Live, Love, Bark
I keep telling myself that I want to write a book about the experiences I have had working/volunteering at the animal shelter and from my own animals. I finally sat down for a bit tonight after work to begin writing. This is definitely a rough draft, and I'm sure that the first chapter will be much longer once I start adding more info into it. Here is what I have so far. I had to stop for the night though. Enjoy.
My feet hit the ground when I have to get up during the dark mornings. Well, it is usually a furry, warm, grumbly ground. Grimm, my husband’s black labordor / chow / pittie mix, is similar to me in a way. He doesn’t agree with getting up when the sun itself isn’t even awake. Grimm usually just scoffs at the fact I had to make him get up. Then there’s Dublin and Morgan whom are both crate trained. Dublin, our Miniature Schnauzer, will snort until his crate is opened while Morgan, our Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever mix, waits patiently for her dad to open the door. Those two could care less if the sun is shining or not; as long as they are out of their crates and can see both my husband, Fred, and myself, then they’re golden. Buddy, the stubborn border collie mix, usually waddles in from the living room to see what all of the commotion is about.
That is our canine herd, or as we call them, our kids. Fred and I don’t have any children yet, so our furry four legged ones will do just fine. They require just as much work if not more as the homo sapien species. Anyway, when I have to get up in the darkness of the mornings, I was usually annoyed at the fact that I had to maneuver my way around four dogs, all different sizes with different personalities. When I get to the bathroom, one of our feline kids is sitting on the sink, purring at us. It’s usually Lilo, one of our orange tabbies. Bubba, our old man orange tabby, is curled up in my husband’s arms while Teardrop, our dilute tabby, is right under your feet. I feel like I’m going over an obstacle course just to get dressed. I put my grungy clothes on, crappy shoes and get into my car to head to work.
While I take my fifteen minute commute to work, I often have a slew of thoughts swimming through my mind. I wonder if I had any die on me overnight. Did anyone get dumped overnight in one of the yards? I wonder how scared he/she is today. Did anyone develop an illness overnight? Who’s getting close to be put on ‘the list’? Dammit, I forgot to medicate him before I left yesterday. Imagine that; there’s another one on the street, and we don’t have any space for her so do I keep driving or pick her up and take her to my house just until there’s space? I cannot even count how many times I have had all of these thoughts, if not more, race through my mind. The fifteen minute commute feels like it is fifteen hours with all of those thoughts. That fifteen hour drive stops after I pull into the driveway at work. In the summer, I parked under the huge tree in the front yard just to keep my car cool plus it freed up some space for potential customers. Dragging my feet out of the car, I grab my phone, keys and water bottle, take a deep breath, and open my eyes. No one is in the front yard…..today. I walk by some co-workers, some I really enjoy being with, others I wish I could shake really, really hard. I’m sure everyone who has a place of employment wishes they could at least shake one person really, really hard just to get some sense into their thick heads. I walk into the building, clock myself in….or try to….one more time….come on….JUST WORK TIME STA-thanks. Sitting down, I take my crappy shoes off and put on my mostly colorful rubber rain boots. Some days, the rain boots are the only happy thing that happens around here. Another deep breath escapes my worrisome body. Walking down the hallway, I can hear them. Every single one of them is talking to me, some are more gregarious than others. I look around. No one died overnight. No one has developed illnesses overnight. No one destructed their living quarters. Today might be a good day based on what I have seen thus far. I go grab the restraint in which controls those who I take outside. It’s time to take all of the homeless, unloved, lonely, frightened, and forgotten four legged furry kids outside.
I work at my local humane society. Each day is different with new faces, old faces and new challenges. Some days are harder than others. I’m crying as I write this. I’ve had many of them slip through my fingers - some my choice, others not. Some I feel I could have saved, others were just too far gone to save. I look at my arms and see some of the scars I have acquired from fear aggressive dogs, playful dogs and puppies. One scar in particular haunts me since I feel I should of stepped up, fostered this poor dog to properly socialize him, and maybe he would have had a chance instead of seeing a needle go into his arm to make the euthanasia seem less painless. I still beat myself up over him every time I glance at my right forearm. He is a whole different story though.
