Letter to Lisa

Lisa,
So here it is 2 weeks later and I'm still thinking about you.
It all started in recovery, that's where we first met.
It was hectically busy for me that day, as always. I hustled into the recovery room to retrieve a recently sterilized dog for an adopter or a foster, the particular dog or person it was for I cannot recall, only that I was in recovery to get someone's dog.
Partially laying on your side, partially sitting upright, in a bottom corner cage with big doe eyes, and an even bigger belly, you caught my eye. Then I took a quick moment to consciously focus my attention on you.
You looked like a deer caught in the headlights, almost frozen, nearly expressionless. The fact that you looked and acted a lot like a dog I had fostered months ago and seeing your big, protruding belly brought on an instant surge of nearly-overwhelming empathy.
"I'll be back to see you. Tomorrow I'll get you out, I promise. Hang in there," I said to you, almost sternly. I needed you to be strong... for your own good.
At home that night you crossed my mind a couple of times. -Interacting with you as I had promised gave me something great to look forward to for the following day.
It's always that way for me; the animals make me want to, need to, get to work day after day.
The promise of the possibility to save a life, the sense of obligation I feel towards all of you pets is immensely powerful.
And committing to working on a particular dog is something I take very seriously... it's something I 'take on.'
There are interludes in which I try not to become personally involved with particular dogs in this manner. The deep level of involvement, the intensely emotional liability of it all can be nearly too much to handle. Knowing how devastating it is to lose one of you that I've been working with personally can make me shy away from this level of personal involvement but... it never lasts.
These anti-personal-involvement-interludes typically have a 3-5 day duration before I'm 'on to the the next one;' my love for you is simply so much greater than my fear of being burned by your loss.
With you Lisa, I had made a verbal commitment to get you out of your cage, but an even greater, unspoken commitment to get you out of the shelter.
"DOES NOT WALK ON LEASH" was written in red sharpie on your kennel card.
OK, I thought, let's see how well pregnant me can coerce pregnant you to walk- not very well.
But with some pulling, gentle insisting and positive vibration (forget your positive reinforcement with a dog that's this fearful) we did manage our way out of recover, down the short hallway and out the door to... freedom. -Sort of like freedom, the little fenced in play area, it was the most free you'd been since arriving at Animal Services anyhow.
For you Lis, the positive effect of being outside was immediate and tangible. You softened.
Your body relaxed a bit.Your mouth opened, as you breathed rapidly but easily. This is how you needed to be breathing, you would be birthing pups soon.
You took cover in a corner facing real freedom behind a plastic garbage can. You felt safe there and I let you be.
15 minutes or so passed. A lovely retired married couple of shelter volunteers were there with us in the yard, socializing other dogs. The other dogs' presence only put you more at ease. After all, you had been 'found' running free with a pack of feral dogs. You and those dogs were caught and brought to Animal Services.
You, Lisa, were a dogs' dog, oppose to a mans' dog. You preferred the company of your own kind and I can't say I blame you.
Not wanting to rush you but not wanting to neglect my other work duties, I asked the couple if you could stay out with them for a while. They kindly obliged and you were out 45 minutes or so before we had to put you up.
Another day, similar scenario. A different shelter volunteer (one that loves mommy dogs so much) and I took you out. You were once again content just to be outside. That day you even had a bath by two mommy-loving volunteers/fosters.
I had sent an email plea to shelter fosters on your behalf; you along with a couple of other nursing mommies were featured in the email. You were the only one still pregnant of the group. You seemed to be in the earliest stages of labor and just a day or so from birthing your puppies.
I felt hope for you Lisa. There was talk that you could go to one foster's home as soon as she could place her other foster.
Then, on Friday morning (my mom and grandma would be coming in town that Friday night) I received a text stating, "they killed the white, pregnant mommy."
The volunteer/foster that had met, loved and wanted to help you too sent me the text. She was at the shelter before me.
"No," I said aloud as my stomach sank, my shoulders following.
My boyfriend said, "What?"
I told him about you, while crying.
"That job is too much on you, you get so upset. it's not good for you," he said.
He didn't understand how I felt. How could he? How could I?
This all happened in the span of a week and I did not see it coming, at all.
My grandmother and mom were here for 3 days. I didn't mention you to them. What would I say? But I assure you Lis, you were on my mind that whole time.
It was strange. I felt like you weren't really gone, probably because I didn't take or have time to mourn you.
I looked up the person that put you to sleep. I looked at the dosage you were given.
I asked the clinic supervisor, "Shouldn't she have been given extra dosage since she was extremely pregnant and had fetuses inside of her?"
She said no, that your babies died quickly once you stopped breathing.
That's hard for me to comprehend.
 I imagined your babies inside of you, breathing amniotic fluid, alive and well, moving around.. .alive, only to suffocate inside of your deceased body.
 I couldn't help but seeing you in my mind's horrified eye, being eased into a bio-hazard garbage bag, tossed onto a truck with other bodies.
I'm sorry Lisa. It does you no justice to speak of such horror.
You were an inspiration to me.
You touched my heart.
Seeing how naturally and beautifully you breathed, labor-type of breathing, seeing how at ease you were in nature, how at ease you were with your big belly, how in tune you were with nature, how gentle you were, how much you wanted to trust, how you just needed time... you inspired me.
You are one of my pregnancy role models girl. I still think of you.
Though it may sound corny, though no one may believe me- I will think of you, and will do my best to birth my baby naturally and with dignity as you would have birthed yours. I'm sorry you didn't have the chance to birth yours Lis but I promise I will do my very best birthing mine in your honor and memory. -Promise.

