Dream
See You On The Other Side
The Heartache They Endore
Hello,
I found this on another forum and I thought I would share it here.
I'm on the Board of Directors here at our local Humane Society and I'm going to print, frame and hang it in the lobby. you have no clue on how many people come in with pet's that are grown saying they are moving and can't take them, wanting us to find them "new homes." The sad part is only 10% of all animals that come in find new homes.
Sadly we don't have the room to keep all the animals that come in until they find homes, our space is limited and we only have so many runs. Puppy's and kittens will get adopted before adults thats just the way it is.
Then we have the people that don't want to take the time to bring their pets to us, they set them free on the street to fend for them self's, or leave them behind to starve.... and WE the shelters are the ones getting the bad name!! if everyone would would do their part and spay and neuter and be responsible pet owners we would not have to destroy so many wonderful lives every year.
What our staff goes though this every day, the heartache they endore no one could understand. their love for the animals is why they are there, they are not there to be cruel to them, they are there because they want to give them the best care they can in the time they may have left.
this is a link I got from that forum
a story follows.
http://brightlion.com/InHope/InHope_en.aspx
A Puppy's Story
"When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes, and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was "bad" you'd shake your finger at me and ask, "How could you?" --but then you'd relent, and roll me over for a belly rub. My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs," you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.
Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love.
She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" -- still, I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy. Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate.
Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love." As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch --because your touch was now so infrequent -- and I would have defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway.
There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf.
Now, you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family. I was excited about the car ride, until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with "papers." You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar, as he screamed "No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life.
You gave me a good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet, and now I have one, too. After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked, "How could you?"
They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you, that you had changed your mind -- that this was all a bad dream... or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited.
I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden that she bears weighs heavily on her. I know that, the same way I knew your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein.
As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured, "How could you?" Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said, "I'm so sorry." She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself -- a place of love and light so, very different from this earthly place. And with my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not directed at her.
It was you, My Beloved Master. I will think of you, and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.
The End
(copyright by Sandi Guillemette)"
Hello,
I found this on another forum and I thought I would share it here.
I'm on the Board of Directors here at our local Humane Society and I'm going to print, frame and hang it in the lobby. you have no clue on how many people come in with pet's that are grown saying they are moving and can't take them, wanting us to find them "new homes." The sad part is only 10% of all animals that come in find new homes.
Sadly we don't have the room to keep all the animals that come in until they find homes, our space is limited and we only have so many runs. Puppy's and kittens will get adopted before adults thats just the way it is.
Then we have the people that don't want to take the time to bring their pets to us, they set them free on the street to fend for them self's, or leave them behind to starve.... and WE the shelters are the ones getting the bad name!! if everyone would would do their part and spay and neuter and be responsible pet owners we would not have to destroy so many wonderful lives every year.
What our staff goes though this every day, the heartache they endore no one could understand. their love for the animals is why they are there, they are not there to be cruel to them, they are there because they want to give them the best care they can in the time they may have left.
this is a link I got from that forum
a story follows.
http://brightlion.com/InHope/InHope_en.aspx
A Puppy's Story
"When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes, and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was "bad" you'd shake your finger at me and ask, "How could you?" --but then you'd relent, and roll me over for a belly rub. My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs," you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.
Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love.
She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" -- still, I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy. Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate.
Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love." As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch --because your touch was now so infrequent -- and I would have defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway.
There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf.
Now, you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family. I was excited about the car ride, until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with "papers." You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar, as he screamed "No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life.
You gave me a good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet, and now I have one, too. After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked, "How could you?"
They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you, that you had changed your mind -- that this was all a bad dream... or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited.
I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden that she bears weighs heavily on her. I know that, the same way I knew your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein.
As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured, "How could you?" Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said, "I'm so sorry." She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself -- a place of love and light so, very different from this earthly place. And with my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not directed at her.
It was you, My Beloved Master. I will think of you, and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.
The End
(copyright by Sandi Guillemette)"
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We took her home and kept the name that the shelter had given her: Cassie. It turns out that she is a Rottweiler X Chow X Greyhound (a slightly odd mix) and she has to be the smartest I've ever known! Sam was smart, but Cassie is amazing. It was commented that she would have been an excellent choice for a rescue dog when she was younger. She's a great watch dog, but is weary of strangers and does not seem to like men (she has no problem with me, but she still won't trust my grandfather). 
) and is fine with any dog. One curious thing is that he did not bark at all. He would make other vocalizations and sing (yep, sing!), but nothing made him bark until he saw his very first rodent ( a squirrel I think). Since then, he occasionally barks with the others, but the assured way is to expose him to outside rodents (he barks at them as if his life depended on it).