This job brought anger, depression, happiness, worry, hope, and a lack of trust for some of the human race however, I would never change it for the world.
My feet hit the ground when I have to get up during the dark mornings. Well, it is usually a furry, warm, grumbly ground. Grimm, my husband’s black labordor / chow / pittie mix, is similar to me in a way. He doesn’t agree with getting up when the sun itself isn’t even awake. Grimm usually just scoffs at the fact I had to make him get up. Then there’s Dublin and Morgan whom are both crate trained. Dublin, our Miniature Schnauzer, will snort until his crate is opened while Morgan, our Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever mix, waits patiently for her dad to open the door. Those two could care less if the sun is shining or not; as long as they are out of their crates and can see both my husband, Fred, and myself, then they’re golden. Buddy, the stubborn border collie mix, usually waddles in from the living room to see what all of the commotion is about.
That is our canine herd, or as we call them, our kids. Fred and I don’t have any children yet, so our furry four legged ones will do just fine. They require just as much work if not more as the homo sapien species. Anyway, when I have to get up in the darkness of the mornings, I was usually annoyed at the fact that I had to maneuver my way around four dogs, all different sizes with different personalities. When I get to the bathroom, one of our feline kids is sitting on the sink, purring at us. It’s usually Lilo, one of our orange tabbies. Bubba, our old man orange tabby, is curled up in my husband’s arms while Teardrop, our dilute tabby, is right under your feet. I feel like I’m going over an obstacle course just to get dressed. I put my grungy clothes on, crappy shoes and get into my car to head to work.
While I take my fifteen minute commute to work, I often have a slew of thoughts swimming through my mind. I wonder if I had any die on me overnight. Did anyone get dumped overnight in one of the yards? I wonder how scared he/she is today. Did anyone develop an illness overnight? Who’s getting close to be put on ‘the list’? Dammit, I forgot to medicate him before I left yesterday. Imagine that; there’s another one on the street, and we don’t have any space for her so do I keep driving or pick her up and take her to my house just until there’s space? I cannot even count how many times I have had all of these thoughts, if not more, race through my mind. The fifteen minute commute feels like it is fifteen hours with all of those thoughts. That fifteen hour drive stops after I pull into the driveway at work. In the summer, I parked under the huge tree in the front yard just to keep my car cool plus it freed up some space for potential customers. Dragging my feet out of the car, I grab my phone, keys and water bottle, take a deep breath, and open my eyes. No one is in the front yard…..today. I walk by some co-workers, some I really enjoy being with, others I wish I could shake really, really hard. I’m sure everyone who has a place of employment wishes they could at least shake one person really, really hard just to get some sense into their thick heads. I walk into the building, clock myself in….or try to….one more time….come on….JUST WORK TIME STA-thanks. Sitting down, I take my crappy shoes off and put on my mostly colorful rubber rain boots. Some days, the rain boots are the only happy thing that happens around here. Another deep breath escapes my worrisome body. Walking down the hallway, I can hear them. Every single one of them is talking to me, some are more gregarious than others. I look around. No one died overnight. No one has developed illnesses overnight. No one destructed their living quarters. Today might be a good day based on what I have seen thus far. I go grab the restraint in which controls those who I take outside. It’s time to take all of the homeless, unloved, lonely, frightened, and forgotten four legged furry kids outside.
I work at my local humane society. Each day is different with new faces, old faces and new challenges. Some days are harder than others. I’m crying as I write this. I’ve had many of them slip through my fingers - some my choice, others not. Some I feel I could have saved, others were just too far gone to save. I look at my arms and see some of the scars I have acquired from fear aggressive dogs, playful dogs and puppies. One scar in particular haunts me since I feel I should of stepped up, fostered this poor dog to properly socialize him, and maybe he would have had a chance instead of seeing a needle go into his arm to make the euthanasia seem less painless. I still beat myself up over him every time I glance at my right forearm. He is a whole different story though.
This job brought anger, depression, happiness, worry, hope, and a lack of trust for some of the human race however, I would never change it for the world.