Lessons in how not to take care of your pets

Recently, I've been having trouble with people. Specifically, I guess, pet owners.

We currently have two great pets in our home that are not ours. Not completely, anyway. We love them like ours and we, more or less, treat them like ours, but we know that the time will come when we will have to let go.

I guess the best way to illustrate my malaise is to tell their stories.

This is Buster:

Buster is about 6 and a half years old (the same age as Honey), 70 lbs, and mostly hound. I did his intake paperwork. The owner seemed genuinely upset, which is honestly refreshing when dealing with so much... apathy. She said she was moving, and wouldn't have a yard, so she couldn't take him with her.

You see, Buster was a "yard dog." Her words. Specifically, when I asked her why his back end looked so bad (severe alopecia, crusted and stinky), she shrugged and said, "He's a yard dog." When I asked if he had been to the vet, she said no, and gave me a look as if her previous statement made her current one obvious.

I've had dogs that prefer to be outside. They would come in and then, when ready, ask to go back out. Some dogs love being outside. In fact, some dogs live outside and have perfectly happy and healthy lives. 

Buster is NOT a yard dog. 

Buster loves blankets, loves belly rubs, loves chewing and loves playing fetch. He prefers to be right where his family is, not in the next room or out of eye sight. His new favorite thing is to snuggle on the couch and get his belly rubbed.

Putting a dog outside and not providing proper medical attention is cruel. Putting a dog outside that has probably been a beloved "house dog" for the first three years of his life is heartless. Pretending to be upset when returning the dog to the shelter because you refuse to bring him inside is stupid. I hate lying and I hate crocodile tears. You don't neglect a dog for three years and then pretend to care when you leave him to die.

The more time I spend with this dog, as weird as he may be, the more I hate his previous owner.



Before I move on to Gatsby, I'd like to set it up by sharing a story about another cat from Thursday. His name was Marbles, and he was a gorgeous orange and white cat. His owner knew one of our foster parents, and she contacted us with an urgent request for information about euthanasia. I spoke with her, so when her acquaintance came in moments later I was somewhat prepared.

Marbles was vomiting blood. We all knew that this would be a euthanasia request, but she asked be what the chances were that the vets would try to save him rather than euthanize him. I told her that it occasionally happened, but when a pet was vomiting blood, the situation was dire. To put that question to rest, I made a few phone calls and confirmed that our vets would not be able to save him in his current condition.

Marbles had urine crystals. He had been diagnosed a few years ago (he was currently seven years old) and his condition had been controlled by prescription diet. A few months ago, however, he started showing symptoms that the food wasn't working anymore. Symptoms include blood in urine, straining during urination, painful urination, and not using the litterbox.

She knew what was wrong for months and chose to not seek treatment until he was literally dying. Again, she seemed genuinely distressed, but it is hard to be sympathetic when every fiber of my being is screaming, "YOU KILLED YOUR CAT!!!" Had he been treated when he started showing symptoms again, he would have lived. Instead, a beautiful and otherwise healthy cat was put to death because a treatable condition was consciously left untreated.

I don't get it. My cat is squinting one eye and I am losing my mind. I know it's not an emergency, but I'm calling the vet tomorrow to see if I should do anything. I just don't get it.



That brings me to Gatsby. He was brought in by a guy who said that his wife didn't trust the cat around their new baby. Here's his story, as well as I can piece it together:

Gatsby, formerly known as Max, formerly known as Starlight, was adopted from the Washington DC Humane Society when he was about 5 months old. When he was surrendered to the shelter, he was 2 and a half years old. He was loosely diagnosed with urine crystals a few months ago, but a change in diet seemed to take care of the problem. Since the new baby had arrived, other members of the family were visiting and their accompanying dogs were upsetting Gatsby. In his stress, he lashed out at one of the visitors and became agitated even around the resident dogs. They started isolating him from the rest of the family, specifically the dogs and the baby. He was obviously unhappy and distressed, so his owners consulted their vet. Their vet prescribed fluoxetine (Prozac), and after one week on fluoxetine they surrendered him to the shelter.

If I didn't know any better, I would think that the owners had "tried everything." That's a common lie that we hear at the shelter from owners who have simply had enough. It is rare when a person will admit that they just can't deal with it anymore, just as it is rare when a person has truly tried everything. If I didn't know any better, I wouldn't be so angry.

