Camp Fire Volunteer Will Never Be The Same

CHICO, CA -- It struck me when Wags and Whiskers Pet Rescue Adoption Counselor Stacy Penn said: "I don't think I'll ever have another camp fire again."

I knew her life, and mine in a different way, would never be the same. Her Paradise home was lost, with her purse and phone reduced to ash there.

"I had to get out," she said, remembering how embers were blowing in the garage. "This was the craziest thing I've ever seen."

Indeed, the Camp Fire of Butte County is now fully contained, but not before consuming 153,336 acres, killing 85 people, displacing hundreds and marring the psyches of those in its path.

The first place Penn found refuge was her office at the pet rescue in downtown Chico on Pillsbury Road.

"It's a distraction," she said, with tears in her eyes. There's a signature look to Camp Fire survivors -- one of resilience and surrender mixed with sadness yet refusal to be beaten.

She had 12 dogs and six puppies in her care (four her own), so there was no time to grab anything else. The animals came first. This is a common reaction for many survivors.

Her colleague, Jessica Alvarez, wasn't so lucky. She was also fostering 10 kittens, but she was at work in Oroville and tried desperately to make it home to Paradise to no avail. She still has that common, reoccurring thought when she wakes up from a sporadic night's rest: "Was that a dream? And then I realize I'm not in my bed."

Tears welled up in Alvarez's eyes. She sought refuge at the pet rescue alongside Penn. She's helping others have the joy of sharing their lives with a pet.

Alissa Warren appreciates that.

Her dog died in August and wanted a playmate for her other canine, Lola. Tabitha took the call.

"I was drawn to her. I opened the gate, and she jumped on me. I said: 'Ok, you're it,'" the Phoenix-area resident said.

Warren drove from a family member's house she was visiting in Lodi to answer the call to adopt. The rescue center blitzed the weekend with specials to prompt pet lovers to take one home from the overflowing office. Wags and Whiskers spays and neuters. To find it, I just had to roll the window down and hear the dogs barking.

Volunteer Susie Smith was cradling Stitch, a Lab mix. She had planned on walking her, but "she's scared," she said. Smith helps out on occasion by walking the dogs.

That admission gave me an aha moment. I took three out.

Appropriately named, Patch — a pitbull — actually took me for a walk. He was eager to get out of the cage. Hilton, a mid-sized mutt, was quite a sniffer. He gave me a glance, as if he were escaping.

Avalon was afraid. The minute we walked out of the shop, her tail went between her legs. I held and petted her and whispered it would be ok. She's a mama, and what was left of her babies not adopted yet were inside. I sensed she needed to be with them.

Much of volunteering requires being in tune, watching for signals from survivors and just being there so they're not alone. This applies to both two- and four-legged creatures.

And there were many survivors of California's deadliest, most destructive wildfire. Jan Neale of the North Valley Animal Disaster group said the shelters collectively took in 2,200 animals — domestic and wild - as a result of this catastrophic inferno.

The Humane Society Silicon Valley waged an all-out effort to get people to adopt, adopt, adopt. That's the message, as all types of critters have been found roaming Butte County.

The animal world connects with people at the Butte County Fairgrounds.

The fairgrounds consists of acre upon acre of two shelters I volunteered for. One building houses people in rows of cots. Others opted to stay outside in their recreational vehicles, cars and tents. The large animals were penned outside in either crates or stalls. It was like going to the fair. Horses, goats, chickens, roosters, pigs and donkeys lined the paths. One donkey took a keen interest in me walking by and called out. I petted him.

My job was to make sure they had enough food and water.

At the shelter for people, the American Red Cross was tasked with making sure people were comfortable and got what they needed. Donations were brought in by the truckloads. I helped the Trinity Church of Sacramento bring in a loaded-up flat-bed dolly full of Dearfoam slippers.

A National Guard reserve knelt down next to a cot to tend to a woman's burned hand. The intimacy made me feel the shelter was doing good.

I instantly befriended a San Jose group of a few families who decided to deliver hundreds of tarps and sleeping bags. The people living out in the tents accepted them with such grace. I was moved.

The family, a group led by Hai Minh from San Jose and included some from Sacramento, decided to use Facebook to take up a collection from their friends. They hit all three shelters with $10,000 worth of 360 gift cards and 153 sleeping bags.

I felt there was hope in the world.

I helped Kelsey and the American Red Cross string lights for some resemblance of joy in the season. But the main thing survivors were most receptive to was to be heard. They wanted someone to hear their plight. Then, I knew for sure it's the little things in life that count. I'd been in the burn area earlier, so I sensed what they witnessed.

This meant listening as Gretchen told me her harrowing story of leaving without her dogs. She was staying in her truck when another one pulled up with crates in back. Her babies were delivered. She cried.

Then, I went back to my hotel that night to find refuge myself and did something I have never done before on assignment. I cried.

See also

Camp Fire Claims Second Sunnyvale Native Home

Camp Fire Out, But Paradise Into History Books Even After Drill

--Images courtesy of Sue Wood, Patch