For those of you who don't know, I have a strange inclination to become attached to random people, places, animals, or things. I'll see a picture or read a story, and become transfixed. This is what happened with my volunteer position at the local No-Kill animal shelter.
I've always wanted a dog of my own - something that loves me unconditionally, and which needs me unconditionally. I have a great need to be needed, but it's difficult for me to show this to my fellow humans. Relating to animals is easier; I feel less awkward hugging them for twenty minutes, or crying on them, or talking to them. Animals forgive more easily; animals don't sulk with hurt feelings or spread nasty rumors or any of the other things people do.
This story begins (as so many of my real-life stories do) with an internet search. I was looking for employment, and someone suggested I try the animal shelter. I looked at their website and found the page for adoptable dogs. My eyes immediately went to a mixed breed Great Pyrenees named Jack, and my heart followed not long after.
I went to the shelter, was trained to handle the dogs, and began working there as often as I could. I mostly visited the dogs, since I'm not the best person when it comes to discipline. But I was happy to be there with them.
And with Jack.
Jack had been abused as a puppy, and as a result he was afraid of and aggressive towards men. Being a female teacup human, I wasn't a threat, and I asked to be introduced to him by one of the shelter staff. The staffworker was dubious, but Jack didn't eat me, and thereafter I was allowed to sit with him, or brush him, and I always snuck him treats because it's impossible not to spoil something that makes your heart hurt.
He liked for me to sit on the floor of his cage, which faced the fields and the woods, so that he could stand wrapped around me with my head against his ribs. Jack had trouble finding a home; he needed an active, single, female owner. I knew I wasn't what he needed, but I made him a promise just the same.
"I have to wait two more years," I told him one day when we were sitting together. "But if no one has come for you by then, I promise I'll take you home with me."
Life happened, as it always does, and I had to stop working. Five months passed, and I noticed that Jack's picture and page disappeared from the shelter website. I couldn't find him among their lists of adopted dogs. I didn't know what to do, but life happened again, and I moved on.
Today I learned the rest of Jack's story. Some months after I stopped working there, he went crazy. I don't blame him: he'd been at the shelter for over a year before I first met him, and he was hard to handle. A problem child. He became so aggressive and unhappy that the shelter staff sent him to stay with a dog psychologist in Georgia. He now lives on a ranch, with someone who takes care of him, and someone who hopefully loves him.
I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise, Jack, but I think you found your forever home after all.
