They will come to us
“They will come to us,” I said. “They always do.”
We live in the country, where people dump abandoned dogs and cats, like these two:
But God had other plans.
Our local animal shelter is begging people, “We’re drowning in a sea of dogs. Please… help!”
They’ve doubled up a few of their cages and have no choice but to “remove” the ones who have been there the longest if people won’t adopt a few — and soon.
As anyone who reads my blog knows, we already have a few of our how:
As you can see from the pictures, they have terribly hard lives.
I can’t tell you for sure whether we rescued them, or they rescued us.
We lost our Brindle Dog a few weeks ago after he was attacked (we think it was a raccoon that did it). We can’t bring him back, but it was entirely within our power to prevent one or two other doggies from losing their lives.
So today, three of my family went to the pound and specifically asked which doggies were scheduled to be “removed” first.
We walked down rows of kennels, scooting past the ones that jumped at the cages and tried to bite at us…past the ones that said “owner found”…
…until 3 caught our hearts and wouldn’t let go.
No, they weren’t the prettiest, or the cutest.
But their eyes begged, “Please love me.”
“Hopeless,” leaned against the side of his cage.
“Eskimo Dog,” chewed on a rawhide bone as his curiosity studied the humans.
My other family member took dog number 3, “Too Much Pittie,” home with her, a white pit-bull mix who — when tested around cats — was frightened of them. But the cage full of kittens thought she was wonderful.
I don’t have a picture of her, but I sort of have a picture of my 2 new crew:
So far, the worst thing that has happened since their arrival was stepping into my 50 cent flip-flops and finding that Eskimo Dog peed on them. He has a tendency to mark his territory.
I suppose that’s his way of saying, “I’m home.”