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Dramatic Ocean Rescue of Goldendoodle at Hilton Head Island

July 08, 2019 • Rescue • Most Popular • by Guest Writer

THE PERILOUS PELICAN PURSUIT      

               Kay Loveland, Ph.D.

Finally we have arrived for two glorious weeks of vacation at Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, and the stress and losses of the past weeks are sloughing off my body like old dry skin. The day is overcast but beautiful, and the beach with its wide expanse of firm sand beckons me with the promise of long walks with the dogs and hours of gazing out at the Atlantic Ocean. Only four weeks have passed since the death of my mother, preceded a few months earlier by the passing of my beloved Goldendoodle, Misha, and a year before that, the final good-by with my 100- year old father. I am weary, sad, and fragile, but the promise of relaxation at the beach with my boyfriend Patrick, my best friend Tam, my 7- year old Goldendoodle, Rowan, my new puppy, Juniper, and Tam’s puppy, Olive, gives me hope that things will certainly get better.

 The first two days are filled with walks on the beach, watching the cute doodle puppies play, rest, and reading. On the third day, my friend Tam and I head to the beach with the puppies and Rowan, who loves nothing better than a romp on the sands. I have her on a sturdy leash and harness as she has a predilection to chase the birds, and I want to ensure her safety. I also have my almost ever-present camera around my neck to capture the adorable dog -on-the-beach moments. We slowly walk along the beach and suddenly Rowan snaps the leash out of my hand and runs into the water after a pelican. I shout for her to come back, but she has developed complete deafness to my voice. The pelican flies straight out into the ocean, and to my dismay, Rowan and the leash follow in rapid pursuit. I try but cannot catch up to her, and in moments she is quite far out in the water.

 

 

I run into the water which is frigid…about 55 degrees. I stand and scream,” Rowan, Rowan, Rowan, Come!” She is so far out that she either can’t hear me or is so intent on the bird that she doesn’t care to hear me. Soon she is so distant that her head bobbing in the water looks like a small ball. At this point I am almost certain that she is going to drown, and if she doesn’t drown, she will be eaten by the sharks that inhabit the waters of Hilton Head. I look at the gathering crowd on the shore and scream at the top of my voice, “Somebody do something! Somebody help! Please, please help!” A few people hold up their phones to let me know they have called 911. I stand in the water and notice that Rowan has stopped moving and I panic. I cannot bear to lose her, to lose one more being that is precious to me. I scream again at the standing crowd, “Somebody, please help. Do something!” Tears are coursing down my face and I feel panicked, helpless, and desperate.. 

 

 

 

They say that right before you die, all events of your life pass before you. In this case, the history of Rowan’s life play in a quick video in my mind. She was my late husband’s Bucket List ;the one and only item . One day I came into his room to check on him after his chemotherapy for Stomach Cancer and he announced that he had decided what he wanted before he died. “What is it, Bruce?” I asked. “I want my own Goldendoodle Puppy,” he announced. We already had two dogs, an elderly Cavalier and the dog of my heart, Misha, a Goldendoodle and my constant sidekick. My stomach sank at his request. I was already exhausted from the four years of taking care of him while he endured tortuous treatments for stomach cancer, and didn’t know how I could add one more responsibility. “ Honey,” I asked plaintively,. “Who is going to take care of the dog, feed the dog, train the dog, walk the dog, and take the dog to the vet?”. “Did I mention the words, Bucket List?” he smiled impishly, knowing that he held the trump card. The next day I drove 14 hours to Alabama to pick up the puppy he had selected and already purchased, stayed in a hotel, and drove back the next day, even though with the effects of my Multiple Sclerosis, my driving had previously been limited to a maximum of two hours at a time.

The epic journey. It was worth it. Bruce cried from happiness when I put the red fluffy puppy in his arms  for the first time He named the puppy Rowan. In the Norse Tradition, the rowan was a sacred tree that saved the god Thor from a furious river. Thor was about to be swept away and drowned when the rowan reached down with its branches and pulled him out of the water. In the Celtic lore it was said that walking sticks and magicians staves were made out of rowan, especially the druids’staff. The name seemed apt as Bruce certainly needed some magic in his life at that point in time.