Lisa, enjoying time outside.

Originally written a couple of weeks ago, on paper.

Posted 28th November by Jessica Pita

Labels: animal services animal welfare ASPCA feral dogs Humane Society of the USpregnancy pregnant dog sheltering spaying

Brownie, a pup

Brownie,
You were just a baby, not even 6 months old.
You had gorgeous hazel eyes with a great chocolate-colored coat and nice caramel-colored markings.
You never really barked much, even though you were in a teeny tiny, bottom cage, shadowed there, likely bored and stir crazy out of your little mind!
You were always just grateful for anyone that would pay attention to you; even better, get you out to play.
On Saturday it seemed your puppy dog prayers had been answered: a nice, vivacious man with 3 friendly kids chose you.
They got you out, played with you, loved you and placed an adoption hold.
You had surgery (neuter) and your new family was scheduled to pick you up the day after your nice meet and greet, Sunday.
2:00 p.m., 3:00 p.m., 4:00 p.m.... still no family... where were they?!

Then Monday rolled around.
That's when I saw you still at the shelter and I was perplexed; your family had seemed so nice, so sincere, surely they didn't bail on you... but they did.

Monday afternoon rolls around and a seemingly nice young lady inquired about you, wanting to adopt.
Unfortunately I had already seen a note on your file- a manager had 'extended your hold' one extra day to give your original adopter a chance to get you (bad move!!!!). This made it impossible for someone else to be able to adopt you that Monday, so the young lady chose a different pet.
Brownie, I called your original adopter/owner, leaving him a message saying, "You were there, freshly neutered, ready and waiting for him."

I even called from my personal cell to see if he'd answer, he didn't.
I couldn't help but wonder what lie he and his wife had told his kids to justify not getting you- they had all been so excited about bringing you home.

Tuesday I was off, you were adopted, 2 days after you should have been.

Wednesday I received the dreaded email from clinic staff-
you had been returned after only 24 hours and were among 5 puppies that had contracted parvo.
You were given until noon the following day to either leave or die.
The email said you were in good spirits for having parvo so your chances of survival would be good, for me honestly, that made the blow even harder. -I knew you likely would not make it out.
I couldn't go visit you, you were behind "A-ward" (euth room) and parvo is simply too contagious, I couldn't risk visiting with you only to potentially infect other shelter dogs. But I thought about you all day... promise. I felt very badly that you were alone, in a secluded area, witnessing the sad fate of many of your fellow canines first-hand while you waited.
Just shy of noon on Thursday you were put to sleep, 'humanely euthanized.'
Perhaps euthanasia was the only humane part of your sad story in a municipal shelter, your suffering was over. The rest of your shelter story and short life had been so heartbreaking, but unfortunately not uncommon.

Above all though, you should have lived... a long, happy, healthy life. You did not have to die like this.
Brownie, in your short little life, you were abandoned over and over again... once at the shelter by whomever dumped (I mean 'surrendered') you there, next by your 'perfect family' that didn't show up, and last but not least, by your owner that had taken you home only to bring you back in 24 hours.
It took everything within me to not call your original 'adopter,' telling him you had succumbed to parvo.
But I knew I couldn't.
I've seen this happen before, when puppies enter and then re-enter the shelter system they're often doomed to this sad fate.
All sickness is related to stress and the stress of being left, again and again, proves too much for many of our canine friends, especially the young ones.
-Jessica

This isn't Brownie but has the same coloring as Brownie, I'd have to search for his intake pic when at work

                                                     Posted 3rd October by Jessica Pita

Labels: animal shelters animal welfare dogs municipal shelters parvo pet adoption pet lovers puppies sheltering

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

Labels: