Brown and white, the mixed-breed dog moved down the beach with a slight limp. But for an animal in the double digits of years, she had an agility about her — an almost gracefulness. The vet had tried to put her down during those bad days. There was no way that hip could be healed and he didn’t have the resources to save her. But an angel had rescued her. An angel from South Carolina. That angel named her for the hellish force that brought them together.
She was a dog named Katrina.
Unlike the storm, the four-legged Katrina was grateful for her human companion. The angel, Jenny McMillan, had volunteered with her church immediately after the hurricane. She gave up six months of her life to help total strangers. When asked why, she simply said, “This strip of land is where my faith came to life.”
So many had followed in Jenny McMillan’s footsteps. People from all across the country to help. Not for profit. Not for fame. Just because it was the right thing to do.
It was the worst of times. Yet, it was the best of times.
Three weeks after the storm, Jenny found the puppy near a washed-out homesite. The little dog was still standing near her dead mother and brothers and sisters. Hurricane Katrina was an indiscriminate killer of man and beast. But somehow this special dog had beat the odds. Jenny coaxed the puppy out with a piece of beef jerky. While standing in the shadow of the Friendship Oak, a lifelong bond was formed.
Now they were back. Jenny and Katrina had come back down for the 10th anniversary to see for themselves what progress had taken place. Both walked down the beach next to the now docile Mississippi Sound. Katrina barked at a sea gull and chased it down the beach. Jenny noted something different about the Gulf Coast now — there was the sound of bugs and birds. It was yet another sign that life was back. The storm was a force that assaulted all five senses. You could taste the storm. The smell would burn your nose. You could feel heat that would smother you. The sight of the destruction still burned in her mind. But the thing that stuck with Jenny immediately after the storm was the silence.
Death has a haunting silence to it.
But now, things were teeming. The very people who they had helped were welcoming them back for a 10th anniversary reunion. Jenny walked up to the crowd and recognized so many familiar faces. There were hugs and handshakes. Toasts were made and thanks was given. The group of volunteers and the Mississippians they helped broke bread by the sea. The very sea that had nearly destroyed them. The very sea that had brought them together.
As they watched the sun set off toward New Orleans, Katrina jumped up on a priest and barked. “You have grown since the last time I saw you,” he laughed.
After ten years of recovery, they all had.