:

  509

  ROUTE:

  New Orleans, Louisiana–Lakeland, Florida

  The dogs of America’s Gulf Coast have had a rough run of years. Hurricane Katrina left thousands of pets stranded or abandoned as families fled New Orleans and surrounding communities. Households struggling for financial survival were forced to make heartbreaking decisions, and countless dogs and cats were surrendered to animal shelters already swelling past capacity. The Gulf of Mexico oil rig disaster of 2010 only compounded problems as further economic hardship stressed Gulf Coast communities.

  So when a cardboard box of wiggling weeks-old puppies was found alongside a busy street and turned into the St. John Parish Animal Shelter in LaPlace, Louisiana, in early September 2010, no one was terribly surprised—the litter joined the ever-growing ranks of the unclaimed. Animal abandonments like this were depressingly common in the parishes of Louisiana.

  Lucky for these pups, they were young and adorable. Shelter workers knew they had a good chance at adoption—especially if they were moved to a more urban shelter. Jacob Stroman, shelter director at the nearby Plaquemines Animal Welfare Society (PAWS), offered to take the pups at his facility. They were transferred, cleaned up, and vetted, and within a few weeks, all were adopted out.

  All except one.

  While conducting a preliminary examination on the animals, Dr. Marcia Riedel of Furry Friends Animal Hospital noticed an unusual swelling on the abdomen of one of the pups. She could tell immediately that he had a hernia and sent him to a different animal hospital for further tests.

  An ultrasound exam showed a thoracic wall hernia. The little dog’s sternum had never completely fused, resulting in a smaller than normal thoracic cavity and an underdeveloped diaphragm. The surgical expertise to fix such a condition simply didn’t exist locally, Dr. Riedel was told. “I was pretty disappointed,” she says. “But the clinic employees and I agreed to keep him and try to find a special home for him.” He might not live a full life, she knew, but she was determined to make the time he did have as happy as possible.

  Throughout his ordeal, the little pup remained spirited and scrappy with a strong appetite—in other words, full of life. Maybe he knew something his doctors didn’t, because though he’d been born with poor health, he did have very fortunate timing. At the very time he and his siblings were abandoned at the St. John shelter, final plans were coming together for a one-day intensive animal-rescue fly-in at nearby Lakefront Airport in New Orleans.

  Jacob Stroman, director of PAWS, had been informed about the upcoming “life-flight” to Florida and asked to select some of the shelter’s strays for transport. Suspecting that the little dog’s prospects for surgery might improve in Florida, he consulted Dr. Riedel.

  “I felt that it would be an excellent chance for him—if he could be accepted,” says Dr. Riedel. “Not many rescue groups are willing to accept a surgical special-needs puppy. But as there didn’t appear to be much, if any, chance of him being fixed here, we submitted him as a candidate.”

  Five hundred miles away, at the SPCA shelter in Lakeland, Florida, operations director Patt Glenn saw the little dog’s picture and read his story. “I could not get him out of my mind,” Glenn recalls. “I kept going back to him, not sure what to do, and then I thought, ‘Well, if they think he’s well enough to fly, then let’s try.’” In her head, she began compiling a list of people who she could ask for donations to pay for his surgery.

  Thus the little dog with the big medical problem joined the ranks of the lucky animals who would leave New Orleans on an autumn morning in 2010, bound for brighter futures.

  Dr. Riedel cried when she said good-bye to the dog. She also decided to give him a name. She christened him “McCloud,” taking the name from the 1986 movie Highlander. “It’s spelled differently in the movie, but the character played by Christopher Lambert lived forever. This dog needed a good, strong name to protect him through his hopefully anticipated surgery.”

  On September 18, 2010, McCloud was one of 171 dogs flown out of New Orleans Lakefront Airport—seventy-nine of which were bound for Florida. His pilot and crew—Todd and Mary Brooks—loaded McCloud into their Cessna 182 along with eight other dogs.

  Before departing, Stroman made them aware that they were carrying a special passenger.

  PNP volunteers Todd and Mary Brooks flew McCloud and eight other rescued dogs from New Orleans to Florida.

  “I vividly remember telling the pilots who were flying McCloud that he was born with a rare birth defect that they should know about,” recalls Stroman. “I didn’t want to scare them, but I felt that I had to tell them as his condition was pretty serious. I told them that there was a small chance that he could have problems with the excitement of the flight.”

  As it turns out, he needn’t have worried. “McCloud made the trip with no problems,” Mary Brooks reported in an online flight diary. “He slept the whole way.” She added, “He was a very loving dog. We hope that he finds very special parents.”

  After assisting with McCloud’s medical care in Florida, Dr. Dawn Morgan-Winter decided to take him home.

