When I awoke, all I could hear was barking.
It was annoying, but over time I gotten used to it as I stayed here. It was normal, and if you are here long enough, you learn to cope with it. I then stood up and stretched, my old legs cracking as I got up and my jaw stretching as I yawned. I winced as I stretched my left back leg, glancing back at it. On my left leg, right by my haunch, was an old scar. It was probably around 5 – 7 inches long, though fur is still growing in its place over the years. But you can still tell it was there. As I looked at the scar, old memories began rushing back to me, taking me by surprise. But as soon as those memories came to my head, I shook them away. I walked around my kennel once, grabbing a bite to eat and a drink of water before laying back down again. I looked at some of the younger dogs in the kennel, noticing their youth. Looking back at myself, glancing at my dull liver and white fur. My coat has dulled over the years, and it doesn't look as 'pretty' as the other dogs around here, but I try my best on keeping it clean. The pads on my paws were worn down from all of the miles I put on them over the years. Sighing, I placed my head on my paws and closed my eyes, trying to drown out the sounds of barking.
The noise came from everywhere, to my left, to my right, and in front of me. I opened my eyes and looked through the bars, noticing two new dogs in the middle of the door being held by the shelter helpers. One was a young male Labrador retriever, probably around the age of 3. His coat was jet black, and he seemed a little on the skinny side, but not as bad as the others that I have seen before. The other dog was a female cocker spaniel, a cousin of my breed, but a tad different. Her kind is smaller than mine, and even for her own type she was small. Her coat was liver and white, and there was a white snip on her face. Even though they both were different in size, breed, gender, color, and personality, both showed the same expression on their face; fear and disappointment. Their eyes darted everywhere, checking the place out. Dogs barked and whined in their kennels, curious on where these new comers were from. Both were led away in the back room, most likely to be examined and placed in the best kennels for them.
The kennels were simple; all of them having a latch to unhook or close and the cages were made out of metal bars. They were the same like another enclosure that I had seen. All of them had a bowl of water in one of the far corners, and a bowl of food for the other side. The walls were painted in a simple off-white color, and there were different signs hung up on the walls, either showing proper handling technique for dogs, to dog food brand posters. The floors were just cement, a few cracks were here and there, but it was stable. It was easy to take a hose to and clean, so it was the best choice for the kennels. There was two – three dogs per kennel, depending on size, gender, and personalities. On each kennel, there was a piece of paper taped on the door, giving a short description about the dogs and what they should expect when taking care of them.
I watched as the other shelter helpers walked in with a few dogs on their leads. They were bringing them in from the running pen, where the dogs can stretch out their legs every once in a while. I noticed the dogs looked more fresh and excited, and have a slight gleam in their eye when they came in, but it slowly disappeared as they were put back in their kennels. Each dog received a pat on the head, and a few soft words spoken to them, but other than that they didn’t get anymore more affection from the helpers. The shelter helpers are truly kind people for taking time out of their day to help the animals that are in need, but they can’t get attached with every animal that walks through these doors. They have to keep their distance so they don’t get to close to the animals, and stray away from any emotions they may feel for the animals.
It was the same thing every day. Dogs coming and going, people coming in to look at the dogs, and helpers taking care of us. Each day, the helpers come in to feed and water us in the morning. After breakfast, groups of dogs will be taken out to the dog run to stretch their legs, and the helpers will go back and clean up the empty pens. Then they will be brought back in, and the next group will go, and so on and so on. Usually at that time the new dogs will come in and get checked and assigned a kennel, then let out with the other groups. After all of the cleaning and feeding is done, they then allow people to come in and look at the dogs. They make sure that the cleaning is done before hand, so that the place looks best for the potential owners of us. The owners would come in and look at us, passing each cage and taking a look in them. They always pass me though, and I don’t even go up and greet them anymore. It’s the same thing, day in and day out. It’s a routine, and we all live by it.
Now, the helpers at the shelter try to find homes for all of the animals, though it’s hard to do for the older dogs. Younger dogs are more ‘cute’ and active, and also have many more years of life ahead of them then us old dogs. They have more life inside them it seems, and they so much to look forward too. Us old dogs only have so many years left here, and we seem to all lost that drive somewhere down the road in our lives. It’s a cold hard fact that we old dogs know, and it’s a hard thing to accept. It’s depressing seeing the old dogs, like myself, being passed when the humans walk by. They instantly go to the younger dogs, or the puppies. They don’t even take another glance at us, it’s like we are not worth the time or effort to be given a chance. I though everyone deserved a chance, even the old beaten down dogs deserve a chance.
Now the scary thing is, there’s a limit for how many months an old dog can be in a shelter. The limit is probably different in other shelter, or there might not even be a limit in other shelters. But due to the large mass breeding of animals, and lots of the owners can't take care of their animals or can't afford to take care of them, they had to now make limits so that there isn't an overpopulation of animals in the city on the streets, or in the shelters. And since the younger dogs have a much higher chance of being adopted then the older dogs, the shelters gets full up on unwanted old dogs. So there is the three month limit. After three months ... Well, the old dog is put down.
And I’m nearing my three months.
pud / demigirl / pan
