There’s a whole lotta four-legged good juju at Ron Kerrigan’s, who lives in a former Langley parson’s home which was moved to Clinton years ago.
He shares his home with old dogs—whose owners can no longer care for them, boards them for Dogs on Deployment, and houses them for friends who can’t keep dogs where they live.
On a sunny April 14 spring afternoon with his yard’s Japanese cherry tree in full blossom, I sat on Ron’s porch with Qehua, Loki, Qoqo and Fenrir, who were warming in the sun. Qoqo nosed my hand for ear scratches as I typed on my laptop until Ron spoke conversationally to her to let me type. As of this writing, Ron has five dogs staying with him—he’s had up to 10 at times—one of the newest is Qehua, whose tale of rescue brought me by to write this story.
Ron has kept a book, called the No More Dogs chronicle, “…which details all the dogs I’ve adopted (69 to date), fostered, boarded through Dogs On Deployment and had as guests when friends go to Hawaii and don’t think to take me along,” he wrote in an email. Dogs on Deployment is a non-profit providing a network of volunteers who care for the dogs while their owners are away serving our country. The numbered dogs do not include all the fosters and guest dogs, who are indicated by alphabet letters–all 26–and now he uses the Greek alphabet to document additional dogs.
Ron’s long-time friend Ela, winters in Maui, and volunteers at the Maui Humane Society walking dogs. Late last year Ela stopped by to walk a blind dog, only to discover the dog was being walked by a friend. But another dog waited for a walk. Ela took one look and felt it was the reincarnated spirit of her beloved dog Stella who was killed 30 years ago when Ela lived in Alaska.
In Maui, the dog’s name was Lehua Honey, and had arrived in bad shape at the shelter as a stray on Halloween. Despite her forlorn appearance, Lehua’s brown legs and muzzle, black head and back even looked like Ela’s dog Stella from the past.
“No fur around her eyes, or feet—huge swatches of fur gone—she looked pathetic,” Ela recalled. “It broke my heart. I’m like, I will take care of you. I told her I’d get her out of there. I called a friend who wanted a dog. They said they would fill out adoption papers. But, when I sent pictures they said ‘…no, that’s too much—I want a dog who won’t cost me vet bills.’ I said, OK you’re not getting this dog. I called Ron, and said what would you think about getting a dog for me? He thought about it. She could come.”
The shelter estimated the dog was 3-8 years old, and had given birth to a litter of pups in the past. Typically Ron doesn’t take dogs who are young, as he feels they might need more activity than his older dogs do.
“When she asked me to take her, I agreed, but on the stipulation that she would take care of the vet bills to get the dog in a healthy state,” Ron wrote in his dog chronicles, in which Qehua is #69. “She facilitated getting the dog from Hawaii to Washington, using Alaska Airlines… [Wings of Aloha] to get her to Sea-Tac Airport where another friend picked her up and brought her to me the following day and helped with introductions. She came with seven medications the shelter had provided, including eye drops and allergy pills. Going from tropical to wintry was probably a shock, and I went crazy and upped my thermostat to 58°.”
By the way, Ron likes renaming the dogs who stay with him, and since he likes the letter Q, he renamed the presumed shepherd/Kelpie mix Qehua, with Ela’s approval, though there’s no letter Q in the Hawaiian alphabet of 13 letters.
It was two months—and a return to Whidbey from Maui—before Ela saw Qehua again, and learned that her dog had an adjustment to make, after coming from the streets of Paia in Maui.
“She chewed up everything that smelled of fried chicken,” Ela said. “I don’t think she lived in a house before.”
“She was a chewer,” Ron added. “Books, remotes. Kept her out of the kitchen at first. I think she’s settled in. In any case, Qehua is one happy dog.”
Ron Kerrigan has homed, boarded and fostered dogs since 1960, first as a preteen with his first dog Lady, a spaniel mix, while he lived in the Bronx with his single mom and sister. “I don’t have many memories of Lady, but I think soon after she arrived we moved into another apartment in a ‘no dogs’ building, so Lady had to go,” Ron wrote in his chronicles book. “I remember being sad as I watched my mother’s friend walk her down the street. They gave me the age-old baloney about her going to a ranch in Montana, which even then, I knew was bull.”
By way of introduction to No More Dogs, Ron explains the title, which is the opposite of his world.
“First let me explain the title. It’s ironic and a little self-mocking, since I’ve said that many times over the years, sometimes shortly before I went out and adopted another dog or two. In recent years I have concentrated on adopting old dogs (as I say: working with dogs my own age), they often don’t have a long retirement with me. But the goal is to not have a senior dog die in a shelter.”
One of Ron’s great dogs was Wizard, 18 months old and deaf when brought to a shelter with his mother on Whidbey. Although his mother was adopted right away, Wizard remained for another year and a half at the shelter. Ron was volunteering at the shelter and wanted to walk Wizard, but was told, “he’ll hurt you,” by a staff member. “She was right, but not in the physical way she meant,” Ron wrote in his dog chronicles. “It hurt me to see him not get the attention he deserved.” Ron adopted Wizard in 2007 and was with him 12 years before he passed on.
Wizard became friends with Mia—who Ron later named Skookum—Chinook for awesome—who joined his canine family in 2015. Mia belonged to Ela at the time, and her new husband was allergic to cats and dogs, and Mia at first slept in the couple’s garage. Ron and Ela had known each other for years, having had booths at the Bayview Farmer’s Market. When Ela traveled with her husband, Mia stayed at Ron’s. And found love.
Mia found a boyfriend in one of Ron’s dogs, Nebuchadnezzar, a senior pit bull mix—a “perfect antidote to the pit bull reputation,” according to Ron. Ela would stop by and pick up Wizard, Mia and Nebuchadnezzar—”named for a Babylon king, or a spaceship in the film Matrix—” and take the dogs to the beach. “She fell in love,” Ela recalled. “People say I’m crazy to believe that. She lived here and stayed four years instead of 4 months. I kept thinking she was going to die.”
Mia loved playing with her buddies, wading in the water and rolling in the sand—her version of arthritis therapy. She would start barking if the people she was with were talking about things she thought were boring, bringing the humans back to the present moment. She lived with Ron and his canine family for a little more than four years, outliving all the dogs of her pack when she first arrived. Her remains are buried next to her senior dog love, Nebuchadnezzar.
Ron’s old dog sanctuary is a unique kind of place where the dogs feel safe, are treated well, are cared for by a vet, fed special diets and go on regular walks in the enclosed forest behind his home. He was celebrated in the 2008 book “Hometown Heroes, A Celebration of Community Spirit on South Whidbey Island, Volume 2.”
Ela thought it was time to celebrate him once again.
“He deserves all the kudos he can get and he single-handedly turned Qehua’s health around in a short amount of time—12 weeks from malnourished and infections to what you saw,” Ela wrote in an email.
When I met Qehua, her coat was glossy and she appeared healthy. During the time I spoke with Ron and Ela, Qehua stretched out on the couch next to me, seemingly listening to the story that unfolded about her.
Ron asked Ela to take over Qehua’s care when it’s time for him to pass away.
My goal is not to drop dead with too many dogs,” Ron said. “I do have paperwork explaining what I want for each dog if I drop dead. It’s in my ‘If I die’ folder. Not that I’m maudlin. Something you’ve got to think about. I told Ela when I took Qehua—she’s her responsibility after I go.”
Want to know more? Contact Ron Kerrigan by this email: dogged@whidbey.com