It is normal for a cat to become stressed out around unruly dogs. It is normal for a cat that is having an adrenaline rush due to "fight or flight" to redirect aggression onto a person if that person tries to grab them while they are panicking. There is a difference between isolating a cat and giving it refuge. A cat needs to feel safe in its own home, not endangered and not excluded.

Furthermore, if you think a pet is acting aggressively, DO NOT GIVE IT PROZAC. We have spoken with vets and behaviorists about different scenarios where trying fluoxetine is appropriate, and in every case we have been told that aggression can actually be made worse by Prozac.

Also, if your pet is on Prozac, there is an adjustment period. It can take weeks for a pet to feel "better." Those first couple weeks can be especially bad (I speak from experience). The last thing you want to do is surrender your pet to the shelter after one week on fluoxetine.

That is exactly what they did. And when Gatsby was in the middle of a bad trip, in a weird place with weird people, they had to muzzle him to finish vaccinating him. When he came down, a few days later, he emerged as the loving, perfectly normal cat he is.

But he was already deemed Rescue Only, based on intake behavior and special diet. My coworker who did his intake asked for my help, and as a last-ditch effort, I called the Washington Humane Society. They said that yes, they would take him back, but they would not arrange transport. Our rescue coordinator consulted theirs, and it was agreed that they would take Gatsby back if he got up to DC.

So, here we are.

Gatsby is the biggest cat we've ever had. He loves belly rubs and he loves attention. He also loves to play, in a lazy kind of way.

Just like with Buster, the more time I spend with Gatsby, the more furious I become that his owner left him with us to die. He was informed that Gatsby would not be adoptable and would more than likely be euthanized, and he chose to walk away.

Gatsby is a wonderful, normal cat. He met our dogs, briefly, and had a very normal reaction. He was fine until the dogs started barking at him and one rushed at him, at which point he puffed up and looked for a safe exit. Instead of grabbing him and getting mauled, we allowed him to find his own way back to his safe room, where he immediately calmed down and rolled over for more belly rubs.

I fall in love with all of my fosters. Every single one. Even if they are difficult, even if they don't fit our home and we have to re-foster-home them, even if I know they're going to die. When they're strays, it's easier. But with owners come baggage, which I then take because animals don't carry baggage. They don't have thumbs. Usually I can just ignore it, but these last couple weeks have really tested my faith in humanity.

I do take solace in the fact that they're better off here and their future will hopefully be brighter, but sometimes you just gotta rant it out.

I feel so lonesome, I could die.

I'll never understand the owners who say that they don't have time for their pet anymore, and leave them to die at the shelter in the arms of strangers. I'm not talking about how we tell every pet owner who surrenders a pet that their pet will be at risk due to space, health and temperament, I'm talking about the owners who are told, after intake, point blank, that if they walk out that front door without their pet, their pet will be euthanized in the next ten minutes. And they keep on walking.

Kiki was brought in by his grandfather and left to die. He was a 4 year old, declawed cat whose mother could no longer give him the time that he "deserved". "He deserves a good home with a loving family," she wrote. Kiki did not get what he deserved. Kiki hadn't been away from home in years. He was in a borrowed carrier that smelled like another cat, taken to a room by someone he didn't know, placed in a kennel in that carrier, surrounded by hundreds of other smells and the voices of strangers. He didn't want to be handled by those strangers, he was too scared and wanted to be left alone. So he hissed. He hissed and he growled and he acted tough so that we wouldn't know that he was scared to death. But we knew. We also knew that we couldn't keep him. We couldn't put him up for adoption because he wouldn't be able to handle dozens of strangers staring at him every day, trying to touch him. We couldn't hold him because the shelter environment is cruel for fearful animals. Our only option was to euthanize him and give him a kind death. But first, I asked his grandfather if they would take him back. I said, "He's scared. We can't touch him. You can walk out that door with him and we'll destroy the paperwork. If you leave him here, he will be put down."

Kiki fought. He was scared, but he fought death. He wasn't ready. But that wasn't his choice. Or ours.

