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| 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.
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| 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!
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| 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.
