I'm giggling like a bufoon.

Why I could never work at a shelter, or why you should spay or neuter your pets

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The Longest Walk

It is Wednesday afternoon. I make my weekly walk through our shelter and contemplate the number of animals we'll be able to bring into here tomorrow.

Four cages in the dog's kennel area, two in the isolation room and three empty cat cages are available. Depending on the size of the available dogs, it appears as though we'll have nine to thirteen openings this week. We've had several adoptions in the last few days and are lucky to have this much space available. It's never enough though...if every single cage were open it would still not be enough. There are always more unwanted animals than we can house.

It's Thursday morning now. A morning like every other morning except for the weekly task that looms before me every Thursday. You see, part of my job is to go to the Harrison County Animal Control Center and "choose" animals there to take to our Humane Society Shelter...animals scheduled to die on Friday morning...more animals than we have room for.

There is a full house of animals at the Animal Control Center this week. As I walk down the gravel road that separates our facilities I can hear them barking and see some of them in their outside cages. Every single cage is filled to capacity with several animals in each one. Animals that never asked to be on this earth or in this place.

When I open the door to the kennel area, a chorus of excited doggy voices greets me. They each seem to beckon me to "look at me, choose me, love me....." In run one is a large litter (9) of chow mix puppies, each one equally adorable. Run two holds a very old Golden Retrimever, two small briar scarred Beagles and a shy German Shepherd. Run three holds four dogs held for biting and four has two Terrier mix puppies, five shepherd crosses and a small puppy so mixed in breed no recognizable one can be named.

Run five holds several dogs unavailable for adoption at this time and six holds twelve different puppies varying in size, shape and breed. Each one competes for my attention, providing antics to persuade me to pay attention to just them.

As I start down the second side of the shelter, my heart drops. Run seven holds four confiscated dogs whose owner is being charged with cruelty to animals. These particular ones have been starved. Two large, withered Coonhounds and an old shrunken Beagle lay together in the corner of the cage and a pregnant female Coonhound lies on the outside. The female is so thin each rib is apparent. Her hair is dull and lifeless as is her eyes. She barely has the confidence to look me in the eyes and I am glad. I'm glad because I don't want to see the pain that lives inside of them...glad because I am ashamed that one of "my kind" did this to her. Her stomach protrudes awkwardly from her thin body...almost pulling her to the ground because of her weakened state. Food bowls are filled to capacity, but these animals no longer have the desire to eat and are so ill the food goes untouched. As I turn to go, the pregnant females tail slaps ever so slightly against the concrete floor. As cruel and horrific as mankind has been to her, she still longs for the kind word or soft pet she knows must be in them.

Runs eight through twelve hold more of the same. Relinquished pets who aren't "cute" anymore or who ate little Jimmy's favorite toy. The St. Bernard mix who "got bigger than we expected (?)" and puppy after puppy whose owners thought they could find a home for them but couldn't. Puppies, who have never known love or a real master and who for the majority of them, never will. Older dogs ready to die whose owners either didn't have or wouldn't spend the money it would take to put them to sleep at a private veterinarians office. I see dogs who are frightened, depressed and unable to understand why they are here and where their master has gone...dogs who because they are so withdrawn, will not find a new master in time.

Now I must "choose." I walk into run one and bend down to examine the chow mix puppies. When I get to floor level, my lap is filled with the wiggling, licking puppies. Each lick says thank you...each glance one of pure adoration. I choose four, two boys and two girls, choosing simply by sex, as each one is equally wonderful. Many of the animals I am looking at are too sick to be adopted out; and therefore must be passed over by me as well. Their illnesses are caused often times by the negligent way they were treated before they came here. Many die of parasites and controllable diseases that could have been prevented had they only received a little care...a worming or a vaccination.

In run three I take the two terrier mixes and the small unrecognizable breed. From run five I take a lab mix puppy, a half grown German Shepherd and two cocker crosses. I only have two spots left and I've just finished side one! I retrieve a Boxer mix from run nine and in twelve a Beagle puppy.

I've reached my limit but there are so many more left. The animals look at me hopefully, wagging their tails and bouncing against the cage fronts. "Don't leave," they seem to say, "I'll be a good friend to you if you'll only let me try." I try to avoid their eyes and actions and remain focused on the fact that I was able to save the thirteen dogs in tow. I try not to hear their cries...try to pretend they're not back there...the way so many do when they leave them here.

