Lost and Adrift, Luna at the Pet Resource Center

Lost and Adrift; Luna at the Pet Resource Center

Luna could have been running with the pack on any street anywhere in the world, she is just that common a mixed breed.  A lean body, almond husk brown, medium height, a long thin snout and expressive ears the folded over at the top was how she looked when I met her, but she was still a puppy of 8 months; she could still grow.

I have not been without a pet since 1990.  All along it had been cats, until the very end.  Then, two years before I decided to retire and return to America, I met MeiMei.  A friend handed me a tiny puppy, at most 8 weeks old.  Now I was a dog owner, too.

Having had my career in English teaching abroad for most of the past 15 years, I had lost contact with American society.  No friends met me at the airport.  No welcome home parties.  I was on my own.

Culture shock is common in such situations, of living in a new culture.  Since I am American, it is called reverse culture shock.  The disorientation and emotional upheaval is pretty much the same.  Since I was also without a job with hopes of retiring, at the same time, I was deeply at a loss, in a daze.

I moved back into the house I had left 8 years earlier, when I tried briefly to make a go of living in America once again.  That hadn’t gone well, but at least I managed to put what savings I had into something solid.

The house presented its own problems.  Trying to deal with these brought me into contact with tradesmen and craftsmen.  I felt buffeted about, needing to make decisions, floating without an anchor in a world that technically spoke the same language, but was fraught with misunderstandings and treachery.

I thought I would go mad without the comfort of my feline and canine friends.  I tried to adopt a dog, but quickly discovered that he needed order, structure, a schedule.  Being adrift as I was, I was ill equipped for his needs.  After two weeks, I returned him. He found a good home the next day, I later found out.

I started making regular visits to the Pet Rescue Center.  In my county it is a large and very well managed place.  Nevertheless, it was constantly being overwhelmed by newly arriving dogs and cats.  I walked down the many aisles, looking at the data sheet hanging at each kennel.  I quickly realized that the small dogs moved in and out very quickly.  They were in high demand.  The larger dogs, the American Staffordshires, fighting bull dogs, German shepherds and mixtures of all three, had been there one, two, even three months.  Euthanasia would be their future. 

Another item on that sheet was holding back otherwise adoptable slightly smaller dogs, and pure breeds like boxers.  There was a line, Heartworm, followed by either positive or negative.  The positives did not get adopted.

I inquired at the front desk.  Was this condition incurable?  I was told that a cure was available.  It was expensive, however, and so the Center could not treat these animals. 

How expensive?  I asked.   I sat at the desk.  It was a long convex counter, with about seven computer stations.  Rarely were all manned, but I was lucky to find an assistant who was free to explain the facts to me.  It required one trip to a vet.  There the vet would administer medication; I think he said it was a pill.  One follow up checkup, and it was done.  The cost was about $250, he said.

During my strolls down the different kennel buildings, I spotted Luna.  She had been there a month already.  I wondered why.  She wasn’t overwhelming in size, she had good coloring.  She was a German Shepherd mix; mostly brown, peppered at the brow with some black hairs.  It was an attractive effect, though not striking. 

In the late afternoon when the dogs were tired, and there hadn’t been a lot of foot traffic, the kennels were quiet.  But early in the day the cacophony was deafening, as all the dogs roared.  Luna was among them.  When she barked, she bared her teeth. This made her appear ferocious.  Her descriptive sheet hanging on the kennel was marked with a big B, for biter. 

I started visiting her every day.  I went to the Pet Smart shop and bought yummy beef treats, which I unashamedly used to bribe her.  She perked up, and paid attention.  On subsequent visits I found a dog grinning at me, wagging her tail.  I wondered if she was intelligent, trainable.

The procedures at the kennel provided for a meet-and-greet.  So I went through the steps to ask to meet with Luna.  A request went out on walkie talkie for a worker or volunteer to come to cage A-15 for a meet and greet.  Sometimes the wait was so long, that I sat down on the cement floor.  Luna would lay down, tail wagging, pushing her paws through the bottom of the gate.  We would talk, I stroked her, held her paw, until someone finally came.  Each time we went out to an enclosure, she would immediately pee.  I had noticed that her kennel was usually clean, when other kennels were smeared with feces.  I took that to mean that she was fussy about sanitation, a dog who would not easily have accidents in the home.   If we had a 20 minute visit, she would poop too.  These were good signs.

I brought a ball, and we played fetch, sort of.  I tried to get her to run with me, assuming she never got enough exercise.  We went over basic commands; sit, come, down.  She responded quickly.  As for the biting, it didn’t seem to be in her nature.

Each time I asked for a meet and greet with her, I had to sit at the desk and listen to a reading of her file.  The ‘biting’ incident was totally understandable for a german shepherd, especially if the household failed to understand her nature.  A strange child ran across the year, approached the porch and rushed the dog.  The dog, in guard mode, lunged for the child with open mouth.  No blood was drawn, but everyone was freaked.  The dog was dangerous, and had to be surrendered.

Luna calmed down.  When dog seekers walked down the aisles, she did not bare her teeth and bark.  She barked, of course, but half-heartedly.  When not responding to the barking pack, she would greet visitors with an expectant gaze and wagging tail.  She was more receptive to what might happen.

After spending time with her every day for a week, I came to see her as usual but found her cage empty.  Someone had adopted her!

I signed up to be a volunteer.  There were a number of steps involved, it was not an immediate process.  I went to orientation.  Then I would get training for specialization.  I could choose to work with the vet techs.  Or get trained to work with small groups of dogs for socialization, play time.  There was the job of cleaning the cat cages early in the morning.  This pet center ran a tight ship.

I missed Luna, but was very happy for her.  I was still not in a position to adopt a dog.  I have been having a very difficult time figuring out a livable, affordable retirement plan.

Before I could go on to the next volunteer step, my circumstances swept me away again and I left town. One thing is now clear, though, about my retirement life.  I will return to my house, and adopt a companion. With this goal in mind,I will find a way to afford living in my home.  One point of structure for this new life will be my schedule as a shelter volunteer.