Country and Dudley

As Adoption Counselor at MDAS I would walk kennel runs daily. With pen and scrap paper in hand (never new, always scrap) I'd enter via D, meander in and out through F, G, H and so on. Small to medium sized dogs were and are kept in D and J (like book shelf ends for F, G, H and I), toy-breeds and small dogs are kept in F,G,H and I. Cats are kept in rooms L and M. Larger dogs are kept in the N runs, which is a long row of kennels along the back shelter wall, the backs of these kennels open up to outside, allowing fresh air to swoosh through the shelter 24 hours a day, which is typically a great thing being that it's Miami and all. On the opposite side of the shelter near dog-receiving there are dozens more large dogs, in the west wing (WW). On any normal day there are more than 100 dogs in the west wing alone; clearly big dogs make up the bulk of the shelter dog population at Miami Dade, as is the case with any open-intake shelter.
Now that you've got the layout down, and it's alright even if you don't have it down, back to what I was saying about walking the runs daily...
I'd walk through, quickly assessing and meeting each dog on the adoption floor. Looking first at the dogs, petting some as time would allow, and reading their kennel cards while moving along. I'd glance over kennel cards for key information: arrival date, due out date, intake status (owner surrendered or stray) and sex to know if the dog was yet spayed or neutered- this was the crucial bit of info I'd gather from the cards. The color, age and breed stated on the cards weren't of initial importance to me since those were often the guess of whomever was working in dog intake and... some were better at 'guessing' than others. Color, age and breed were details I could always change as needed then print a new kennel card.
So, I'd make my little list of 5-10 dogs that: 1.) had been at the shelter the longest (more than a couple weeks) 2.) had nice personalities with no signs of aggression 3.) were ideally already spayed/neutered then... I'd get to work trying to save some lives.
Writing all this out makes me recall my first week working at MDAS as the 'Lead Adoption Counselor.'
You see, I was the first adoption counselor MDAS technically ever had. The position had been created and funded via an ASPCA grant. Ordinarily Animal Care Specialists (kennel workers) and volunteers would act as the adoption counselors at the shelter. They still did a great deal of adoption counseling even after I was hired; with an average of 500-800 adoptions per month you need many people assisting adopters along the way!
Anyhow, since this was a newly-created position when I started at MDAS there was some degree of confusion about exactly what I'd be doing as 'Adoption Counselor.' Sure, there was a page and a half job description saying things like, "Will assist adopters with interacting with pets," "Will take part in planning and orchestrating offsite adoption events," etc. but there was still a lot of grey area in regards to what I'd do day in and day out at the shelter. There aren't always adopters in the adoption area after all. So on my first day, after hanging out in the back (adoption area), petting some pets, laughing and sharing affection with them, and there still was no one to 'help adopt' I went to my then-manager, Mr. Leiva, and asked "If no adopters are in the back is it o.k. if I take a couple of dogs out to socialize? -That way I can get to know them better and I'll be better equipped to match them with the right adopters whenever they come in."
"Sure," he said, "that'd be fine, just don't be away from the adoption floor for long periods at a time."
"Great!" I thought and giddily headed back to the two dogs (kennel mates) I wanted to take out first.
Country and Dudley were their names, Country was a big, brown and white pointer/lab mix and Dudley was a, rusty-colored beagle/lab mix, both young, both boys. I chose to take them out first because they seemed a bit shy in their kennel, especially Country, who initially wouldn't even come when I called him or make any eye contact.
I entered the kennel, leads in hand and bent down, my back facing the dogs. This is what I do with shy dog introductions to let them smell and know me in as unobtrusive way as possible... it is polite in the dog world after all to show your 'butt-side' prior to your front side. Once Country and Dudley approached me (my back) I faced them sideways, still crouched down, making no real eye contact and was able to leash them.
MDAS has a small, concrete, fenced area that is great for adopter meet and greets since it's immediately outside the main building. It also has an expansive, fenced, grassy area across the parking lot, a little walk from the main shelter. This area is an oasis for shelter dogs, and where I would take them to run and play as long as time permitted (10 min segments usually). It's also where I would go with shelter volunteers when helping train them and to take dogs out to play. I took Country and Dudley there, to the 'oasis.' Seeing them transform into gleeful, playful, bouncing puppy dogs within minutes of being outside made my heart burst with love and joy. I felt so extremely happy and thought, "I love this job!"
I continued to socialize Country and Dudley the next few days. They quickly grew to know and trust me as I did them.
Then on my fourth day I went to their kennel only to find two other dogs in their place (it's rare to see an empty kennel at MDAS, and if you find one, it won't be empty for long). Where were Country and Dudley? Had they been moved, adopted?
I quickly checked in the computer and discovered they had been moved to WW63. I asked a co-worker, "Hey, why were these 2 dogs moved to the end of WW?"
"Oh, that's it for them then. They got kennel cough; that's why they're there," he said.
