I arrived and picked out the cutest 6 month old border collie mix puppy named neo. he has the softest ears! I gave him a big hug and kiss. about fifteen minutes into my shift, I was standing with neo and talking to another volunteer when I heard, "oh no! it's diarrhea!" which, let's face it, is never a good sign.
and it's definitely not a good sign when people are pointing to the dog at the end of my leash.
so, I collected paper towels and spray and doggie poo bags. the scent of green dog crap is just as terrible as it sounds. to calm down and to distract myself, I was thinking good thoughts (pretty ponies, tila tequila, warm blankets that smell like fresh laundry, tila tequila again...) but the disgustingly warm poo just melted to watery chunks when I tried grabbing it with the mutt mitt bags.
I walked neo outside, let him pee, and headed back inside where it was not raining. about 10 feet inside the store, the dreaded "shit hunch" started again and he squirted out some more #2's all over the floor. in a circle.
checked my watch. 18 minutes had passed. 3 hours and 42 minutes to go.
another 4 minutes pass and I'm handed another dog-- the volunteer's back began spasming and she couldn't handle the 56 lb lab mix with no leash training anymore. so as I'm being jerked in a perpetual circle (because the dog is more than half my weight and more than 60000 times beyond my comfort zone), I'm thinking I should have just stayed home and painted my nails.
I looked long and hard at my situation. 3 older ladies are cuddling their chihuahua mixes and runny neo on their laps, chattering away. the two high school boys are being dragged around the store with their pit bull and Australian shepherd. I mean, I know I work out at Golds and everything, but seriously. seriously! at some point, I feel the strain of my smile as I tried--over and over-- to calm the dog down with kind words, lots of petting, and repeated visits outside.
when my second blister popped and started oozing, I felt the sharp sting of hot tears in my eyes. I can only fantasize about tila's ginormously perfect rack for so long before the physical pain and my natural emoness take over.
as the unnamed tank/dog attempted to dislocate my shoulder for the 70th time, I vowed that my good deeds have to end. I try to do something nice and just get screwed. rather mindlessly, I let the tornado-on-a-leash lead us outside. right before we made it to the doors, a young couple look at the dog, point, and exclaim, "IT'S HER! SHE'S BEAUTIFUL!"
they proceed to shower her with undue compliments and affection. they mumble something about how they saw her online profile, heard about the mobile adoption on Facebook, and came down to see her. this is the one and only time I have ever seriously wanted to make out with al gore, for his marvelous invention of the interweb was a beacon of heaven and lead to my salvation.
they announced they want to adopt her. my heart fluttered with joy and relief! they began the paperwork, left briefly to get some money, and were very excited to get Lily (they named her after a while) home to Coors, their other dog.
I inspected my leash wounds.
and concluded that this would be the last mobile adoption I work at. if there was some way to specify weight/breed preferences or to morph into experienced dog-handler over night, I would love to continue helping these animals find their future homes.
but seriously, reader, all I could think about was going home, washing the stink of poop and drool off of me, and gorging on some top ramen.
these converses are made for admin volunteering.
the end.
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