Bryn was a good dog, too. At one time, she had a family with children that loved her. But then her mother and her children left her with her father. Her father lost his job, but found a new one a few weeks later. That new job, though, meant that he had to travel, for weeks at a time. No one would watch Bryn, and her father couldn't afford the extensive boarding fees with his new job's salary.

When I met Bryn, she thought she was at the vet and she was already scared. The vets had warned us that she was fearful and would need to be muzzled, and to go slow with her. So we went for a walk, me, Bryn and her father. We walked down the sidewalk, and when we got to the end, she and I walked around the yard while her father went to his car. He couldn't take her back, no matter what the outcome, but he knew that her chances were not good.

Bryn walked with me like a good girl does. She went with me into the front door, through the lobby, and down the hallway. She got on the scale, and stood obediently. But she would not let me touch her. And she would not let anyone else touch her. Bryan was scared, too, and she defended herself in the only way she knew how. The whites of her eyes showed. Her hackles went up. She bared her teeth. And she growled. A dog like that can't go on the adoption floor. A dog like that should be at home, with her family, where she is safe. The shelter is no place for a scared good girl.

Sometimes we can save these pets. But most of the time, we can't. We don't have the space for them, we don't have a place where they can feel safe and relax. It's loud and it smells funny and there's nothing for them but fear. It's so sad that the best we can do is euthanize them, give them the peace that their owners failed to secure for them. Please, people, take your pet to the vet to be put down. Be there for them when they need you the most. Don't put that on us.

Blue moon

I know people get a little crazy around the full moon, and yesterday's "blue moon" was no exception. Here are a couple lovely stories from yesterday, and one from today to round it off:

"No, Thank You."

20-something kid with an attitude walks in with a smiling older woman. He tells me he's here to pay a fine. I ask if he has any paperwork. He says no. I ask who the citation would have been written to. He gestures irreverently to his mother and says, "I guess her." She continues smiling and gives me her name. I find the dog that they reclaimed, but cannot find the citation in the computer. I confirm with him that they did get a paper copy. I tell him that I'm going to have to go figure out which citation he's paying, since it's not in the computer and he forgot his paperwork. He says, "How long is this going to take? I gotta go."

Well, sir.

Since you forgot your paperwork, I'm going to go track down the citation so I can enter a payment and you won't get taken to court.

It's going to take a minute.

Our ever-vigilant finance guy finds that the citation is logged and offers to bring out the paper copy when he finds it, and also call downtown because they were going to report the civil fine to the court that day. I thank him and return to the lobby. Since he's in such a hurry, I give the guy two options: he can wait until the copy of his citation is found so he can get a receipt, or he can go ahead and make the payment and I'll mail him a receipt. He happily hands me a wad of $20 bills and starts to walk off. I ask him to hold on so I can make sure I have the correct mailing address, and then he leaves. His consistently delightful mother thanks me as they leave, and I have $200 in my hand with no receipt.

Kids these days.

"I have so many pictures of my cat."

Lady comes in, and right away she's putting off bad vibes. She's walking too fast, she's too stiff and her face looks like she smelled something bad as a child and it stuck like that. She tells me that she's there to pick up her 17-year-old cat. I'm thrilled.

A few hours earlier, a very nice gentleman came in in a panic because he had called animal control to come pick up a cat that was under his house. He didn't think the cat was in good shape, it had no collar or ID, and he didn't want the cat to expire under his house. Later on, his wife saw a post from a neighbor on their community page, saying that her old, Siamese cat had escaped. He had come in to make sure that the cat was still with us and to try and get the cat back home. We had to inform him that we could only release the cat to the owner, and he could reimburse her fees if he wanted to, but he couldn't pay us directly.

The owner called us to confirm everything, and was told that she needed her ID, proof of ownership and payment to reclaim. She said she did not have any proof of ownership. We informed her that, legally, we had to have some proof of ownership to release any pet to an owner. She said she would be in the next day.

So when she comes huffing in, I'm so excited to see her, because I know she's going to be a lovely customer. And it's 5 minutes before close.

I ask for her ID, and she hands me her drivers license. I ask for proof of ownership, and she says she doesn't have any. I say, again, that we need to have proof of ownership to release a pet. She says, "Who else is going to want a 17-year old cat?" When I ask about vet records, she says, "I'm a vet, I take care of my own pets." When I ask about photos, she retorts, "Why would I take pictures of my 17-year-old cat?" I give her a blank look, because there's just nothing I could say that wouldn't get me fired.

