Letter: When you realise that the community is special

Cliff Hatt of Zinkwazi has reason to be grateful:

This is a New Year story of a terrified dog and a community that cares.

So, where does one start? Well one starts at 8pm with fireworks on New Year’s Eve being exploded when the law says they shouldn’t be.

It starts with ignorant or stupid or worthless people who just don’t care.

And so, a petrified, traumatised dog runs for its life and doesn’t stop running until it just can’t run anymore.

And an old guy with just one companion loses the dearest thing to him – he loses the very lifeblood that courses through the veins of anyone who lives alone.

And the nightmarish thoughts of snares in forests set by evil or desperate people and beasts of prey and snakes and bush pigs and stones being thrown and the deafening roar and threat of vehicles on roads.

Along with thoughts of captivity and chains and beatings and dog-fights.

And the heart-breaking visions of a wide-eyed disorientated terror-stricken innocent companion coping with evils that mostly humans inflict.

But then you suddenly have a community that empathises and hurts with you and they care and love and drive on gravel roads and take chances searching in dark places.

They perhaps spend money on petrol they can’t afford or time they don’t really have or would prefer to share with family, or time they can’t really spare because their businesses only succeed with takings over holidays.

And people who come down for a desperately needed relaxing holiday yet still give of their time and people from overseas who don’t even know the community and complete strangers who don’t know you, yet participate. And a search party with 12 vehicles and 26 persons at the end of a hot day is very easily organised.

And the lady on the bus which brings various employees into the village each day who is only too happy to make sure that everyone on that bus knows ‘that little Jessie is missing and everyone must look out for her’ – and you know that everyone will because they care.

And people who spend hours in uncomfortable heat wave weather and people who bring you sandwiches and something to drink and people who phone you and send their wishes when they can’t do anything themselves and people who do things on your behalf, sometimes without your even knowing, such as getting notices out or contacting the SPCA and other welfare groups and then those who spread the word and hand out leaflets and talk to people on the road or in houses as they scour the countryside calling and whistling for this ‘companion’ which some might not even have seen before.

And then people who offer you advice that you hadn’t thought of or a drone to help search, or do something for you without being asked or increase the reward because they care so much.

And even offer to pay for a future microchip in case you haven’t been able to afford it.

And the security guard who stands at the entrance to the village and knows your dog and knows your fear and gives you a thumbs up every time you head out and has a question every time you return but always reassuringly and sincerely says ‘Don’t worry – you will find her, Sir’.

And the same willingness and Ubuntu is found in the next little village you start searching in.

And finally, those people who pray the most earnest and sincere prayers because they’re not in a position to do anything else and perhaps don’t even realise that that is more important than everything else.

Thank you, God, for all of these people and your answer to prayers.

So, where does one end?

Well the desperation and heartache ends when your companion, this lifeblood of yours, is found without injury albeit exhausted and hungry and thirsty by a family holidaying on the south bank of the Tugela River who just happened to have noticed a lost pet notice in a club the night before and went to the trouble of loving an exhausted dog and following through to find the owner.

And the fears are gone and the nightmares stop and joy and love are restored and for the first time after four exhausting desperate days it becomes a happy new year.

And the security guard at the entrance to your village who is the first one to see your found companion, comes running to the car to says ‘I told you, Sir’ and he’s wearing a grin which is larger than yours if that is even possible.

So, one ends with the realisation that the community you live in and the communities around are incredibly special and a cut above other communities you’ve known.

And new bonds are forged and trusts established and first impressions altered and even lessons learned and just maybe this new year of 2020 is seen through different eyes by everyone.

But it really should end with all fireworks being banned and persons severely punished because it’s not so much about this story – which has a happy ending – it’s really about those who never find their companions again and live with those nightmares forever, and hearts that never stop aching because of that horrible unknown ending, if not death . . . all because some ignorant or stupid or worthless or selfish people just didn’t care.

A heartfelt thank you to all who went that extra mile for the love of a small lost dog – my little Jess whose legs can’t quite support her yet but who will soon start expending her boundless energy and wear a grin that’s wider than all of our grins – if that’s possible?

One is human through humanity to others. ‘Umuntu ngu muntu ngabantu’. 
– an Nguni expression

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