I've been trying to remember when and how I started going to pounds. It's easy to lose track of time when the years and dogs start piling up. I can't even easily tell you how old my own dogs are. I have to think through when I started and who came first, who came after that, who was a puppy and who was an adult when I adopted them. I started fostering 7 years ago in July. Most of my dogs were adopted within that first year. I started going to pounds the following winter or spring. I didn't start off going to Fulton County. I did ask to go almost from the start, since it's where I grew up. It's mostly rural out there and I know dogs aren't generally held in high esteem. At that time I was told all they had out there were "hounds and labs." I believed that lie at first but now I can barely think of a breed I haven't seen there.
I started off going to Sandusky County in Fremont. They were the front-runners in this area for being rescue friendly and doing all they could to get their dogs to safety. They had dogs on petfinder then and even now, the same volunteer is still driving over to get photos to post. The dog I fell for first became Timber. He was a beautiful 100+ pound long-haired German Shepherd. I laugh now remembering just how little dog experience I had then. Seems to me they pretty much brought him out, I petted him and said I'd take him. After he was vetted, Sally brought him back over here. She even called and said "you want this dog?!" He was a BIG boy, not to mention dirty and smelly. I wonder now if I would pull him today. Aside from the fact I no longer have the space for a dog that size, Timber was super sensitive. He hated being groomed. It took me weeks to get him cleaned up. He hated the vet. He had to be sedated and muzzled for a heartworm test. A dog that size with such a low pain tolerance would probably be considered unadoptable now. He was also adopted out as an "only" dog. I don't know now if he was actually dog aggressive so much as just dominant but with his size and my level of inexperience I wasn't willing to take a chance on teaching him to get along (or breaking up a dog fight if he didn't.) Still Timber was an awesome dog. To this day he's one of my favorites. He was adopted to a family in Cleveland area, for an elderly man. Another unlikely adoption that actually worked out well. His son lived with him and was willing to help with his care, and when they came here to meet him, that huge baby of a dog slowed himself down to walk in perfect step with his new owner.
(As it turns out, Timber's story also includes one of the top 10 in "stupid owners" stories too. A few weeks after I got him, I got an email from his previous owner. It was clear she actually had owned him. She knew what color collar he was wearing and that he hated going to the vet. She claimed he got loose while she was in the middle of moving from or to some town out that way. She claimed she called the pound and they told her they'd already put him down. That was a typical lie. He was on the pound's website for weeks before I got him, then on the rescue's as well. She of course had no money to actually pay the cost of his care but seemed to believe I would just give him back regardless. That was my first "you realize your dog would be dead if I didn't take him. Be happy he's even alive and will get a GOOD home next time" reply to someone. It wouldn't be the last.)
Eventually I made the trip out to Wauseon. The first time I went, they had a shepherd mix puppy. I called and got the OK to bring her in, and when I said I could take her, the dog warden opened her kennel door and she took off like a shot out the backdoor and into the yard! He clapped his hands and called her, and she circled back. I named her Josie.
At first I just went out occasionally and called in between. During one of those first weeks, they told me they had a Rotty mom and a litter of puppies. Back then the intake coordinator I answered to wouldn't take Rottweilers (or boxers or mastiffs or any other "bully" breeds.) That was one of the first battles I took on and it was established the only breed she couldn't take were pitbulls (because of Ohio law.) I still think about those puppies and their certain fate, all because of ignorance and breed prejudice.
Over time, I've visited most of the pounds or the shelters that serve as pounds in this area. I made a few trips to Hardin County in Kenton Oh, a 3 hour round trip to the literal middle of nowhere. That is one depressing pound, I can assure you. (At that time anyhow) it was basically a metal shack with a dirt floor crammed full of cages and kennels, all full of dogs. There's a lot of breeders out there and even less concern for dogs than here. The first time, I went down with a van full of crates and carriers and came back with 7 dogs and puppies, including a Golden with bad hips I named Chance. 2 "beagle-mix" puppies, named Risa and Renee. Risa was adopted by the couple who later founded Dog Works, and turned into a hound along the way. A dachshund who became the first Percy. Another time I kept watching the listing for a Golden mix and finally couldn't stand it anymore and called about him. As it turned out, he was scheduled to be put down that day but they'd held off a little longer. He was so scared when he was a stray they'd had to dart him. They tried to lure him with treats but a lab who was his running buddy kept taking them over to him instead. On the way back he laid in between the front seats with his nose stuck in the air conditioning. Before we were even home, I called my daughter and asked if she wanted a Golden for her birthday. That dog is now London.
