Lost and found ... Please volunteer

Dear Karen C, Karen W, Renata, and Christina:
 
As fellow animal advocates you will be happy to know that yesterday, 26 August, I returned to volunteer at the Houston SPCA. The date is significant because my father died on that date in 1986 and pain is intrinsic to both, losing a parent and what happens at animal shelters. I walked dogs and reestablished myself with the Outreach Program. Sixteen months had gone by since Chris and I adopted Astra at HSPCA and she became my excuse for staying home. In fact “emotional burnout” is what I was experiencing; the main cause for volunteer turnover at animal shelters.  
 
On my way I was apprehensive. As expected, I felt despair and exhilaration. Only the pithy lyrics of Bryan Adams: "It cuts like a knife. Oh! but it feels so right," describe the emotions precisely.
 
I walked past the mountains of empty carriers and traps in the back bay… was hit by the smell of dirty laundry past the back door …saw the plexiglass cat enclosures, full of old and young …heard the din in the large-dogs area … petted a frightened newcomer still tied to a post awaiting a clean cage ... hugged a couple of disgruntled employees.... It was all so familiar and yet so surprising to realize that in over a year nothing, absolutely nothing had changed. Progress is nil in animal welfare. Some, I among them, will argue that matters are getting worse.
 
Which is why this is not the time to quit, I told myself bracing for battle. Now more than ever volunteers, must overlook the politics of animal welfare, the inefficiency, the scum who surrender the animals, and the questionable motives and pond-life intelligence of many of the adopters. Focus, focus, focus on the animals. And if the big picture is too overwhelming, choose two or three cases and bring them comfort and joy while you can.
 
I only walked two dogs yesterday: Lauren (who looks like a fox and is just as frightened) and Eimee (a small tricolor hound with boundless energy). I gave them everything I could: long walks, sniffing for as long as they wanted, resting in the shade, hugs and reassurance, treats... Both were satisfied when they walked into their cages. There were many more dogs I ignored, but Lauren and Eimee may have had the best time of their lives, before or after my visit. That’s all we can do: Help to forget, build trust, and give pleasant memories. It’s vital work.
 
We also gain wisdom in the process. Waiting in the parking lot was a man in his 60s, a tattered leftover of the hippy era, unkempt long hair and all, wearing a defiant Che Guevara t-shirt and thick glasses with only one lens. He was searching for his cat, Tom, whom he adopted as a kitten in the 1980s right there. Tears rolled down his cheeks when he asked me at what time the Lost and Found desk would open. Never judge a book by its cover, right?
 
Please volunteer. -- Dolores