A lot of boring stuff happened this week ending with my first volunteer day at Poodle Rescue of Houston, which was decidedly NOT boring. It’s a no kill shelter about an hour from my home. I’m a sucker for dogs; animals of just about any kind really. But, a homeless dog is a homeless dog. They need help. Yesterday, I did simple things for them: changing their water and blankets, feeding them and making sure everyone had a toy.
There are several dogs there who were rescued as part of a court seizure from a puppy mill. This breaks my heart. Two of them, in particular, were not sharing a kennel with other dogs. Instead, they were in single crates above the “general population.” The first thing I noticed about these little guys was how scared they are. When I opened their crates to give them water, they immediately moved all the way to the back and started shaking. Some of the other dogs had been unsure, but nothing like this. Then, there’s the look in their little eyes. Fear, sadness, longing, loneliness, wanting, no, needing help and not trusting they’re going to get it. These poor little ones don’t even have names, they only have numbers. So. Sad.
*I have to admit that two of my dogs came from pet stores and I’m very conflicted about this. On the one hand, in my mind they needed rescuing from that pet store. On the other, I know we supported an industry that results in dogs like the two little angels at the rescue. I love my dogs very much, yet I do feel a lot of guilt about it. I can’t change it, but it will never happen again.
The vet tech I was working with asked me to take the puppy mill dogs outside to the run since they’re in crates and not kennels with a door to the outside. I felt trepidations about this and I think I was just as nervous as they were when I opened the crate. I was concerned they would resist me picking them up and I might hurt them. The female has an ace bandage all the way around her midsection. I’m not sure why, but it looked like she’d had some major surgery. This added to my nervousness. I decided to go for the male first. If I had success with him, it would build my confidence (and maybe the female’s too). I opened the crate door and he immediately stood up and walked to the back. Great. I didn’t want to reach all the way in there and possibly have to drag him to the front. I needed him to know I wasn’t going to hurt him. I reached both hands in, palms up, and tried a little sweet talk. He came forward and we headed outside. That was easier than I thought.
Now, it was time for the female. I opened the crate door. She moved to the back and started shaking. I reached both hands in, palms up, and tried a little sweet talk. Nothing. She just looked at me like, “I’m not falling for that.” I tried again. C’mon little one, I don’t know what’s under that bandage. I don’t wanna tear any sutures or anything. Gently, I reached in a little further and was able to grasp her under the chest. I took her out to the run and set her down. There were a couple of other dogs in the run next to her and she seemed excited to see them. I didn’t expect that. Then, when I came back out to get her, she excitedly pranced toward me. She was a totally different dog. Happy, even. She wanted to play! These two are sweet, happy dogs free of worry and fear when given room, affection and love. They just need a home and a human who loves them.
There’s a sign hanging on the cabinet door there which reads:
“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.” – Seuss.
I gave each of these little ones some special canned food. I opened the crates repeatedly and gently petted each of them. Yes. I attached to these two. By the time I was leaving, though, they didn’t shy away when I opened the crate. They didn’t shake when I touched them. I earned trust from them, and for that I feel truly honored. I think of my dogs and how they’re in the “lap of luxury” as my husband would say. He would know, it’s his lap they lay in all the time. And then, here are these two numbered dogs. They don’t deserve the lot they’ve been given so far. No dog does. And I find a great responsibility on my shoulders to do everything I can to make it better. For them and every other homeless dog at the shelter.
Here’s a couple of those puppy mill rescue dogs ending in Happy Tails:
