Tales of the Last Post — Part 1

Quentin Copeland was one of the visitors during the Last Post's 20 anniversary celebration. Photos/Robin Gourd

In 2002 a unique Club Med for Cats observes its 20th anniversary. This beautiful riverfront retreat offers a unique retirement home for felines whose owners have made financial arrangements ahead of time.

But how did it all get started? A devoted animal lover and radio personality, Pegeen Fitzgerald, founded the Last Post Animal Sanctuary in 1982 on 37 acres in Falls Village, on the Housatonic River in the foothills of the Berkshires. The legal name on the title is the Vivisection Investigation League, Anti-Vivisection Society of New York, Inc. It's such a mouthful that "Lord Edward," as Pegeen called her spouse, suggested the Last Post, the designation of a Canadian military man's final assignment, as its popular, or non-legal name.

In 1989 she, alas, followed her partner and husband, Ed Fitzgerald, to that bourn from which no traveler returns. Pegeen's lawyer, Leonard S. Leaman, reported that she requested—on her deathbed—that her friends make sure her work did not die with her. I am also a dedicated animal lover and a one-time colleague of Pegeen, and I succeeded her as director of the Last Post.

The public is invited to visit this unusual Kingdom of the Cats any day of the year between the hours of 11 a.m. and 3 p.m.; the phone number is 860-824-0831. There are other animals besides cats, including two goats, two pigs, six rabbits and a few dogs. Because it is often the only animal welfare organization listed in the yellow pages, Last Post does a lot more than accept cats for a leisurely retirement.

Joshua Simon, a senior rabbinical student who will be ordained later this month, gives a blessing of the animals on May 11.

The following is a brief and random account of some recent activities.

Why Ramona Went South

Black with white feet and a white plume on her back, at eight weeks, there were few pigs to match the charm and aesthetic appeal of Ramona. She was found wandering around Highland Lake in the blue-collar, historic factory town of Winsted.

A phone call alerted us to her plight—no food or water for four days. A Last Post van was dispatched and Ramona soon joined our animal family. Linda Blumig, another animal lover who operates dog kennels and a canine boarding facility in East Brunswick, New Jersey, brought an oversized litter pan for a pig. This article of convenience made it possible for me to keep Ramona in the office.

As smart as she was beautiful, she caught on early that the white box in the corner had interesting contents. When I opened the refrigerator, she would dart over, and with her hard rubbery nose would try to get into it. I fought her off with a half-gallon plastic milk jug.

A few weeks after she joined us, I brought her over to the Sand Road Animal Hospital and proudly presented her to Dr. Mark Rosenberg (who is now practicing in Hurley, New York) for a checkup. "Oh, she is sweet," he agreed, and looked her over. Her black coat shone. Her white socks and white ruff on her back were a dazzling contrast. She was—and doubtless still is—a strikingly good-looking pig. "One of the larger breeds …" the vet rambled on, abstractedly.

"What?"

"Well, she's a Hampshire."

"How big will she get?"

"She'll go, say—600 pounds."

"But, she's so dainty, so small!"

"I betcha you were cute and small at eight weeks!" was the callous answer.

The upshot was that I had to make arrangements for Ramona. My beautiful darling joined a vegetarian group heading for the Pig Sanctuary in Charles Town, West Virginia.

PIGS, a Sanctuary, holds an annual vegetarian feast at Thanksgiving. I send donations regularly, and when last heard from, Ramona was part of a Hampshire herd. She's doing fine, but I sure miss her.

Oops!

The phone call came at night. "There's a dog in a bad situation," the caller said. "It's in a dirty place, and is neglected, maybe starving."

"Where?"

"Linden Street, Torrington."

If there were ever linden trees on Linden Street, there are apparently none now. It is a picturesque road, though, with houses stretching off into the distance. Some appear to be former company houses, three-story frames with porches, dating from the era when John Brown, the abolitionist, exhorted listeners to abolish slavery. One is regularly decorated with elves, snowmen, and Christmas ornaments, overflowing the narrow lawn down to the curb, from December 15 to January 30. Easter brings forth rabbits, eggs, garlands of purple and gold, and brightly colored straw baskets. The Register Citizen regularly notes this touching recognition of the seasons every year.

I headed over to the number Mrs. Luckinbill gave me and found a canine in a dingy asphalt-shingled doghouse, and took the unkempt beast in charge. "What you do?" inquired a voice from an upstairs window. I took the owner of the voice to be from Eastern Europe, possibly Croatia.

"I represent the state of Connecticut (I don't), and this animal has no rabies tag or even a license on him," I primly informed him. "Do you come from Zagreb?" I inquired.

After a puzzled grunt, an unshaved and confused-looking guy came downstairs. Suspenders lapped over a once-white T-shirt were holding up his workmen's style trousers. I handed him my card and left. That night the phone rang and a woman said, truthfully enough, "You took my dog!"

"Yes, madam, I did, and he is being given all his shots—including rabies. He is being altered and bathed and then we will return him to you."

"Are you paying?" the voice asked.

"Yes."

"I have a sister in Avon whose dog needs all this too, and there are two dogs down the block without shots. What about them? One is a Rottweiler."

"Well, the upshot was that all four received their shots and were altered. I like to think that at least we cut down a large future population of unwanted pups, even though Last Post was poorer by $600.

P.S. — It was the wrong dog! The right dog had been in the cellar of the house all the time. We dealt with that animal's problems later.

To be continued …