  One week later, and just twenty days after being discovered abandoned in a cardboard box in Louisiana, McCloud underwent surgery to reconstruct his thoracic cavity and diaphragm at Veterinary Healthcare Associates (VHA) in Winter Haven, Florida. VHA veterinarian Dr. Alister Chapnick performed the complicated surgery at no cost. Scrappy little McCloud sailed through with no complications. His prognosis for a long, normal life is excellent.

  If McCloud’s story ended here, it would end happy enough, but this tale of redemption gets even better. While still recovering from surgery at VHA, McCloud caught the eye of another doctor making her rounds. Dr. Dawn Morgan-Winter fell hard for the scruffy little dog. When he was released from the hospital a few days later, she officially adopted him.

  Receiving the update on McCloud back at his shelter in Plaquemines Parish, Louisiana, Jacob Stroman had to take a moment in the midst of a typically hectic day to process what had just transpired.

  “I just found out the good
news,” he e-mailed the collection of partisans that had all played a role in giving McCloud an unlikely second chance. “I am absolutely dumbfounded and blown away,” he wrote. “We hoped for an appropriate home for McCloud, but holy smokes—this is just plain unbelievable!”

  “I really believe there was a reason for all of us to be touched by McCloud. There were too many obstacles he overcame, and so many people believing in him along the way not to.”

  —Patt Glenn, operations director, Lakeland SPCA, Lakeland, Florida

  Up in the Air with Uncle Jim

  If you ask Tennessee-based pilot Jim Carney to share a few of his favorite rescue flight stories, you’d best pull up a chair and get comfortable. Carney has flown hundreds of animals to safety since his first Pilots N Paws flight in the spring of 2009—around two hundred in the year 2010 alone—and he finds something to love about almost all of them.

  That love shines through in the photographs he shoots during every mission. “Most of my pictures of my dog passengers are taken in-flight,” says Carney. “That way I can record their expressions of flying. You can get some really unique shots.” One of his favorites is of a very pregnant Doberman lying serenely on his plane’s backseat. Just a few days after that flight, the dog gave birth to nine pups. That timely transport earned him the nickname “Uncle Jim” from a group of Doberman rescuers.

  “Posed pictures on the ground always look the same. I like to capture the dogs’ expressions while flying.”

  Carney can conjure up stories from dozens of his rescue flights—little details about the canine passengers or the ground-based volunteers who he contends do most of the “real” work. His memory is assisted by scrapbooks filled with flight records and at least a few photos from every flight.

  Like virtually all pilots who volunteer with PNP, Carney has the twin passions requisite for the job: “I love animals and I love flying airplanes,” he says. “So Pilots N Paws was a natural. After retiring as a 747 captain for Northwest Airlines in 2004, I realized that aviation had been very good to me,” says Carney. “I knew it was payback time.” Carney credits PNP with giving him extra incentive to get back up in the air.

  Carney’s rescue flights have taken him as far afield as California, but his bread and butter is regional flights—generally east and northeast from Tennessee. Whenever prudent, he likes his passengers to ride in the backseat—unkenneled but tethered to the seat frame by a leash. “That way they can’t jump up and help me fly the airplane . . . which happened once,” he says, teasing in yet another in-flight tale. “But it turned out all right.” With the plane’s autopilot on, Carney relishes every opportunity to interact with his passengers. “I’ve always got my arm back there petting them,” he says. “It makes me feel so good to look back and watch them. I do feel they know something good will come out of what is happening to them, as if they have a soul.

  “When you’re helping a dog get to a new home, you are also helping the new or soon-to-be adoptive family get their new pet—it becomes a win-win. A life saved, happiness gained. I can’t think of a better reward for helping.”

  Pilot Sam Gets a Few Pointers

  NAME: “The Wild Bunch”

  BREED: German shorthaired pointers

  AGE: Assorted

  TOTAL MILEAGE:

  1,039

  ROUTE:

  Leavenworth, Kansas–Sioux Falls, South Dakota

  Sioux Falls, South Dakota–Eureka, Kansas

  Eureka, Kansas–Roanoke, Texas

  Shortly after flying his first rescue mission for Pilots N Paws in the spring of 2009, Kansas City–based pilot Sam Taylor had an idea. He shopped around online and found a small decal sticker—a silhouette of a dog. He stuck it to the side of his plane to commemorate the successful mission. One dog, one sticker.

  Sam Taylor applies another decal.

  The stickers started adding up quickly in the months that followed. Row after row of dog silhouettes were added to the side of his 1964 Piper Cherokee as Sam’s name quickly became known to transport coordinators looking to move dogs through the middle of the country.