I check with management, because while she does not have proof, there is fairly easy line to follow, if not direct. I couldn't fathom not having one photo or record for a 17-year relationship, but I love my cat (as my t-shirt today says) and I have a bajillion photos of her from the past year that I've had her. I can only imagine that, in 17 years, I'll have a bajillion times 17 photos of her.

Management says go for it, just to get the cat out, because it would have been euthanized the next day otherwise. The lady pays the fees, we box up the cat and send it home.

Sometimes you just get "the warm fuzzies."

Nope, Still Don't Like Chihuahuas

Today a family surrendered a little chihuahua with a nub-tail. She was nervous, in typical chihuahua fashion, but she walked well with me and was friendly with me in Receiving. She crawled into my lap and let me pet her while they got ready to do her vaccinations. When they got started, I left.

When I checked on her later, she was Rescue Only. She did fine for vaccinations, but when they went to move her from the holding kennel in Receiving to the adoption floor, she freaked out and started biting and nipping.

I don't like chihuahuas. I don't trust them because I can't read their body language. They always look scared to death and like they're about to bite you. Even the nice ones. I don't like disliking an entire breed, so I try to work with those I can and not be so discriminatory.

So, I grabbed a bed and a blanket and went to see my little friend. She was in quarantine and was very excited to see me once she remembered me. She wagged her little nub and jumped up and down, then crawled right into my lap when I sat down. I was rubbing her head, and rubbing her belly, and then, all of a sudden, she bit me right in the face, getting my nose and my right cheek. I pushed her off my lap, which offended her, and she tried to get back in my lap. I told her No Ma'am, and left the kennel.

She didn't break the skin, and it was only red for a few minutes. But man, that hurt my feelings.

Another day at the office

It's been a long week. Our staff of five was down to three, which is a pretty big downsize. I've worked every day this week; I haven't had a single day off.

This day has been especially crazy; here's a bit of what happened today:

• One of our wonderful fosters brought in her days old foster kitten to "go to sleep."
• Cinderooni escaped and the rescue coordinator and I chased her through the woods around to the back of the building and had to check her for cat debris.
• A dog that had been hit by a car was reclaimed by the owner's brother, except he changed his mind when he went around back to pick up the dog, so we had to do some legal paperwork magic to get that junk straight in the computer. They have until 6 PM tomorrow to reclaim him and take him to the vet. The owner has a history with animal control.
• A dog that was adopted today after having neuter surgery was brought in hours later for biting a child, then the adopter tried to yell, "Just kidding!" once it sank in that the dog would not be an adoption candidate if she left him with us, after she got a refund, after she signed the dog over and he went into quarantine. Raleigh animal control basically said, "Nope, not dealing with this. Good luck guys." and I stayed until 7:15 sorting it out. I was at work for 11 hours. And I have to follow up tomorrow.
• The owners of a different dog that had been hit by a car came in looking for him. They had signed him over to animal control instead of taking him to the vet, and now they wanted him back after getting "free" vet care. They couldn't locate the dog, who was in vet treatment. We didn't know until hours later that it was the dog they were searching for.
• I was berated by an old woman whose sister had died. The deceased had adopted a cat from us and the surviving sister wanted the cat, but she was in New Jersey and wanted us to provide a health certificate so the cat could travel out of the state and also provide the transport. I told her that we could not do either of those things and suggested she contact local rescues to help her. She did not like that answer and proceeded to personally insult me, then refuse to give me her name, refuse to take the phone number of my supervisor, who she requested to speak with but who was not in the office today, then flat out refused to speak with me. She hung up while holding for my coworker, who had stepped out for a moment.
• A woman came to reclaim her dog, who was being kept by her brother but was brought in by the brother's landlord, without warning. The brother was late paying rent, but had a written agreement to pay a few days late, plus late fees. Despite agreeing, the landlord had changed the locks without warning and brought the dog to the shelter, claiming that his tenants had been gone for weeks and had abandoned the dog with no food. Turns out, the couple had only lived there for one month and had no idea they were being evicted, since they had a written agreement to pay late. They'll be going to court.
• Quite a few people turned in puppies today-- not allowed to have pets, moving, too much energy, not enough space, etc etc. One got irate because I explained that we wouldn't call if her puppy was going to be put down. "The only way to ensure the safety of your puppy is to not leave her here." She left the puppy. The puppy tried to bite everyone on intake, before even starting the vaccination process. I did call the owner and informed her that she had until 6 PM to take her puppy home (at no charge) or she would be euthanized. "Okay." She didn't come back.
• Another adopter returned a puppy after one month because he kept "biting" the adopter's little brother. It was gently explained that there is a difference between aggressive biting and being mouthy during play, and that if "bite" or "aggressive" were written on the surrender form, the 3 month old puppy would likely be euthanized because we cannot place pets known to be biters up for adoption. 10 minutes later, the surrender form was turned in, with the box checked next to "Has bitten in the last 10 days." After further clarification, he redid the form.
• A litter of five fat, healthy kittens were brought in by animal control. Honey had a great time licking the kittens, who made it into foster or rescue.

