My boyfriend likes to joke that I’m a dog hoarder – a completely unjustified observation considering the fact that I only own two dogs. But in truth, if not for my family and their determination to not allow me any more animals, I probably would be a dog hoarder. Since I am currently living in my mother’s guesthouse, her strong pleading that I not get any more animals can be considered a fairly justified and valid request.
However, for over a year now, I have spent the majority of my free time glued to the computer looking at the poor dogs in need of adoption from Petfinder and local shelters. I would email pictures to my boyfriend every day asking, “please can we rescue this one” or “just look how cute this little guy is!” Understanding my slight obsession, he would politely reply to each email saying, “yes, they are cute, but we don’t need any more dogs.”
In all reality, it was bound to happen sooner or later. Dogs are just so much more lovable and easier to get along with than people. They don’t talk, but they do listen. They understand your emotions, but they don’t criticize. I have always loved dogs, ever since I was a little kid.
So I was only torturing myself every day by looking at the innocent, sad faces staring back at me from behind bars. It just made me want to cry; which I did on a few occasions when I would read the stories of how the dogs ended up in a shelter: “owner didn’t like the puppy because it was too hyper” or “owner was going on vacation and couldn’t find anyone to watch his four dogs.” People just make me sick. The shelters are full, thousands of dogs are being dropped off daily, only a few good people are rescuing them, and then more people show up and just dump their pets due to some bad excuse. To make it worse, these people know that their actions will probably result in their pets being euthanized.
Through Facebook, I had befriended a lady who volunteers much of her free time rescuing animals and she also posts pictures of shelter animals in desperate need of adoption on Facebook. It was in one of these albums that I came across the picture of a sad, depressed-looking Border Collie mix. She was really cute, but had a ‘rescue me’ expression on her face. So naturally, I emailed her link to my boyfriend with the vain hope that he would pick up the phone and demand: “rescue her right now and bring her home!” Unfortunately, as I expected, he didn’t call. Later that night, I asked if he liked the dog from the email. “Yes, she is cute,” he replied, “but we don’t need any more dogs.” I pouted for two days after that one.
After my bout of pouting was over, I noticed the Border Collie’s picture again on Facebook. I wondered why she had not been adopted already? I decided to find out what her story was. It turns out that she and a husky were picked up together as strays out in the country. Their owner had been notified and both dogs had been waiting for over two weeks for their owner to retrieve them. Again, a couple of days later, I saw her picture on Facebook. New text had been added and this was what it read:
This little girl’s name is Sloan. She is a Border Collie approximately 5 years old and spayed already. Has been sitting at the shelter for two weeks waiting for her mom (who knew she was there) to come get her…Well, yesterday her mom signed her over to shelter. Just sucks, such a sweet girl. Please someone save her!
The husky sibling had been adopted already and ‘Sloan’ was running out of time. I called my mom and boyfriend and the answer from both was a solid ‘no.’ “No fostering, no adopting, no!” I went into a panic and posted her picture to Facebook begging someone to adopt her. Within a few hours, I started to get some interest in Sloan, but mainly just people trying to help facilitate her rescue as opposed to adopting her into a home. I didn’t care; I just wanted her rescued from euthanasia.
A Dallas/Fort Worth area writer and dog lover, someone who befriended me on Facebook after seeing my post, worked endlessly to contact ranchers in the area that would be willing to take in a Border Collie. The problem was we didn’t know this dog, we hadn’t met her, we didn’t know her temperament or her medical history, nor did we know how she got along with other dogs. I went to bed that night and cried myself to sleep. There was just something about that face that made me unable to let this dog out of my mind.
The next morning, as I arrived at work, my cell phone rang. The writer had managed to contact someone, who contacted someone in Connecticut, who contacted someone in Fort Worth who had agreed to foster the dog for a short while until we could place her in a permanent home. I immediately left work while simultaneously phoning the shelter to let them know I was coming to rescue her. I was sick to my stomach the whole hour and a half drive. I rushed through the shelter doors. “Please tell me Sloan is still here,” I asked before the lady even looked up from her desk. After driving 100 miles and involving a slew of near strangers into this self-inflicted dog-rescuing debacle, I was petrified that I would find out that I was already too late.
(To be continued...)
