My Heart Aches

Help Us, Please...

After having pompously announced that “I am through once and for all. I am going to be a writer,” I abdicated from all my volunteer duties at our little Animal Shelter. It so happened that a bunch of us long-time volunteers and (hands-on shoveling, washing, walking, scrubbing) board members left the same time a couple of years ago when a new and very clueless president with a Napoleon complex came into power. We turned things over to the new crowd (who promptly fired the fiercely dedicated manager, and never asked any of us for advice). Still, the Shelter was left in tip-top shape. And because of the generosity of our donors (and my annual membership drives, I might add, as well as the careful management of our resources), there was a nice nest-egg to draw on for the future. Nobody now wrote my weekly Paws Report anymore to make people aware of the animals on hand and what we needed in the way of blankets, etc. But, I was out of it and needed to keep my mouth shut. Still, the “ex-crowd” would meet for lunch and in a small town like this, we naturally got the latest (and often sadest) scoop of what was going on.

Even Pasha Cried

Last Monday, I received an urgent call from one of our 87-year old previous donors, Jeanne, who was on a single-handed warpath to change things (bless her heart). The very young (and grossly overworked) new girl now managing the shelter had called in sick. There was only one other person to “do the dog runs.” Being the former “cat lady,” I offered to clean the cat cages, having introduced myself as Ida.

“Have you ever done this?”

“A little,” I grinned.

“Have you been here before?” She peered at me somewhat suspiciously.

“A few times,” I shrugged. When I was shown how I should “scoop the poop,” I naturally went right to town the way I was used to doing it. Pretty soon, this shelter worker (a wonderful and caring gal who had tears in her eyes when she told me about the mess everywhere) flat-out stated, “You aren’t Ida. You’re the woman who wrote the book. We were told to read it.” So much for trying to slide in under the radar.

Sweet Jeanne, who came in too, and I worked for the next three hours to bring some semblance of cleanliness (and breathing air) into the place while the shelter worker sloshed out the dog pens. Believe me, after a prolific night of doggie output, this must surely be one of the least enviable jobs ever!

One of the major problems was that our previous “prep room” had been made into a cat motel, shutting off access to the outside dog cages. Cute. They had also ripped out the working table, the bath tub with warm/cold water, the triple-deep stainless steel tubs to wash/rinse food dishes and various “icky stuff.” There was no place for me to put down a cat to comb/deflea it on a towel and rinse her off if necessary, nor even to wash the litter boxes. GRRRRRR….I just about platzed with frustration.

Went in the following Wednesday for another three hours of gore and grime. What am I doing? I had sworn I was not going to get involved again. Haunted me all weekend to the point of not being able to concentrate on anything else other than yard work. An aching back often helps to put things into perspective.

While the present board is trying to do its best, none of them have a clue about the daily grind it takes to keep a shelter clean and running. I’d just love to get them to the Shelter at eight in the morning and I could guarantee them that they’d not only get a reality check, but lose a few pounds in the process. Because – for sure – they’d not be eating for a couple of days after walking down the dog pens. It’s a chocolate factory out there – except it ain’t Hershey’s!

Anyone Out There for Us?

A little moral blackmail can go a long way to make one I feel guilty that now one has become part of the problem by insisting, “Been there, done that.”

Maybe I need to move. As it happens, my house is up for sale…but I was just going to take it easy in a nearby condo, leaving me lots of time to write. How cowardly would it be for me to plot a move to Tahiti, or Costa Rica?

My heart aches.