Taking care of her was just as much trouble as I thought, but she took naps with him, went on brief walks when he was able, and most of all, brought him joy. In just two months Bruce was in the hospital and then hospice, and she was on his bed providing puppy kisses and love. He died seven years ago, and I have never regretted the acquisition of this wonderful puppy, now grown dog, and she has provided me a link to him through love and companionship. For all the years that Bruce and I were married, we fell asleep holding hands. After his death, my hands were empty at night and I could not sleep until one night, a sweet red doodle crept up in bed beside me and placed her paw right in my hand, and we both slept that way every night for at least a year.

So now I stand in knee deep water looking out at my Rowan , my late husband’s Rowan, who is surely going to die. She is at least a half- mile from land and even though several worried people on shore have called for help, the Emergency Team has not arrived and no one is stepping forward to save her . I can’t blame them. Who would want to risk hypothermia in freezing waters and or the possibility of shark attack for a dog that they do not know? I can barely see her head bobbing in the waves, and she is not swimming towards shore.

I notice a couple on the shore holding a small boogie board in their arms. I yell, “Can I use that?” I run to the shore and grab the board. The man says, “Take your sweatshirt off or you will drown.” I rip it off and run into the water still wearing shoes and the rest of my clothes and begin to kick. I have great doubts that I will make it to Rowan, or make it in time. The water stings my legs. it is so cold, more frigid than any water I have experienced. I also know that my strength and endurance is greatly hampered by Multiple Sclerosis which I have had since I was 38., I am not young and I am not in great shape. I am 67, and have significant concerns that my efforts may be futile and even dangerous. However, I am determined that I am going to try. I cannot bear to lose her, so I kick and kick and kick some more.

My progress is way to slow!. I cannot paddle with my arms as the water is so icy cold that it seems imperative that I try to keep much of my body somewhat elevated on the small board, so I continue to kick, but realize that I am having trouble feeling my legs and my breathing is labored. I keep my eyes on Rowan and shout, “Hang on  Rowan, hang on, I am coming. Please, please  just hang on!” She is not moving and I see her disappear in the water and my heart sinks. I am sure that she has drowned or that the sharks have gotten to her. I keep kicking anyway because I don’t know what else to do, and in about five seconds her head reemerges. I have about a half of a football field left to get to her. “Rowan, Rowan, I am coming,” I scream. “Just a little longer. I will get you!” I kick as hard as I can and keep my eyes on her. Just as I am within arm’s reach, she goes under again. I reach under the water and catch the top of her harness in my hands and pull her head out of the water. She gasps for breath but does not move, then she coughs and gasps some more and looks at me with panic. Her fur is freezing cold she, so I get the boogie board back under me and pull her along kick by kick. I know that I am not going to make it if she can’t help by swimming some herself .I am too fatigued and she is too heavy . Am I going to have to let her go to save myself? I yell, “ Rowan, you have to swim. You have to swim!” I shake her by the collar and squeeze her chest, and miraculously, her legs move and she gasps and coughs up water. We start to make some progress towards shore, but the pace is not fast enough I am encumbered by her weight. I have been in the water too long, and she had been in for ten minutes longer, so I knew our time is limited. Unfortunately, we then encounter a Rip Tide, which takes us sideways and further impedes our progress. I remember not to fight against the tide, so we float sideways, and then somehow, miraculously, we are able to go forward again.