"Kennel cough, well that's no big deal to treat. That shouldn't be the end of the line for them just over a little cough," I replied.
I quickly learned that at MDAS it was indeed the end of the line for most dogs that ended up there, in this 'URI' (upper respiratory infection) area. Dogs moved to URI were treated while there however shelter policy didn't allow them to ever be moved back to the adoption floor, even once they were cured of kennel cough. The URI area wasn't and isn't accessible to shelter guests, aka potential adopters, so it's rare for a dog to be adopted out of the URI area since most people never even know it's there. -Not adopted, no interest in a pet, in URI most often equals euthanasia.
I was horrified. How could these 2 sweet doggies, my friends, be killed for having a little doggy cold and cough?
I simply could not let that happen. These were my friends. I had promised them in our time together in the yard that I would find them both great homes. I had told them not to worry. They trusted me. Country was making such progress! I couldn't let them die over a cold that could be cleared up in a few days.
To make (this part) of a long story short- I asked around until I found a friend, a friend of my boyfriend's to be exact, to foster Country, and Fabricio, my boyfriend, and I fostered Dudley. As luck would have it there was a major adoption event, mega-match-a-thon, just a couple of weeks away. I used this as a bargaining tool to help convince our friend Paulo to foster Country and for me to be able to foster Dudley- we already had 4 dogs in a 1-bedroom apartment.
I felt certain Country and Dudley would be well over kennel cough by the time the adoption event came around and even more certain (and hopeful) they'd find their forever homes there.
The adoption event was a magnificent success, with more than 100 pets adopted. I was able to meet Dudley's adopters, a sweet, young couple. They were great; my heart burst with love and joy once again.
When my shift had ended at the mega event Country had yet to be adopted.
The next day I found out he had been adopted but couldn't get much information on the adopter.
I called his adopter as soon as his data was entered into our computer system (it takes a few days to input this many adoptions).
The gentleman didn't seem to be the 'ideal dog owner' over the phone.
"He won't come to me, he just stands at the back of the yard, he doesn't do anything," the man said.
I was instantly worry-stricken.
"Have you tried walking Country? He's shy at first. You just need to put in the time and energy to build that bond with him then I'm sure you all with be happy together... he was thriving in his foster home, he can do great with you too," I pleaded, sounding as patient and kind as possible.
Fast forward from the day of that phone call to a few months later~
I'm in C ward- B and C rooms are designated for sick, injured, pregnant or nursing dogs- and this dog instantly catches my eye.
"You look so familiar," I said to him as I bent down.
I looked and looked. Oh God, it was Country. And he had a broken leg. And large ticks all around his neck. And his fur seemed it hadn't been petted in months. He was dirty. He still had on his shelter ID neck band even though he had left the shelter months ago! His shithead adopter never even bothered to cut off his shelter ID neck band! I was outraged and deeply saddened.
Upon reviewing his intake information in the computer I discovered he had come in as a 'stray' after being hit by a car on a busy road. Damn it!
I called Country's owner.
"Oh, he got out of the yard a few weeks ago and we never saw him again," he nonchalantly told me.
Poor Country, now what?!
By this point I had realized I could not save every dog I grew to love at the shelter. I could not foster every dog I grew to love. I couldn't foster Country. It would be a long-term foster due to his injury and I couldn't risk having a 5th dog in our apartment for that long for fears of being discovered as the 'dog lady' and potentially evicted!
I called Paulo to see if he could resume fostering Country for a while. He couldn't. He was traveling for work in the coming weeks. Damn it!
To make (this part) of a long story short Country was saved by the bell (and Dr. Serrano). He was transferred to the Humane Society thanks to a fund especially designated to operate on injured dogs. Country lived, as far as I know. But he had to spend weeks on cage rest in a vet's office, perhaps only getting out for a few minutes/day. Poor Country. Being locked up, confined, was what he feared and despised most and that became his life... for how long I don't know.
I called to check on him a couple of times but it always seemed the vet workers weren't 'bonded' with him. They were indifferent when talking about Country and his progress. I wanted to visit Country, to walk him, but I couldn't. MDAS had consumed me by this point in the game (yes, even though I had only been there a few months) and there were so many other dogs I was trying to help- constantly. Country was scheduled to go up for adoption at the Humane Society of Miami Dade once he fully recovered from his surgery. That's all I knew, that's all I'll ever know.
I set out to write this blog about networking dogs in shelters but I got distracted... what do you know... kind of like working in a shelter. Anyhow, I was able to help save many lives that were doomed, dogs like Country and Dudley, through networking. Clearly each of us only has so many good friends like Paulo that can foster or adopt a pet at any given time. Thank God I was able to find a way to reach a bigger audience to network MDAS dogs during my tenure there. Thank God for that. I'll have to write about that in my next blog so please stay tuned.

