Two small, black, wiggly puppies, squirming, tumbling and tromping on one another, reaching up, up, up toward my out stretched hands that can only hold one, but want to hold both. And once I picked one up, I never wanted to put it down, could hardly bear the thought of ever letting him out of my sight. I intended to hold him close, sign the papers, and take him home.
That is the only real problem with volunteering at an animal shelter, I combat the urge to adopt, adopt, adopt, knowing full well I can’t take every animal, namely because the shelter wouldn’t let me. And that it, in fact, would not be healthy for me or the animals, and would most likely get me the attention of the local police (“Why officer, I disagree. It is completely normal to have 37 dogs…What’s that you say….Well, I know my apartment is a little small, but there is no need for your judgmental tone…”). But nevertheless, each face tugs at my heartstrings, playing my emotions like a skilled puppeteer, making me very willing to adopt the title of crazy dog/cat/chicken/potbellied pig lady and complete the stereotype with an ensemble consisting of a tattered and faded flowered house dress, light blue rollers coiled tightly under a netted cap, and a menthol smoked from a cheaply bejeweled cigarette holder. Maybe that is going to far, but you get the point. “Plus,” Tim pointed out, “Where would you put two puppies in this car?”
Anyhow, I wanted them. I knew it wasn’t rational, given we had thirty some-odd more states to explore, people’s houses to stay at, and organizations to visit. But, there are times even a fairly rational person sways to irrational ways of thinking. But, Tim, grounded as ever, said we couldn’t take the puppies, not because it would turn our trip from a challenging jaunt to a logistical nightmare, but because he had become extraordinarily attached to a rather large adult mutt. In return, I took pleasure in reminding him that his buddy of was twice the size of my puppies put together and would most certainly not fit in the car. So, there.
(Just to clear up any possible misunderstanding, we do not intend on bringing any more animals home - two is enough…for now. But it is so nice to dream).
CARA, located in Jackson, Mississippi (Hi Buchanan Family!), is a non profit "no-kill" animal rescue group that provides food, shelter & care for hundreds of abused, unwanted, & stray animals. A huge facility, separated into multiple areas featuring hundreds of pens, CARA houses the Mormon Tabernacle Choir of dogs – many members of different ages and backgrounds singing (or in this case barking) in one united voice. It is not unhappy barking, mind you, but “Look at me, I can bark louder than him” barking, or “Oh! That’s my friend going for a walk. Gotta say ‘HI’” barking or “Hmm, why is she barking? Must be something good! I better snap to it” barking, so rather than being unsettling, the atmosphere is quite lively, sort of like a huge college auditorium before a professor begins to speak. And settle they did, after being fed and exercising in the outside runs, which coincided with us commencing to work. The cats, on the other hand, were very quiet.
I am making sound as if we did nothing but play with dogs. Make no mistake, we did play with a lot of dogs (a distinct benefit of volunteering at a shelter), but we also painted. Painted at an animal shelter? Yes. If you remember, we also painted at Save the Bay in RI, which is not the primary function of that organization either. Yet, painting projects are helpful to many organizations, as it frees up the staff from having to paint (not that many organizations have their staff paint, but it has happened) or saves the organization from having to hire a painting crew (and, thereby, saving a few hundred or thousand dollars, depending on the project). And since we are volunteers, we thrive on being helpful, don’t we?
(Additionally, this is another tremendous thing about volunteerism (as if you thought I would cease to extol the virtues!) - you can support an organization without having direct interaction with with their cause or clients. Yes, to many this sounds bizarre or counter-intuitive to some, but to others, this sounds like heaven. You may support an animal shelter, but be deathly allergic to animals and, therefore, are unable to work with the "clients". So having an alternative activity that allows you to support the org, but have no direct contact with the source of your allergic reactions is a perfection.)
As stated some days before, I find painting meditative. For those who have just tuned in (and if you have - welcome, it’s lovely to meet you!), here’s a quick recap of my reasoning: I know painting is horribly boring to some, or righteously frustrating to others (and, Brother, I feel you, I really do. As some one who has a difficult time drawing in the lines – and not in that rebellious way people say when describing their insubordinate personalities, no, I legitimately have difficulty coloring between the lines – I miss spots and get paint in my hair, on my face and clothing), but, when painting, you can see where you have missed a patch and you can fix most of your mistakes easily, so long as they are caught in time (“Oh, how like life” I picture Tim saying, in a horrible French accent. It makes for a good mental image, especially if you add a beret and a pencil thin mustache). Painting gives you time to think. Plus there is that whole bit about covering over the old and making the space look new and clean.
Anyhow, we painted a tractor trailer rig that had been donated, and, that once given its freshening up, would act as the food and equipment storage facility. We also cleaned out the former equipment storage, hoisting unused crates off the tall shelves, hosing them down outside. We rummaged through boxes and bins, tossing unused items, cleaning, dusting, emptying and sorting. The aforementioned equipment was to be put into the aforementioned trailer (once the paint was dry), and the newly emptied, and also aforementioned, room would eventually be converted into a maternity ward/recovery room for dogs. And, though we didn’t commence building the ward that day, it still put a spring in my step to know that is where it was headed.
Before the end of the day, the handful of volunteers had exploded into a full blown community effort, with staff members calling in board members, and those board members calling in friends, who, in turn, brought their significant others. The event was, in fact, staffed by a DJ, who, besides livening up the party with heavy beats emanating from the large speaker he provided, took pictures of the dogs using a bed sheet clipped to a outside run as an expertly draped backdrop. And the barbeque – My God! The Barbeque! – what kind of Saturday activity is it without barbeque? We had the barbeque to end all barbeque, ribs, chicken and pulled pork, smoky and tender, proudly cooked by a staff member’s husband, the undisputed barbeque king.
To make a long story short (too late!) – in my very often-humbled opinion, it is HUGELY important to have fun, especially with volunteerism. It is important to inject treat into the toil (not that I would equate volunteerism with toil). Too often do I become extraordinarily wrapped up in the activity (my puritan work ethic, when switched on, has one setting – overdrive), feverishly working and worrying, trying to accomplish everything, because if we don’t finish every little task (whether it be on the list of things to get done or not), how on earth are any of us going to save the world? So much of volunteerism is not simply the activity at hand, but the community that is developed through the activity. Because, 9.99 times out of 10, the “to-do” list wraps ups quiet nicely before the day is through, leaving room for you to choose your treat: chats, barbeque sampling, and perhaps a quick dance, while holding a squirmy puppy in your arms, to a remixed Michael Jackson song.
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