Many of those scenarios played out simultaneously. I need a break.

Work stories: Rabies edition

We've had many incidences lately where rabies exposure protocol has had to be utilized and scrutinized. Basically, no one wins when a bite occurs, whether it involves a human victim or not.

My first story is still in progress, but it's been a doozy so far and should be resolved today.

Two huskies were picked up by animal control Friday morning. They had killed a raccoon, the owner was on her way and the raccoon had been sent off for testing. We were informed of this case specifically to ensure that everything was done correctly. If proof of current rabies vaccination was shown, the dogs could receive boosters and go home. If not, the owner would have to arrange six month quarantine or the dogs would be euthanized.

The owner showed up around 10:30 AM with rabies certificates from one of our rabies clinics. The vaccinations were given in October of 2011. One dog had received a one-year vaccination and the other received a three-year vaccination. I informed the owner that she could reclaim one dog after it got a booster, but she couldn't reclaim the other. She basically cried the whole time and left with her one dog.

Around 5:15 PM, she returned and handed my coworker a piece of paper. My coworker was leaving, so she handed her over to me. The piece of paper was a photocopy of the same rabies vaccination certificate that she had shown me 7 hours earlier, but the dates and tag number had been obviously altered. The weight of the ink and the handwriting was different than the rest of the certificate, and the white-out borders were visible.

"...Do you have the original certificate that you showed me this morning?"

"No."

"I'm sorry, but this one has been obviously altered. I cannot accept it."

"Ok."

Had I thought of it, I would have made a copy of the copy and kept it as proof. Altering a public health records is a serious issue. Had someone else seen it and reclaimed her dog to her, she could be responsible for releasing rabies into the general public.

By the way, the raccoon tested positive.

..............

Another case that's ongoing. There have been numerous parties involved in this case, and it's pretty annoying to be yelled at from so many different sides, when the most reasonable response to 80% of the people is, "It's really none of your damn business."

A dog was brought in as a stray bite dog. When informed that the dog could not be rehomed, the finder said that she was the owner, even though she had only had the dog for a couple days.

Now, we're getting messages from fosters saying that the dog has been "set up to fail", others asking "what we can do", the neighbor coming in and being super pushy, meanwhile everyone is scrambling to try and find a legal way to get the dog out the front door. Believe me, we don't just let things go. We may get yelled at by management for getting "too involved", but none of us want these animals to die and we work as hard as we can to find any other options.

There are no notes on the bite, but by all accounts the dog is very nice (and otherwise adoptable). But no one realizes what a legal mess that these types of cases cause. His hold was up Friday, but we're keeping him until this gets resolved, which might be tricky because we just learned the "owner" is in Arizona right now.

.....................

A family came in the other day to visit their dog that had "come into contact" with a groundhog. The groundhog had been sent out for testing but the brainstem had been compromised and the test was inconclusive. I informed them that bite dogs cannot be visited without an animal control officer escort, and they got upset and said that they had been told they could come visit. "Well, yes, if the officer goes with you." The woman then goes on about how they had been getting the run around from everyone and couldn't get a straight answer from anyone and blah blah blah.