Until then leep on keepin' on rescue folks... volunteering, praying, transporting, networking, fostering!

Country at our old apt, smiling

Dudley always loved the tennis ball!

Country making himself right at home

Dudley resting

Burnout

I am not happy with the person I've become at work.
Don't get me wrong, the depth of my affection and love for the shelter pets has not waned and it never will.
The extent of my concern for the animals has molded me into no more than a slave to the mercy they are or are not granted.
However the degree to which my impatience, anger, frustration and, at times, complete disgust has swelled is now at a boiling point. The impatience, anger, frustration and disgust are in regards primarily to working with the public, 'my' public.
-Every place's public is different.
An example: two dogs, Gigi and Daisy were surrendered together sometime last week. These girls are spayed, docile, slightly shy, highly empathetic and in tune with their environment. They're trained dogs, the type that would never have an accident in the house. They walk well on a lead. Gigi and Daisy had 'keep together' written on each of their kennel cards. On Monday a seemingly nice young man had both dogs out and decided to adopt Daisy. He said he couldn't take both.
Wed at work I realized he had already returned Daisy, just two days after he had taken her. I was in shock... don't know why since this scenario has played out time after time over the years.
I called the young man.
"This is Jessica with Animal Services. I'm calling to try to find out why you returned Daisy after only 2 days," I said, presumptuously.
"Well we had some financial difficulties come up," the man said.
"Financial difficulties? You didn't know you were having financial difficulties just 2 days ago when you adopted? If it's about the eye infection, that could likely be cured with a basic antibiotic cream, it shouldn't be that expensive to address," I replied (in the dog's notes it clearly stated that the owner had returned the dog because of an eye problem).
"No, that's not why I returned the dog, it's because of the financial problems. You know, you think this is fun for me? You think this is something I wanted to do? Why are you even calling me?" He asked in an angry tone.
"Well, last time I checked, people are still free to do what they want to do. I don't think anyone forced you to turn your dog back in. And you know why I'm calling? -Because I care. That's why I'm calling. I'm calling because I though I might get lucky enough for you to say, 'gee, I didn't really know what to do about the eye so I brought her back. I'm glad to know it's easy to treat' but, I see that's not the case, you've made up you're mind so please just do me one favor- the next time you think about adopting a pet think about it two,three, four, five or six more times before you make a decision!" I exclaimed and, click; I hung up abruptly.
My office mate had just walked back in and giggled saying, "Are you o.k?"
"No probably not," I said, flashing a meager smile. "Do you think I should get a prescription of Valium?' I asked jokingly.
I was so angry at this guy. -So angry.
A different, more empathetic approach would have been better, more professional. I know that.
However my patience has sizzled, evaporated into nothingness, at this point in my career.
What people don't realize is that this type of situation plays out dozens of times daily for me. We receive 80-120 pets DAILY so it's so- overwhelming. There's no better word for it.
Siempre se siente como si fuera nadando en contra de la corriente en una manera and like a race against time.
My grandmother (one of them) and I spoke a couple of days ago.
"Jessie, in every job where you have to deal with the public it's hard," she said, trying to offer outside perspective.
I agreed with her and know she's right but, I explained, I'm working with living, breathing, innocent beings.
It's not the same as someone bringing back a sweater that doesn't fit for example but, sadly, many people treat their pets with the same regard as they would treat such a sweater. -It's horrendous, and heartbreaking.
Working with adopters that tell me, in the process of doing my standard adoption counseling, that their last pet was lost, the one before that 'got too big' and they had to turn it in, the one before that also got lost and on and on is equally disturbing. I'm standing there with these people, knowing they're going to bring the 2 month old puppy back, probably before it's even a year old, and that there's nothing I can do about it.
Giving them handouts on crate training, access to FREE pet training, counseling on the fact that the pup will chew, bite, bark and grow quickly, reminding them time and time again that it's a huge responsibility are tools I use with every single adopter- the sad thing is that, I can and do talk until I'm blue in the face, or have nodules on my vocal cords (which I do have), all to no avail.
I can't even count the number of times I've counseled adopters, investing my time and energy in them one after the other, only to see the pet come back within a week. It's horrendous, and heartbreaking.
I've requested that we implement an adoption survey to prevent the shelter from  acting as a revolving door for our pets, to educate our adopters and make them take pet adoption more seriously. This too has been to no avail. -I never even got a response to that request.
Animal Welfare is the only profession where, that which you most love and are working to save, is killed... on a daily basis.
Think about it... Animal Welfare is comparable to working with: orphaned children, abused and victimized women, environmental welfare, terminally-ill patients perhaps. All of these professions have to be just as challenging as Animal Welfare, this I do not doubt. But... the workers in these professions are not facing the reality that their patients, clients, subjects are subject to euthanasia should they get 'too sick,' 'take up too much space,' or 'extend their stay too long.' And this my friend, puts a whole new spin on things- believe me. It's horrendous, and heartbreaking.
I've tried to console myself, comparing my burnout to the burnout other professionals experience.
Say, a math teacher that loves math, math is his passion in life but, he's disgusted with the school system that wants him to teach kids how to pass tests, and not really learn math, or he's had it with the students that simply don't care about math in the first place.
Or the banker on Wall Street that lives, breathes and sweats stocks but eventually gets played by the game that he has played so well, for so long.
Or the ER nurse that loves medicine, feels she was born to help others in this capacity, but eventually, after giving and doing for so many, she succumbs to deep depression, feeling that through so much giving and doing for others she has lost herself.
Thinking of my burnout in this relative fashion does help a bit, but, ultimately I still feel shame, a sense of failure, knowing that I've finally just about burnt out myself. In a way I can't help feeling like a failure.
 It's sad. It's so sad to me.
Every time I think about it I want to cry.
I never thought this would happen to me, I always thought my passion for saving lives was stronger, stronger than: the pain, the system, the lies, the drama, the sorrow, the death, the blaming, the senselessness, but, coming to find it's not strong enough is just sad. The human spirit is breakable.
That's why, cliche, it's crucial to invite God, the supreme being of light and love, into our lives.
We cannot make it alone.