I enter the cat area expecting the worst and I am not disappointed. Every cage is filled with every color and age assortment imaginable. I only have three available cages and there are at least thirty-five animals in these cages. I pick three tiny kittens (I can put them in one cage and still have two choices left), a large white female about one year old and a large black and white neutered male whose owners "suddenly developed allergies."

My two kennel technicians walk over to help bring our pets to the shelter. Eighteen animals will be taken out of here by us this week (an unusually large amount) and we are still leaving over fifty animals behind that are available for adoption. Why can't we make people realize there is absolutely no reason to let their animals breed indiscriminately? I only wish they could see what we see every week of every year. We take our charges to the shelter and settle them in their new temporary homes. Each one is given a raised platform or a soft carpet to lie on, a full food dish and fresh water, a chew and a toy or two. Shots and worm medicine are administered and baths are given. It's been a long day for us all. The animals settle into their new surroundings and we go home.

It's Friday now. If possible this day is often worse than the last. This is the day of the week that the animals we left behind are killed. We drive our cars by the closed facility and try not to imagine what is happening inside.

Before long, we can hear the doors open and a thudding sound...a sound we know all too well. You see, this is the sound of their now lifeless bodies hitting the bottom of the truck that will take them to their final stop. The sound of the many creatures that only yesterday looked to me for comfort...who asked me to choose them...who only wanted one last chance.

I try very hard to focus on the good we do. I don't want to downplay the tremendous effort it takes to save and place the many animals we have, but I cannot forget the ones I didn't save...the occupants of the truck that leaves the Animal Control Center every week.

I walk back to the dog runs and view our newest arrivals. Everyone has had their cage cleaned, eaten breakfast and are now napping or pulling on their littermate's tail. I bend down to the little Beagle I just brought in. She gratefully licks my hand and then my cheek. Her eyes are so full of adoration and gratefulness. I try to look past the tears in my own, and for one moment forget that I'll have to do this again next week.

Author unknown. For Bagel, Duke, Daisy, Poppy, Mabel and all the lucky ones I've been able to help spring and save from shelters

I was talking to a co-worker about how stressful life (especially families) is when another co-worker joined our conversation. She reminded us that no matter what happens, God still loves you.

A good point, I suppose, but not the sort of thing I'm used to hearing from someone at work. Maybe I've been around the heathens too long.

Michelle's Happy Page, bet I can make you smile.

Wow, the Kaycee drama made the news. You know, not just the world of Web surfer's news, but the actual news media, people who get paid for telling people about stuff.

Ow! My Ass!
My ass has had a rough week. First I took a hit in Monday night's ice hockey game (Final score: Snow Cones (my team) 1, whoever the other team was, 1. We did NOT lose!). Then I spent 3 days in a class (I learned a ton of stuff, roughly 8,000 things) where the cheap-ass chairs had no padding, followed by working from home on my own chair that also has no padding.

The end result is that my ass hurts a lot.

Don't even ask me how I found this: Chautauqua County Convicted Drug Dealers.

Kids, I'm out of the office this week, at an Intro to UNIX system administration class. I'm having a great time, see you later in the week!

I'm not THAT Liz2d2
My AOL screen name used to be liz2d2 but it was taken from me in a very rude beyond-related exchange (AOL's fault, not beyond's). I managed to keep the name for the Instant Messenger. All of the sudden, I keep getting IM's from people who know some other Liz from Ohio who has liz2d2@hotmail.com as her email address. It's really starting to piss me off.

Feel free to drop her a line and remind her to let her friends know that she doesn't have it on IM.

For some, gender is a fluid thing. In the global sense, it doesn't matter if you grow up as a boy, knowing that you're really a girl, or vice-versa. I have no problem with that, if it's so important to you that you move to a strange town, save up $30,000 and have some surgery, and the end result is who you wanted to be, good for you.

Yesterday, I ran into a woman I'd dated briefly in college. Only now, she's a man. While everyone else in the room had seen her recently and knew about this development, I wasn't in on the scoop until she spoke and this man's voice came out. If it's what she wanted, what she feels she needs to do, great.

It still freaked me out though. While she was never girlie, this seemed extreme to me. I think it always will.

Woo hoo!! The Jimmy Luxury CD has finally arrived. You must buy it. Buy it now!

I guess the whole Kaycee thing was a hoax. What a crock of shit, to solicit people's compassion as a hoax. Whoever did it, whoever she was, you should be ashamed of yourselves, getting people to beleive in you when you were just a flash in the pan. And if she did indeed exist, then this is more fucked up than I thought.

At long last, here's part two of Tourette's: A Journey.