It turns out that the day-to-day goings-on inside of an animal shelter is golden fodder for storytelling. The place is nuts. It's dramatic, hilarious, disgusting, and heart-meltingly sweet. The collection of humans that choose to work in such an environment vary in states of consciousness from barely finished high-school to veterinary PhD. There's a class system at the shelter, which strikes me as very amusing, what with all of us equally speckled with poop and bruises. Just like in high-school, I belong in no group. I'm too cheerful and healthy for those on the "low" end and too cheerful and simple for those on the "high." So I drift around, being of amusement to all and known by none. In that sense, I've found my place. If it posed no risk, I'd describe the groups of people - how they determine who is like them and what activities are the result of such belonging. It's a riot... but I wouldn't want HR to see my published observations. Instead, I can tell you about the animals (also a class system; ranging from pit-bull to golden-doodle) and the endless antics they create for themselves in a day.
For instance, Bowser and Peaches, a bonded pair with a collective weight of 185 pounds had a twinkle in their eyes when I took them out to the yard. Bowser is a Mastiff/ Great Dane mix, so when he stands on his hind legs, he's taller than me. Peaches is just a big mutt - she's about my size when she stands up. So I let them out one day, and as I headed back to the door, Bowser got the bright idea to stand up and shove me over to Peaches who was already standing up, ready to catch me. She then put her paws on my shoulders and pushed me back over to Bowser. They did this back a forth just twice before I made a bee-line for the door, but they beat me to it. Bowser stood in front of it and hurled me back into Peaches arms. Peach sent me sideways, let me scramble a few feet away and then intercepted me and tossed me to Bowser. I tried to think of an escape plan while they played ping pong with my body. It went on for a full minute, which is a long time to fight to stay upright with what are effectively peers of my weightclass. They weren't trying to hurt me so I wasn't scared, but I was concerned about how to get out of it. I knew if I fell down they might wind up hurting me by accident. I was just preparing to climb the chain link fence when I broke away and threw myself through the gate. I was completely winded and seeing dark spots as I stood in the doorway recovering from what is undoubtedly the most physical wrestling match I've ever been apart of.
I didn't find it funny until a half hour later. I told my manager about it and she said, "Oh," like she'd just remembered, "Yeah they do that to new people." and then she just went on back to her work.
(Brett's first volunteer day with Theo.)
It also turns out that being understaffed is fairly common, so when my trainer and I wound up being the only two working a 10 hour shift again this week, I called Brett and convinced him to come "volunteer." This had a twofold outcome; we had an extra set of hands, but best of all, Brett got to meet the pups I've been telling him about. He loves to hear what the dogs are up to each day, so he was pretty excited to have wet noses to match up to the stories. (On that day he fell in love with three dogs in particular; Ralph, Tinky, and the undesirably named, Princess.) (He has since come back to actually volunteer, and then fell in love with Roxy and Ian.) (It's very satisfying to watch.) The point is, now I come home from a long shift and say, "Guess what Earl did today?" and Brett will go "Oh gosh..." because he knows all about Earl. Then I'll tell him what Earl did and he'll say, "Well what did Sully and Blu do about it?" because he knows that Sully and Blu are on either side of Earl's kennel. It's tons of fun.
(Brett's newest love, Roxy.)
At risk of the blog becoming an animal shelter report, I'll just tell you that we had some puppies come in with scabies and mange, a mama and puppy come with kennel cough, and a handful of cats come in with ringworm. In such cases, each ailment gets it's own quarantine, and depending on the spreadability of the condition, we have to "gown up" or "scrub in" before going to tend to those critters. So when I looked in the mirror one morning on a day off and noticed a reddish-brown smudged circle on the end of my nose, I worried I had contracted something gross. The smudge was not there the night before and I hadn't noticed it when I woke up, but I didn't really look in the mirror either. Had it shown up overnight or within the last two hours? I studied the spot in the mirror and then set out Googling what it could be.
It wasn't scabies or mange - thank goodness. I wonder if it's cancerous? I took to an image search of cancerous smudges that aren't moles. Nothing looked quite like it, but maybe kind of close? I should probably go to a dermatologist, especially with how rapidly it appeared. I hated that it was on the end of my nose. It was so loud and obvious. I realized I don't own any foundation or flesh-colored goop to hide things under, nor would know how to use it effectively.
(Brett's least favorite animal, the perpetually happy Ferguson.)
Oh man, do you think it's ringworm? I hesitated to Google image ringworm. I didn't want to see it or have it be true. Would they have to slice worms out of my nose? Don't you poop out ringworm? How does that work? What will my nose look like in the end? I Googled it, and it wasn't a perfect match, but it wasn't totally off. I got that hot feeling you get when something has quietly gone awry and you're the only one that knows about it. It seemed too small to be ringworm... I went back to the cancer idea, did some more Googling and then set out looking for a dermatologist with walk-in availability. (It doesn't exist. You have to wait three months like everyone else being ravaged by cancer.)
I grabbed a small mirror from a box of forgotten toiletries I keep under the bathroom sink, and went over to the window to study my downfall in the daylight. It looked more orange out here than in the dark bathroom. Kind of a caramel color. I touched it to see if it hurt... no feeling at all. Is it smooth or bumpy? I ran my finger across it, and it wiped right off.
It left no trace, not on my nose or my finger. It then took less than ten seconds to connect the smudge to the foam from a cappuccino Brett had surprised me with an hour before. I laughed out loud at myself, rolled my eyes at myself, and then ran off to tell Brett what a bumpkin he'd married. He also rolled his eyes and laughed, and in the moment I had endeared myself to both of us. What a hopeless little doofus.
(Brett's first, truest, and deepest love, Grace.)
(Pictured here with secondary caretaker and wife.)