Related writings from my notebook:

Why, why, why?
I thought I was too good for this-
I thought it couldn't happen to me.
I'm too happy, too silly, too spiritual, too educated, too smart, too sincere, too caring- for this to happen.
Succumbed to being completely frazzled, engulfed by, eaten alive and spit back out by- my job.
-That which you were made to do has made you into a pawn in a board game.
-Give me your soul, I'll give you the brief sensation that you have some kind of control...
It feels as if that's the contract I have signed, with the devil himself. 
I am sad. I am surprised. 
I never thought this could happen to me.
I was too good, too sincere, too smart to become- burnt out. 

A happier one:

Every day is a new day, with each passing day we have a chance to at least try to start over.
Old habits die hard.
We live by the pattern we've been living by because it worked, it served it's purpose for a while.
Our usual way of dealing with life allowed us to get through the day, 
to numb ourselves some so it wouldn't be too hard,
kept a wall built so we'd feel safe,
made us seem happy, always smiling and complacent
For a while, maybe years, maybe months, maybe just weeks or days this old way worked for us.
Now, it's not working.
It may be as sudden as a fuse blowing or as slow and steady as a candle burning down but we know- something's gotta give.
One choice that we often overlook is- trying a new way; deciding to try a different way of  dealing with things, people, life. 
This is where I am now- trying to figure out my new way of coping and finding out if I can do it.
I could be Ms. Smiley/Happy and act like everything's great... why not? What the hell?
Or I could become dry, monotone, completely disconnected... my sanity would be better preserved.
Or I could try to take a drug, an anti-anxiety pill every single lovely day... I know that would work, as least until I become an addict.

-Jessica

Posted 7th April by Jessica Pita

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