  There’s a story behind every sticker on Taylor’s plane. One of Sam’s favorites is best told in his own words:

  I saw a call for moving five German shorthaired pointer dogs from Sioux Falls, South Dakota, southward on the Pilots N Paws Web site. I had never moved five adult uncrated dogs at one time before, but I figured I could fit them all in if I removed the rear seat of my plane. So I made the modifications and contacted the rescue coordinator and headed out, curious to see how they would all fit and how they’d get along.

  On the ground in Sioux Falls, the rescue staff began escorting the five GSPs to me. They looked like very nice dogs. I figured I’d put them in the rear of the plane and in about two hours I’d transfer them to the next two pilots taking them on to Texas. I secured their leashes to tie-downs I had in the floorboards, which enabled them to stand and walk around a bit, but not interfere with me as I flew the plane.

  The dogs were all brought aboard without incident. I started the engine and taxied to the active runway. I took off and then leveled off at a VFR [visual flight rules] cruising altitude.

  A brief moment of calm during an action-packed flight. (Note dog slobber on pilot’s shoulder.)

  One dog in particular began to become agitated. He looked around as if to say, “What the heck’s going on here?” and began to bark. Others arose to the beckoning, and I could see things were beginning to get out of control. I grabbed the unruly dog by the collar and yelled, “Knock it off!” It seemed to work for a while. Then I noticed the dogs began to drool. This normally is an indication that the dogs are getting airsick. Soon they were vomiting and then defecating. Not a pleasant experience when you’re in an enclosed compartment a few thousand feet above the ground with little ability to vent the air.

  There is a commonly held rule among rescue animal transport people that you do not feed or water a rescue animal on the day it is being transported. Unfortunately, this totally contradicts one of our established American cultural courtesies. When guests leave your home, the last thing you do is give them a big meal. Most of the time, that’s a nice gesture; with rescue animals, not so much. Apparently this rescue did not know about the “Do not feed” protocol, and I was paying the price.

  With the somewhat loose leashes the five dogs were able to walk around and step in the vomit and in the poop and then on me. In short order—and with a couple of flight hours still to go—I was quite noticeably “marked” as belonging to this group.

  One friendly dog, through no fault of her own a member of this unruly group, came to me as I was flying and put her head on my shoulder. I snapped a photo of her and that photo has become one of my favorites. The poor dog had a look of, “What is going to happen to us?” These dogs had just come out of a rough situation, and most certainly had no idea where they were going, so I understood her worried look.

  Eureka, Kansas (sorry, Eurekans), is in the middle of nowhere. It was our predestined rendezvous airport because it was on the route and had good fuel prices. I landed and was looking forward to passing these dogs on, getting rid of the stench, and washing up. After taxiing off the runway and onto the ramp, I opened the door on my Piper Cherokee. One of the dogs, unbeknownst to me, had gotten out of her harness and was cleverly waiting at the rear of the plane for her chance to bolt. When the door opened, out she went. She jumped off the wing, darted off the ramp, paralleled the runway for a couple hundred feet, then veered off onto the prairie.

  I quickly unbuckled my seat belt and ran after her. Looming in the back of my mind was the admittedly selfish thought “There goes my perfect record of having never lost an animal in transit.”

  I called for her, pleaded for her to return, and offered her treats and water, but she would have none of it. Then the airport manager, Larry Dutton, came out on a noisy riding lawn mower and asked me if I needed any help. I explained the situation and pointed to the little shr
inking brown-and-white dot off in the distance. He looked in the direction of the dog and then at me and said, “I’ll go get her.” I went back to the plane and untied the remaining dogs and brought them out of the plane and tied them to a post in a shaded area. Then I went into the airport manager’s office to cool down and to begin the process of exchanging the animals with the next pilots.

  Next thing I knew, here’s the dog resting on the lawn mower as the manager drives—clankety-clank—into the ramp area. All I could do was say, “Thank you for keeping my record of never losing a dog intact.” Apparently the dog had a strong desire to run to its freedom, but just did not have the strength. When Larry had gotten to her, she was lying down and panting and put up no resistance as he gently lifted her onto the mower.

  She was too tired to walk, so I carried her into a small enclosed area of the hangar next to the manager’s office. I laid her on the floor and gave her a bowl of water and left her there to rest. I went into the office and completed the paperwork for the exchange and then went to get her.

  She was gone. I quickly searched throughout the hangar. I was certain she had found a way out and had fled again, this time for good. There was quite a bit of machinery in the hangar so I began looking under and behind things. There she was, lying under some equipment. Poor dog just wanted to be left alone for a while, but she had to move on. Once she made it through this day, her life would greatly improve. I carried her to the next pilot.

  I gave her and another dog to John Watson, who had flown up out of Addison, Texas, and three to George Schwab, from Denton, Texas. We bid our farewells, then I located a bucket of warm, soapy water and began the task of cleaning out my airplane. Once the plane was clean, I washed up as best I could, and flew back to Kansas City.