Hey, lady, whose fault is it that your dog attacked a groundhog? Did WE put the little critter in your yard and then release your dog? No. We're just here, doing our job, trying to keep you and the community safe. So stop bitching and go home and knit a sweater. You can pick your dog up in 10 days.

Work stories

Back by popular demand. These are just from today, but there's always something nuts going on.

1.

Guy with a leaf blower outside, blowing leafs. Leaf blower goes silent, man angrily bursts through door.

"I just stepped in a huge pile of dog shit!"

Guy gets a plastic bag to wrap his boot. Decides to not use bag. Is given option to use hose out back.

Surly guy emerges from bathroom. When asked if he feels better, he grumbles, "Not really."

Find out later that guy left crap in the sink in the bathroom. A true gentleman. If only he'd had some clue that there may be poop outside, he may not have gotten so cranky.

2.

Young lady drags or is dragged in by big black dog. Dog happily greets me by grinning over the counter.

"I have to surrender my dog. He just killed another one of my cats and my landlord said I have to get rid of him."

I explain that we cannot rehome animals known to have killed other animals; though we have some cat-unfriendly dogs, none of them have, to our knowledge, killed any cats. I suggest rehoming independently, since we cannot.

"Well, I guess I don't have a choice."

Like we're forcing her to give us her dog. Right.

We go through the whole process, and the final question is:

"Do you want his body back for burial?"

"Wait, you mean you won't even give him a chance? He's going to be euthanized automatically?"

"We cannot rehome dogs who have killed other animals." For the fifth time.

*grooooan*

*glare* 

Thanks.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry that my supreme hatred for all living things caused you to allow your dog to not kill one, but multiple pet cats. I'm sorry that I have caused you to bring this dog in. Thank you so much for giving us your dog. We were all just sitting around, wishing there was some delightful, handsome, goofy dog that we could suck the life out of. Perfect.

You made my day.

3.

Guy calls, saying he wants to get his cat back. His ex-girlfriend surrendered their cats about seven weeks ago and didn't tell him until yesterday. He says one cat was adopted but he wants the other cat back. Since he didn't bring the cat in and everything was in his ex's name, I told him he could come in and adopt the cat.

Guy comes in, saying he wants his cat back, but he can't find her. Over the course of about half an hour, the building is scoured by numerous volunteers and staff. The cat is nowhere to be found. The guy starts freaking out, saying, "You put her down. You can tell me. You guys already put her down." I try to calm him down, saying that we're still looking for and that there would be a record if she had been euthanized.

"Well, obviously not."

He doesn't realize that his other cat wasn't adopted: she was euthanized because she was so traumatized that she couldn't adjust to being on the adoption floor. The whole time he's there he doesn't ask about her, he just tells me repeatedly that she had been adopted. I don't know who told him that, but okay.

Eventually we realize that one cat was euthanized and one was transferred to rescue, but in the paperwork, both were attached to one cat, the one that was put down. So, the other cat was showing as available and in the building, but had actually been transferred to a rescue.

I explain this to the guy (tactfully leaving out the whole "one of your cats really was euthanized" thing), and tell him two things we can do. I can ask the rescue coordinator to contact the rescue and see if they still have the cat. If they do, they can get back to him about reclaiming her. And/or, he can submit a public records request to find out where the cats went. He wants both cats back, even though I tell him that the cat is no longer legally his.

"But... they're my cats."

*facedesk*

He pushes the point that I could just tell him, acting all sneaky like, even though he has been ranting a raving and drawing the attention of everyone in the lobby. He then proceeds to have a full conversation with himself:

"Would you really lose your job for telling me where my own cat went? 'Oh, you helped a guy get his cat back. You're fired!' That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. I mean, really?"

And on and on.

He answers a phone call and finally gets so loud that he attracts the security guard's attention. He then wanders outside. While he's outside, we find out that the cat that went to rescue had already been adopted. Woohoo!

He never comes back in, and I am given permission from my supervisor to not call him back. Small blessings.

.....

And these aren't even the stories involving concealed weapons, kitten enemas or feral spaceships!

Work stories

It's been a doozy of a few weeks, so brace yourself. Also know that Inigo, from my previous batch of stories, has gone to rescue. I hope he gets the life he deserves in a home that wants him, even when comp'ny visits.

