After months of posting ads on craigslist and every other "lost/found" dog website I could find, putting ads in the newspaper, putting up flyers, begging rescue organizations to help me find a home for my stray dogs - all to no avail - I had to take one of the dogs to the pound last night. It broke my heart. I chose the dog that had caused me the most trouble - she chewed everything, loved to drag my stuff outside through the doggie door and destroy it, and got loose and got pregnant, to boot. But she also would curl up by my feet, rest her sweet, soft furry face on my knee, and look at me with absolute adoration. And I took her to the pound.
As soon as we got there, she started crying. So did I. She hid under my chair while we waited in the lobby for the "intake process" to begin. She pressed herself as far up against the back of my legs as she could and shivered and shook the whole 15 minutes we had to wait.
And I bawled all the harder when they took her. She cried and scrambled to get back to me. The absolute betrayal she felt was clear. I know I had no choice, but it doesn't make me feel any better. Not one bit. I'll miss you, Li'l Bit. I hope they find you a forever home, but I know the odds are against it.
I wish I were young enough to delude myself into believing they'll find her a home right away. That they'll be able to find someone to love her and care for her, train her out of destroying stuff. But I know the pound only holds stray dogs for four days before they deem them "adoptable" or euthanize them. If a dog does, miraculously, get deemed "adoptable", they only hold them for about a week in the pound before they destroy them. And in that week, sweet, loving dogs are held in cold, concrete cages. No freedom to run and play. No one to rub them behind their ears or find that special "tickle spot" that makes them kick their legs and get a look of absolute bliss on their faces. They're kept locked in cages, where I'm sure they wonder what they did wrong, why their people don't love them anymore, why, why, why.
I know I had no choice. These stray dogs are killing me - financially, emotionally, and just the hassle. It's part of what's keeping me up all night. I exhausted every other possibility. Again, it doesn't make me feel any better. Not one bit.
Stinkbumps the Wonder Boy: The rants, ravings and ramblings of a lunatic, overachieving single mom.
4 comments:
Yup, it completely sucks. There is just no way to polish this turd, no matter what Mythbusters say.
"No way to polish this turd."
THAT'S funny. The situation? Not one bit. Be well.
Please make my mommy and daddy go get me that puppy! I am almost crying reading about the poor puppy you had to give away to the pound. What was she anyway?
She was a Shar Pei mix, probably about a year old. She was black with a white blaze on her chest. I went to the pound's website today, and her listing is gone. That means she has either 1) been claimed by her original owner; 2) been moved to a rescue/foster home; or 3) already been put down. Unfortunately, I know the most likely outcome. I'm sorry I failed you, Li'l Bit
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