Tired.
Ooh, I am tired.
So my mom and I were on a morning drive back on the 5th, when what do we see but a stray dog. Head down, dragging, slow wandering, dirt covered old stray, plodding along a sidewalk bordered on one side with undeveloped dirt field overgrown with thorns and weeds and burrs. During a week that, for us, was in the hundred degree range. Being a couple of bleeding hearts with rescue complexes we pulled over.
I wish you could have seen this girl. Old rottweiler. Still had her tail on. Huge thick calluses on her elbows that grow from being outdoors only. Belly hanging like she had pups within the last year. Fur so shot through with bur seeds that I thought they were gray hairs. White frosted muzzle. Covered in dirt.
She seemed really happy to sit next to us and let us scratch her and pick the burrs out of her fur while we tried to figure out what to do. She had a collar on- black, dirty and beat up, the metal ring rusted- but no tags. Okay, so she has an owner somewhere. There is always a flood of lost dogs right after the 4th of July because the fireworks scare them and the adrenaline rush gives them what it takes to jump their fences. We figured probably someone was looking for her. We took her home and called animal control so she could be reclaimed.
The list of calls was so flooded it took two hours for them to get around to us. Two hours of my dad driving around town asking every person he saw if they knew of this rottweiler. Two hours of sitting with this dog, so grateful to have a little water and a handfull of kibble and a rug to lay on, to have the burrs and thorns and weeds pulled out of its coat. If we stopped petting it it would give us a calm, thoughtfull look, and then very deliberately put its head back under our hands. Not once did it spook or get its hackles up or give any indication that it was anything but a gentle thing glad to have a pack to be near again. Not when we gave it food, not when strangers walked their dogs by on leashes.
When the animal control truck came, they locked her in a lightless, slick floored box. Oh the officer was nice enough. Real sad about it. Promised to take the turns gently to keep from swishing her around. Nice lady. A dog person, you could tell.
So of course we called as the days went on. The office people at the shelter were almost always confused as to what we wanted. There were many call transfers, and much waiting on hold, and several times being asked to call back later. They kept explaining that it was not for adoption because they had to wait to see if the owners would come for it. Yes, we know.
We asked the glaring, awful question: how long? How many days does she have?
We can't afford another dog, we have one already, an old one who might not want to share her family. And none of our jobs are being very reliable right now. So no, we can't afford one, shouldn't have another one. But of course we asked anyway. How could we not ask?
All they would say was that after a week, they would test her for behavioral problems. Fine. We waited.
The day after we were told she'd be available we started calling again. Every day. Nobody seemed to know if she had been tested or not yet. They told us she seemed to be deaf. What? No she wasn't. But fine. So now that she's available, how many days?
Oh, actually, they probably won't put her up for open adoption. Older, and deaf (sure), she's too much of a problem case. They would have a rescue foundation pick her up instead, to let her live out her last few years in peace.
But /how many days/?
Oh it's fine. As long as she doesn't show aggression we should place her just fine. But give us your phone number just in case. We- and here I quote- we won't call you, we don't do that, but give me your phone number anyway. Fine, whatever. I give the lady my cell number. We stop calling.
That was two weeks ago, about. They called me today.
No rescue came for her. She seems so depressed by her isolation that unless someone takes her home soon, it is only mercy to put her down. If I need to talk to my family they can give me until Friday but need to hear back from me tomorrow.
That is three days. Two really.
Two friends and I went to the pound. I wanted to see her one more time, give her an ear scratch, apologise. Take a good photo since I was too dumb to think of that before. We went through all the cages, three rows, but she wasn't in any of them. We went to the office to ask where she was.
Again they seemed confused by what I was asking. I wasn't adopting her? Was she /mine/? I wanted to what? Just see the dog? Well we probably need you to fill out an application to adopt, just to see her. Where is she? Hmm... that's in the back. I don't know, nobody is free to let you in back there. Maybe. Wait around and we'll see if we can do that.
When someone has a minute to take me, she tells me I have to go with her alone. She is angry with me, tells me that it's just upsetting for a dog to see a person and be given attention and then not be let out and taken home. Sometimes, she says, dogs get so excited and desperate to be taken out that they scratch the doors until their paws bleed. So if I'm not taking her, right now, this is cruel of me. I explain that my family members are at work, I can't convince them now, and ask her to at least take the picture for me. She softens a little bit. She unlocks a door and takes me through another cement building full of cages.
These cages are full. The ones in the open adoption floor are half empty, but the occupied ones there are cute puppies. Here there are no windows and sticky floors. And in the back of the first row, our rottweiler.
She looks back over her shoulder at us, doesn't even take a step to face us, to come closer to the door, nothing. Her tail is between her legs and her eyes are deep sunken and wet. I'm not allowed to get any closer- I take a picture with my cell phone, in the poor lighting, through the fence. I don't have the nerve to say a word.
Ever since I got home I've been searching the internet for rescues, calling, sending emails. One day of warning isn't much.
Now I am tired, and my face hurts, and I wanted to share. The idea that I am the only one who saw her like that is haunting me. I don't know why.
If anyone out there is the praying type I would appreciate it.
