This open letter is addressed to all those people that call me up at all hours of the day and night telling me stumblingly how they have to give away their dog because their landlord won’t allow them to keep him , they have a new baby , their fourteen year old suddenly developed an allergy and their father fell over the dog so he must go.
This is for you “people”.
No excuse is good enough to give away your dog. Not one.
I won’t tell you what you know.
That he has been with you and like a faithful woman knows no other.
That it’s wrong to give him away.
That you should try and keep him.
No.
I’ll tell you what you don’t know.
That there is a 1% percent chance that he may not survive in the adoptive home. And that is too much.
That you may never see him again and that’s fine. You have given him away. You have surrendered him. Dumped him. But I may never see him again. And I couldn’t bear it because he’s a part of my soul. My heart.
I work day and night to find a home for your baby.
Sleepless nights.
Mounting foster bills.
Worries over his new home.
Second guessing every choice of parent.
Neutering and medical costs. Go through it all. Singularly.
I bear your cross. A cross you should carry.
And for joy!!! I find him the perfect home. The perfect mama. And the world is beautiful again.
Then out of the blue an arrow in the heart. The soul shattering loss of a baby after he goes to his perfect home: to snake bite, to rat poison, to heart attack, to old age, to peritonitis, to death.
The guilt.
The pain.
The loss.
This is when the team takes a hit.
This is when we feel you don’t deserve to know that he’s not here anymore. You don’t deserve to hear that he’s gone. You don’t deserve anything.
And almost always we are right.
We reserve the tears for ourselves.
We stare at the ceiling. Tired unseeing eyes.
We grieve.
We cry our eyes out.
We swear to take a break.
We say we are quitting.
Until the next time the phone rings.
Until the next deserter calls. Quitter!
I see you sir.
I see your dog and he doesn’t deserve you. He deserves us fighting for him . In his corner. Our sword glistens silver . And it’s raised for him.
En garde.