1.
Two teenagers come up to the counter and one boy says they have a dog that needs medical attention. We find out that she has a prolapsed uterus and practically her entire reproductive system is on the outside. I saw that dog's cervix. Unfortunately, teenagers cannot surrender property to the county, so we had to wait for his dad to arrive and sign the dog over. The surgical team came to check the dog out before they signed her over and told them that the dog would likely have to be euthanized because of the severity. It had been like that for at least a week and was infected. The boy just couldn't afford the surgery the vets had told him she needed. He was heartbroken.

Lucky for her, they had finished surgery for the day and the surgeon was practically giddy for the challenge. It still looks pretty awful but she's healing well. She is currently in a foster home while she finishes her recovery.

UPDATE (4/4): Pepper recovered just fine. I can't remember what finally happened to her, but she went into foster and I believe she was adopted.

2.
If you follow me on Facebook you already know about Nemoy, Sputnik and Capone.

Saturday, a couple walks in to the shelter with a large plastic carrier. The smell of urine immediately fills the lobby. They say an elderly parent was "blessed" with kittens but cannot care for them. The couple lives in a neighboring county so we cannot accept the cats, so the couple leaves. A coworker suspects a dump is about to occur, so I go outside and ask a group of volunteers if one of them could follow the car. About that time, I notice that the couple is putting the carrier in the trunk of their car. Once my mouth is able to close, I wonder if that's illegal. The volunteers tell me that they asked the couple why the kittens were in the trunk and they said they didn't live far. The neighboring county is at least a 45 minute drive.

A few minutes later, a volunteer walks in with the carrier. The couple had turned left out of the parking lot, which is a dead-end. They hit a U-turn at high-speed, certainly sending the kittens in the trunk flying inside the carrier, and the volunteer laid on the horn and commandeered the kittens. I peek into the carrier and see three small, orange tabby kittens huddled together. They reek of piss and I reach in and pluck them out one by one and place them in a transfer cage. The disgusting and decrepit carrier is whisked away to the dumpster.

Upon arrival in receiving the kittens realize what a raw deal they've been dealt and decide they're not gonna take it. They refuse to be handled and are taken to the feral room.

The couple returns later in the day to retrieve their carrier. I cannot find their carrier but promise to let them know if it turns up. Mysteriously, it hasn't.

Two days later, I go in to see if the kittens have changed their minds. They have, and 45 minutes later they are all vaccinated and christened and placed in quarantine to await vet exam. They are underweight, saturated in urine, filthy and under-socialized. I'm in love.

The vet decides that they are not good foster candidates because they are "unthrifty", which means they look like crap and are feeble. They have until close of business to find a rescue or they will be euthanised in the morning. I panic and call the rescue that pulled Zeta, and they assure me all will be well. The volunteer who took possession of the kittens on Saturday graciously offers to foster them and bathe them before they have surgery. They are so filthy that she requests an extra day to clean them up.

This morning the boys show up for surgery bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. They are loved, neutered, then loved some more and go back to foster. The rescue will pick them up on Monday and they will be adopted out to amazing homes. Unless I can convince my husband to let me have them since I love them. I'll keep you posted.

3.
This one is for my coworker.

A woman walks in with her son and a cat in a carrier. She dramatically tells us how she has a debilitating heart condition and simply cannot care for the cat any longer, because cats are so high maintenance and none of her children have hands. At least, that's the only logical explanation we could come up with.

Some people are just so strong and inspiring.

4.
A guy is seen outside the shelter with a skinny dog on a rope, picking the dog up by his hide and beating him because he will not walk on the "leash." A kennel attendant approaches as the man is tying the dog to a table outside. He hands the dog over and comes in to do the paperwork.

I learn that the dog was given to the man when he was 3 months old. It does not have a name, and the owner was "some Mexican guy named Freddy". Freddy left 6 months ago and was supposed to return after one. His phone number has been disconnected. The dog has been in a pen outside for six months. He is skinny because his "caretaker" can't afford to feed both his own dog and Freddy's dog.

I name him Slim Jim and he is put on the adoption floor. He is sweet as pie, severely underweight and dehydrated. He needs foster or rescue, but they decide his chances will be better on the adoption floor.


The cruelty of people never ceases to amaze me.