Brenda Lawrence is smiling this morning. At 67 years old, she has lived a life surrounded by creatures big and small, each one teaching her a lesson in kindness. Dogs and cats, deer and raccoons, squirrels and cattle—it doesn’t matter. To Brenda, every animal deserves a chance to thrive.
It was more than a month ago when Brenda first noticed the dog. She was driving near the Spouts Springs Bridge when her eyes caught a fragile figure below. The animal was all skin and bones, standing motionless, watching cars speed by as if waiting for someone to notice. Lost, lonely, and invisible to most, the dog became part of the roadside scenery.
But Brenda could not forget.
Others in the area had seen the dog too. “I saw it in early March,” recalled June Peppers, another animal lover from town. Word slowly spread about this emaciated dog lingering along U.S. Route 231. People left scraps of food, but the dog remained wary. “All sorts of people have been trying to corral it, but the dog has been skittish,” June explained.
For Brenda, ignoring the dog was impossible. One afternoon, while buying dog food at Dollar General, she casually mentioned her purpose to a man nearby. “That’s what I’m doing too,” he replied. A woman overheard and nodded—she had also been feeding the dog. What began as isolated gestures of kindness soon grew into a community effort. Strangers, bound by compassion, started showing up at the bridge with food, patience, and hope.
Brenda’s commitment was unwavering. “I would take a chair to the site and sit there for long stretches,” she said. “On weekends, I’d stay for hours, just waiting.” Slowly, the dog began to gain weight. But no matter how long Brenda sat or how gently she spoke, the dog would always retreat, slipping back into the shadows.
Finally, an idea surfaced: a trap. The Blount County Humane Society donated one, and volunteers placed it near the bridge on a Saturday evening. It was a risk—would the dog even approach?
The next morning was Memorial Day. Brenda, restless with worry, rose at 4:30 a.m. and drove to the bridge. When she arrived, her heart nearly burst. There, inside the trap, sat the dog. Not frantic. Not fearful. Just calm, as though relieved that someone had finally caught her.
Tears streamed down Brenda’s face. She knelt beside the crate and whispered words of comfort. “The dog was so gentle,” she recalled. Later that day, the volunteers gave her a bath, carefully pulling ticks from her fur. For the first time in a long time, the dog was safe.
They gave her a name—Bridget—a tribute to the bridge where she had waited for weeks, hoping for salvation. Bridget was taken to the vet, and soon after, Brenda welcomed her into her own home. There, she met her new companions, Ringo and Reese. Unlike the months of skittishness by the roadside, Bridget showed no fear now. She was quiet, sweet, and deeply grateful.
“She hasn’t made a peep,” Brenda said with a smile. And in that silence was a story more powerful than words.
Bridget will never again know hunger, fear, or loneliness. She has a home now, not just of walls and shelter, but of love.
This story is not just about Brenda. It is about June, Jeff Walden, Kathy Clements, Dr. Standridge at the Cleveland Animal Clinic, the Humane Society, and the many unnamed neighbors who stopped, who cared, and who refused to let Bridget fade away.
One dog, saved by a community of hearts.
And though Bridget herself remains silent, we can speak for her. Let’s give her, and those who made her rescue possible, a round of applause. May that sound carry to her gentle ears like music—assuring her that she is finally, truly, home.