My own dogs: Banjo, my aussie; Julio, my son's chihuahua; Arlo, my daughter's yorkie-poodle and Cody, my old man black mix, all came from Fulton County. Nothing against the dogs I have from elsewhere but once I realized how many dogs are out there and how few options there are for them, compared to the networks available for other places, my efforts stayed focused on that pound, and I will never adopt from somewhere else.
The dog wardens out there have come to rely on me. They've seen a lot of people come and go over the years, start off all gung ho and then burn out and fade away in a short time. I have honestly seen more of those 2 than I have of anyone else in my life aside from my own family. In a way I think we're friends. I know them and they know me, know me well enough that the last time I was becoming burnt out, Brian told me I needed to drink more, and we all laughed. I will say they thank me each and every time I walk out the door, either with pictures or with a dog on a leash or in my arms. That's more than I get from most people. They have also changed too, and work with me a lot more than they did in the beginning because they have found over time that if they do hold off on a dog, a lot of times I can find a place for them. I quit once, for a month, after a culminating round of ignored burn-out ended up in a meltdown of epic proportions. I really had no idea at the time if I'd even go back but I finally did because no one else stepped in. Shortly after my first return "check-in" call, Brian called me and asked if I was back. A breeder had dropped off 5 female dachshunds of various sizes and ages. I sighed and picked them all up, brought them here, and got them into rescues. I still feel bad about the dogs that came through there then but everyone has limits and I met mine. When I imagine quitting I worry about letting them down nearly as much as I worry about the dogs.
Over the past 6+ years I've gone through 2 cars. I've cleaned poop out of every one of them many many times, and the interior of my Saturn wagon (which I bought after the van died because I cannot manage all of these dogs with a regular car) was completely destroyed by an unattended lab mix. Many people believe I live in Fulton County but I don't. I make a 40 minute round trip out there nearly every single week to get pictures of these dogs and sometimes make another trip to pick them up again. I've gotten a total of 3 gas cards donated. I've gone through probably 100 leashes, and more other possessions than I can even keep track of. I've fostered a lot of those dogs myself and held others waiting for vet appts or a foster space to open up. I've vetted and placed more than a dozen dogs myself for various reasons, usually because of their breeds and sometimes because I refuse to allow a puppy to be put down. I've worked with dozens of rescues. Some I would call again in a heartbeat because of how quickly and professionally they responded. Some I wouldn't call again if I had to bring 20 dogs here instead. And I can assure you I care about every single dog I've met, all of the ones I've saved and all of those I didn't. I realize people don't mean to be insulting when they say "Oh I could never do what you do!!" but you know what? It sounds that way to those of us who do this branch of rescue work. I'm not any less sensitive than anyone else. I'm not so cold I don't care when I see this dog or that one and know that because of how they're acting or how old they are or what breed they happen to be that they'll never get another day outside of the kennel they're in now, that the only nights they have left will be spent sleeping on cold concrete. Yes there's a great deal of satisfaction and real joy in this, spending a few hours with a dog who immediately remembers me when I see him again. The stories these dogs have as they move onto their next lives and the happiness they bring to their families. The success of a less than high demand dog getting out of there and finding a home right away.
I also know that everyone who does this work has a story. Everyone shoves their own lives and their own needs aside for these dogs, but this is MY blog and so it's my story. I had no idea years ago when I first met Timber and Josie that all of these years would go by and I would still be doing this, still be tossing every hour of my time and every dollar I can scrape up into saving these dogs. I had no idea when I first walked in that the only way I could extricate myself would be to turn my back on all the dogs out there who literally have no one else. Everyone who knows and loves me knows I'm not an easy person to deal with but you know what? I bet "easy" people don't sit on the floor of a pound petting a fat old beagle and telling him he's a good dog, even though she knows he's going to die soon. I don't even TELL people about half the dogs I see out there, about the hounds and big beagles or the old dogs or all the times I've gone in and there were so many dogs there I had to play Sophie's Choice and pick the few I thought had the best chances or reeled me in somehow, but I can assure you all those dogs I've left behind still live on in MY memory. Right here and now, I have had it with the politics and the egos and the never-ending incessant bullshit. It's not enough to just save them. It all has to be done this way or that way and in between the rules and the demands and the fucking ungratefulness of so many people, many of the same people who could never go to a pound. So. Yeah. Did I mention I have had it? I clearly need a break and so I'm taking one and during that break some nice dogs may very well die because I'm not there for them. I'm sure I'll calm down again and go back, because I know in my heart I love all of these dogs and I do get so much from getting them out of there. But you know what? Every single time I get to this point, I honestly wish that THIS will be the time I really do walk away. Just pick up the shreds of the life I used to have, and enjoy my own dogs and move on.