I am going to bed.
So my mom and I were on a morning drive back on the 5th, when what do we see but a stray dog. Head down, dragging, slow wandering, dirt covered old stray, plodding along a sidewalk bordered on one side with undeveloped dirt field overgrown with thorns and weeds and burrs. During a week that, for us, was in the hundred degree range. Being a couple of bleeding hearts with rescue complexes we pulled over.
I wish you could have seen this girl. Old rottweiler. Still had her tail on. Huge thick calluses on her elbows that grow from being outdoors only. Belly hanging like she had pups within the last year. Fur so shot through with bur seeds that I thought they were gray hairs. White frosted muzzle. Covered in dirt.
She seemed really happy to sit next to us and let us scratch her and pick the burrs out of her fur while we tried to figure out what to do. She had a collar on- black, dirty and beat up, the metal ring rusted- but no tags. Okay, so she has an owner somewhere. There is always a flood of lost dogs right after the 4th of July because the fireworks scare them and the adrenaline rush gives them what it takes to jump their fences. We figured probably someone was looking for her. We took her home and called animal control so she could be reclaimed.
The list of calls was so flooded it took two hours for them to get around to us. Two hours of my dad driving around town asking every person he saw if they knew of this rottweiler. Two hours of sitting with this dog, so grateful to have a little water and a handfull of kibble and a rug to lay on, to have the burrs and thorns and weeds pulled out of its coat. If we stopped petting it it would give us a calm, thoughtfull look, and then very deliberately put its head back under our hands. Not once did it spook or get its hackles up or give any indication that it was anything but a gentle thing glad to have a pack to be near again. Not when we gave it food, not when strangers walked their dogs by on leashes.
When the animal control truck came, they locked her in a lightless, slick floored box. Oh the officer was nice enough. Real sad about it. Promised to take the turns gently to keep from swishing her around. Nice lady. A dog person, you could tell.
So of course we called as the days went on. The office people at the shelter were almost always confused as to what we wanted. There were many call transfers, and much waiting on hold, and several times being asked to call back later. They kept explaining that it was not for adoption because they had to wait to see if the owners would come for it. Yes, we know.
We asked the glaring, awful question: how long? How many days does she have?
We can't afford another dog, we have one already, an old one who might not want to share her family. And none of our jobs are being very reliable right now. So no, we can't afford one, shouldn't have another one. But of course we asked anyway. How could we not ask?
All they would say was that after a week, they would test her for behavioral problems. Fine. We waited.
The day after we were told she'd be available we started calling again. Every day. Nobody seemed to know if she had been tested or not yet. They told us she seemed to be deaf. What? No she wasn't. But fine. So now that she's available, how many days?
Oh, actually, they probably won't put her up for open adoption. Older, and deaf (sure), she's too much of a problem case. They would have a rescue foundation pick her up instead, to let her live out her last few years in peace.
But /how many days/?
Oh it's fine. As long as she doesn't show aggression we should place her just fine. But give us your phone number just in case. We- and here I quote- we won't call you, we don't do that, but give me your phone number anyway. Fine, whatever. I give the lady my cell number. We stop calling.
That was two weeks ago, about. They called me today.
No rescue came for her. She seems so depressed by her isolation that unless someone takes her home soon, it is only mercy to put her down. If I need to talk to my family they can give me until Friday but need to hear back from me tomorrow.
That is three days. Two really.
Two friends and I went to the pound. I wanted to see her one more time, give her an ear scratch, apologise. Take a good photo since I was too dumb to think of that before. We went through all the cages, three rows, but she wasn't in any of them. We went to the office to ask where she was.
Again they seemed confused by what I was asking. I wasn't adopting her? Was she /mine/? I wanted to what? Just see the dog? Well we probably need you to fill out an application to adopt, just to see her. Where is she? Hmm... that's in the back. I don't know, nobody is free to let you in back there. Maybe. Wait around and we'll see if we can do that.
When someone has a minute to take me, she tells me I have to go with her alone. She is angry with me, tells me that it's just upsetting for a dog to see a person and be given attention and then not be let out and taken home. Sometimes, she says, dogs get so excited and desperate to be taken out that they scratch the doors until their paws bleed. So if I'm not taking her, right now, this is cruel of me. I explain that my family members are at work, I can't convince them now, and ask her to at least take the picture for me. She softens a little bit. She unlocks a door and takes me through another cement building full of cages.
These cages are full. The ones in the open adoption floor are half empty, but the occupied ones there are cute puppies. Here there are no windows and sticky floors. And in the back of the first row, our rottweiler.
She looks back over her shoulder at us, doesn't even take a step to face us, to come closer to the door, nothing. Her tail is between her legs and her eyes are deep sunken and wet. I'm not allowed to get any closer- I take a picture with my cell phone, in the poor lighting, through the fence. I don't have the nerve to say a word.
Ever since I got home I've been searching the internet for rescues, calling, sending emails. One day of warning isn't much.
Now I am tired, and my face hurts, and I wanted to share. The idea that I am the only one who saw her like that is haunting me. I don't know why.
If anyone out there is the praying type I would appreciate it.
I am going to bed.