Words they come and memories all repeat.

I started working at the SPCA of Southwest Michigan in August of 2011. In retrospect, my biggest mistake was not researching the place I was accepting a position of employment at. Even more perplexing, after the experiences I had dealing with rescue I was more naive and green than I should have been at the time but I digress. To me, a no kill rescue didn’t kill dogs unless behaviorally or medically there was not a more compassionate option for the dog and that’s what they all did, damn it.

(You don’t have to correct me, I’ve been LONG standing corrected, and I will get there, believe me.)

The facility seemed nice, the staff seemed moderately capable of cleaning up dog poop and not much else, and every one micromanaged every thing. I recall a positive note during my interview (which was held by volunteers.. and not actually any one capable of hiring/firing any one..) was mentioning my history in transporting animals and connections to other rescues. I also absolutely recall stating my position on when dogs within rescue systems should be euthanized: When all options have been exhausted. For a rescue that claims to have placed over 11,000 animals in a few short years with a 1.2 million dollar facility, I did not assume that would be an issue. And at the time it apparently wasn’t, as I was hired.

Not too much of note of the first few weeks. After two two hour “helper” shifts I was placed on my first closing shift alone- with no training and absolutely no idea what to do. When I came in another new hire was there and he obviously couldn’t fill me in on much, either. I fed the dogs, let them outside in the tiny concrete area we called a yard, and muddled my way through any questions asked of me with “I am new and have no idea, we have to find someone who knows.” Whatever screw ups I left behind apparently were not enormous enough to merit any sort of training or follow up, so I continued to be scheduled and just figured things out as I went. The staff turn over rate at that point was so high it probably didn’t really matter to any one that no new hires had any idea what they were doing. Why would it? We were merely in charge of the lives of animals and all.

My second week there I was called in to an opening shift at 7 AM, still with no knowledge of what exactly I was supposed to be doing. An employee had been placing unvaccinated puppies outside (against the supposed protocol of no dogs under 6 months out in the yard) and there was a large scale 20 some puppy out break of Parvo. Said employee was apparently fired, so they were filling the shifts with whoever they could. Upon my arrival the doors were locked and the director was bumbling through trying to get a hold of whoever could open them. I asked what the morning protocol was like, and was just assured to clean the kennels and that I would be fine. I would be fine with no knowledge of the morning shift beyond “clean the kennels” with multiple puppies with Parvo. So it goes.

Save for a few, the puppies were largely in recovery. I was instantly covered with diarrhea. I remember mixing bleach water and cleaning the kennels with a hilariously unnecessary amount of towels. Whoever had to continue laundry after I left was likely enraged. I made it through several kennels before I encountered the strangest looking dog. Like a Pit Bull that somehow developed a scruffy v-cape:

I knew absolutely nothing about her. At the time she didn’t even have a name despite having been there two months prior to my arrival. So, I opened her kennel and went to put the slip lead on her to lead her outside, like any other dog. Except this dog let out a screech and tried desperately to climb the kennel walls to get away from me. I would be lying if I didn’t say it scared the bejesus out of me. So much so I just quietly shut her kennel and skipped cleaning her. I came back and opened the kennel again to set food down, and she regarded me quietly with large eyes from her bed.

Later I would post that same photo on my Facebook and oh little did I know when I commented on said photo: I want to foster her and make her better real bad.

Start from the beginning.

In the summer of 2011 I was working in a hair salon and just kind of.. dinking around, as it were. I thought I always wanted to do hair, and so I went to school and did hair. I adopted my first dog, Smalls, from a municipal shelter in November of 2006 and subsequently got more and more into dogs. Not like, living in a camper trailer with 50 Toy Poodles eating wet dog food to survive, but pretty into dogs, specially rescue dogs. My experience in adopting Smalls was really not a great one.  I found her on PetFinder.com as a wee baby and it was love at first. My then roommate and I drove a ~8 hour round trip to a tiny rural shelter after I had put my name on her a few days previous to spare her from euthanasia should space become limited. The shelter checked in to make sure I was still coming to get her a day before I did, and all was sound. Until it wasn’t. When I showed up we waited a long time before a woman informed me she had Parvovirus and would very likely die. I was a bit perplexed since she was reported fine the day before and after she reported it was determined that morning I asked to see my dog anyway, because at that point she was my dog.

A janitor (yes, a janitor) took us back to her kennel. In it was a very lively puppy, which is not synonymous with Parvo, but the surrounding kennel walls, blanket, and puppy herself was covered in blood. I picked her up to take a look and found what I later learned at the vet to be a severely prolapsed rectum. All I knew at the time that this wasn’t parvo. I don’t recall much of what the janitor said, but he remarked that he really liked that puppy and he hoped I would take her so she would have a chance. Of course I would. I already saw her face.

I paid a $15 adoption fee for her, the desk lady told me if she died over the weekend they’d refund my money, and we were off back home. My memories are a bit fuzzy, but I have a distinct memory of the smell and.. projectiles. I tried my best to hold her without causing further injury, but any pressure on her belly would release a liquid spray- directly onto my roommate’s jacket. It took me roughly a year or two to admit to him why I was laughing so hard that long car ride home.

She went to the vet and required an expensive surgery to correct a prolapsed rectum and ruptured small intestine. She was given basically zero chance of survival with those injuries at being estimated as merely 5 weeks old. I received this word while I was working in a local grocery store. I didn’t know how I’d pay for that surgery up front, but I did know zero chance and doing something is better than zero chance and doing nothing. Now this is where I remember the times I wish I treated my human counter parts better, but I remember my roommates offering to kick in money to get this little gal surgery. To make a long story a little bit shorter, she did in fact survive her surgery and we’ve been together nearly 7 years now. The vet filed some paperwork and we learned that this wasn’t something that happened in the morning, she had been like that likely long before I even put my name on her. There was gangrene present in her intestines, so she lost a fair amount of them during the surgery, and she was extremely emaciated. At no point did she receive medical care or was euthanized at the shelter, at no point was I informed of her condition, and I never claimed that $15.

That was my first experience in rescue. My next experiences adopting and volunteering were roughly on the same plain. Then I started working for the abomination that is the SPCA of Southwest Michigan in the summer of 2011, which is where this story and Elsa’s starts. So, as this blog goes along, you might be wondering..What the hell did you get into?

Well, I’ll get to that.