A Cat Fight Over Pets’ Peril After Katrina

I figured the first two or three people who scolded me might have overreacted. But now dozens and dozens of people have assured me I am a despicable human being for not saving a dog who swam toward my leaking rowboat in New Orleans.

Can all of them be wrong?

“You’re a jerk,” said a woman who called me Tuesday, and that was one of the nicer calls.

“HOW STUPID CAN YOU BE?” Lilia Davila asked in a snarling, barking e-mail.

Has she been talking to my wife?

“I think you are cruel, inhuman, heartless and stupid,” she went on, forgetting diabolical and conniving. “I am Spanish and love animals, but many Latin descedent [sic] people like you, maybe Mexican, do not like animals and mistreat them. I am sure you are one of them. You are disgusting.”

But I’ve reformed. That’s why I’m dedicating today’s column to Texas oil tycoon T. Boone Pickens, who is chartering jets for $50,000 to fly stranded pets to San Francisco, San Diego and Los Angeles. Riding with them “was an honor,” one two-legged passenger told The Times, because “they’re such heroes.”

Pickens, by the way, helped bankroll the campaign to smear John Kerry for his Swift Boat experience in Vietnam, so there’s no telling what he might say about my Slow Boat scandal in the Big Easy.

I better just come clean.

Yes, I was on a skiff in a flooded New Orleans neighborhood, traveling with a man who was shuttling food and other supplies to stranded residents. Just after we passed a human corpse, a dog that looked like a pit bull jumped off a wooden raft and swam toward us from about 50 feet away. It didn’t get far before it turned back. Maybe the dog realized the raft was a safer bet than our boat.

Here’s what went through my small mind and settled in my cold heart:

First, it seemed likely the dog would make it to a safe purchase. There were a lot of nearby porches and rooftops hosting pups. Second, official rescue boats in the area were better equipped than we were to help stranded pets. Third, I wasn’t anxious to have my hand chewed off.

Those are my lame excuses. I was so busy focusing on the human tragedy that I missed stories right under my nose. Take for instance the 150 dogs rescued from a pet hospital and evacuated on air-conditioned buses early in the crisis -- long before many of New Orleans’ human residents. If only I’d climbed aboard that bus to report on the challenges of their resettlement.

Instead, I’m facing the wrath of my readers.

“Your callous, heartless disregard for the most helpless of the victims of Katrina, our furry friends, shows you up for anything but the ... dog lover you profess to be,” wrote Alan Bent. “You, sir, are a louse and a hypocrite.”

You don’t know the worst of it, Alan. As an altar boy, I once got caught stealing hosts.

“If you are ever drowning in a body of contaminated water,” wrote Shawn Hollub, “you better hope to hell I’m not the one coming by in the boat.”

“If you can’t honor a living dog, cold and hungry and lonely and very frightened, you have no business ever telling anyone, anywhere, anything,” wrote Sandy Allen.

“SHAME ON STEVE LOPEZ,” wrote Mary Fekete. “I will never read your articles again. You are a disgrace to your profession.”

Alan was right. I am a louse and a hypocrite.

“People that will not assist a helpless animal caught in horrible conditions are in the same league with those who don’t help children or old people,” advised Molly MacDonald. “Help them all; we are all God’s creatures.”

Kumbaya, sister.

“God sent you a test,” wrote Timothy K. Haves, “something that would enable you to make good out of the situation and you failed.... I’m not sure how you are coping with this, probably finding it hard to look at your self in the mirror.”

It’s true, Timothy. I can’t look at myself. There is no mirror in the bar where I am drowning my sorrows.

“Not only will I never read your column again,” wrote Jutta White, “I am even thinking of switching newspapers and I have subscribed to the L.A. Times for 18 years!!!!!!!”

Give me another chance, Jutta. Your October subscription’s on me.

“If you had rescued that dog you would have been a hero in the eyes of hundreds if not thousands for a long time to come,” wrote Nancy Comeau.

When the next hurricane hits, Nancy (and Sophia and Timothy and Mary and Molly and the rest of you), I’ll be on the first plane headed into the eye of the storm, and I will risk life and limb, trample anyone in my path, and stop at nothing to save our furry friends, although I’ve got to tell you, I might leave the poodles until last.

Until then, I’ll be working as a flight attendant on T. Boone Pickens’ doggie charters, and I don’t care whether the canines are in coach or cargo. It’ll be first-class service for one and all.

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Reach the columnist at steve.lopez@latimes.com and read previous columns at latimes.com/lopez.