I am running out of energy and cannot continue to drag her along beside me so, I position myself behind her, give her a big push, then kick to make progress. We continue this way for about ten minutes, then she starts to swim more on her own and eventually she swims ahead of me towards shore. I am so tired and my body is starting to give out, and my legs do not want to move. I can see people on the shore and the EMT truck has arrived and I am hoping that someone will come out to rescue us and take us in the rest of the way, but no one approaches the water. Rowan notices that I am not near her any more and she circles back and starts to swim beside me. I grab her collar and she provides just enough motivation and forward movement to keep me going. In about ten more minutes we are close enough to shore that I attempt to touch the ground with my feet, but I can’t really feel anything,. I stumble out of the water and my legs give way, and three women are there to hold me up, and someone is there to start rubbing Rowan with a towel. I am crying uncontrollably, and the crowd is clapping, calling me a Hero. I can hardly feel the bottom half of my body and the women cover me with towels and tell me that everything is OK, and the EMT people come get me and take me to their truck where they warm me by turning on the heater full blast, check for hypothermia, take my vitals, and tell me I should go to the hospital.

All I want is to get back to the house with Rowan and get in a warm bath. I look for her but she is nowhere around. The EMT’s insist that I take off all the wet clothes and wrap in a dry sheet. They say my vitals are remarkably normal other than a high heart rate, and want to know if I am some sort of long distance swimmer. They also ask if I know that sharks inhabit the waters where we had been, my age, and do I realize that the temperature of the water is 55 degrees and that I might have severe hypothermia? I am not shivering, and am able to answer their questions. I  see them raise their eyebrows when I tell them my age. All want is to check on Rowan and then to get back to the rental house to take a warm shower and to warm up my dog. They still want me to go to the hospital, but I refuse and sign a form that releases them from liability.

At that point, I see a red streak running across the sand approaching the EMT truck, and soon after a sweet Goldendoodle Rowan Face is jumping up and down at the truck window trying to get to me. The EMT’s open the door and all 60 pounds of her jump into my lap and a very cold tongue licks my very cold face. It was then that I knew that we were going to be all right .We had saved each other. I ask the EMT responders to drive us back to the rental house and they do. They come in and recheck my vitals and then drive away.

Now, a day later, I can hardly believe all of this actually happened. It seems so much like a dream,  a horrible, traumatic dream, and a dream with a wonderful ending. What I don’t understand, is how I, a 67 year old woman, already exhausted from loss, managed to swim out , way out into the ocean, in spite of possible sharks and very cold water, and rescue my Goldendoodle, Rowan. Determination? Past athletic experience and muscle memory? Adrenaline?  Or was there some sort of energy or spirit of someone who loved us both looking down on us and saying,” Kay, you can do it. Rowan , hold on, Kay needs you? I am swimming with you. I am watching over you. Neither of you is alone.”  I choose to believe that someone, or maybe several someones, who love us both so very much were there swimming with us, watching us, holding us, urging us on to the shore. We were not alone.

PostScript.

Today Patrick and I are walking on the beach with Juni, the puppy, and the infamous Rowan the Pelican Pursuer. She is tethered to Patrick with a sturdy leash which is then wrapped around his waste with an extender. We are enjoying a lovely walk, albeit with heightened alertness for possible bird sightings, when a woman comes up to Patrick and I spot them talking with great animation. Patrick waves me over and she tells me that she had been on the shore the day of the Rowan Rescue, and was one of the two women who called 911. I immediately hug her…not because the EMT’s saved the day, but because she cared enough to help, and she stayed on shore with her eyes on me and Rowan the entire time. She told me that the Australian couple with the boogie board had actually run into their house to get the board when they saw that Rowan was in trouble. Tam had told me that the man had considered going into the water himself to rescue Rowan, but his wife had talked him out of the Rescue attempt. She said that everyone on shore was pulling for us and calling out encouragement, and were watching closely to make sure that both I and Rowan were all right.

I realize even more that I was not alone that day. People on the shore were with me and Rowan, watching out for us, there if we needed them. All -in-all, I feel very lucky that everything turned out so well, and I just keep reminding myself that Rowan and I saved each other, and that we are both fine.

She is presently on beach restriction.

 

                                                           Kay Loveland, PH.D.

                                                               828 989 2122

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