Welcome to your new home, Fountain Lady

“It is those that have enough but not too much who are the happiest.” – Peace Pilgrim

 Estate sales make me sad. No matter how respectfully the offerings are laid out or how fairly and painstakingly they are priced, there is something so sad about seeing a person’s life sold off in a piecemeal way.

 
We spend a lifetime amassing possessions - some full of meaning and memory, others simply pretty or useful in some way - only to have it all sold off during a two-day “clearance” event…Clothing, jewelry, dishes, silverware...Guns, tools, furniture…Countless odds and ends…Rooms full of memories, past laughter, dried tears, sifted through first by family, then strangers and friends.    
 
Walking through an estate sale house, I can almost hear the stories that will now, forever, be lost. Was that glass-domed cake plate a special gift that later lent a festive air to every birthday cake or anniversary pie it kept? A closet full of fancy wear - sweaters, vests, fur coats – bought for a special occasion or holiday, worn once or twice, then left as a piece in this longing-filled closet display, smelling of moth balls and lavender…Shoes still in the boxes, piled high…Hats, gloves, necklaces…All of only passing value to new owners now.  

And, collections - all kinds of collections. Angels, farm animals, turtles, pets, frogs…Dolls, stuffed toys, dishes, glassware…Knives, guns, books, stamps…Did the person really like these things or did the collection take on a life of its own, once two or three were received as gifts, eventually claiming entire shelves, display cases, hutches and window sills…Only to end up sold, one piece at a time…

One of my grandmothers collected glass animals, the other tea cups from around the United States. Both collections were extensive and as a child, I marveled at them, so impressed – such beautiful things and so many of them, all lined up and wonderfully displayed. Each offering in both collections was labeled with where it came from, who gave it and the date. I spent hours imagining all the marvelous things that colored glass menagerie did, dancing in the light; and, sorting through those tea cups was as if I was the one taking a trip.

Then came the estate sales and the collections were divided up and given away. It’s nice that whomever gave the object got it back and that we were allowed to pick our favorites from the rest…A bright blue bird and a pale green mushroom from the glass collection sit on my kitchen windowsill and a pretty blue, green, orange and golden tea cup with my name written on it in my grandmother’s hand sits in my hutch. I’m glad to have these things for the memories they offer, but all three look a bit lost and sad, as if their true value was in being a part of the collection, rather than simply a single piece.   

 

Recently I went to an estate sale in my neighborhood. Even though it was well organized and held because the owner moved to assisted living, rather than died, melancholy still filled the air. I bought a yard angel, a bird bath and a rather spectacular concrete fountain of a woman in a Greek-looking dress pouring water out of a big round jar.

The woman whose home was being emptied had clearly loved that fountain because it was proudly displayed in her front yard and she kept it running almost all of the time, only shutting it off and bundling it up on the coldest of days. The house is on my dog walk, so for years I’ve passed the Fountain Lady almost every day and the sound of her steady soothing water always pleases me.

When I saw the cars at the estate sale, I went immediately. If Fountain Lady was for sale, she was coming home with me. She was not inexpensive, but she was an amount I could afford to pay and while her smile seems more muted than it did back in her front yard, I’m sure Fountain Lady’s homesickness will abate someday.       

They say money can’t buy happiness, and as estate sales seem to indicate, our possessions can certainly come to possess us. But, I do believe we find a relatively simple pleasure in a few of our most beloved personal things. I like coming and going to the sound of Fountain Lady and listening to her makes me feel peaceful when I sit on the porch. I’m glad we could keep her in the neighborhood, so others who like her can still walk by. 

My friend, Joy, says she likes going to estate sales because it’s there she can find something meaningful to remember that person by.

“My house is full of things that just look like things,” she says, “but to me, each and every one of those things brings back a story or a memory of someone who was dear to me.”  

I hadn’t thought of estate sales that way – what a nice thought. I’ll have to share it with Fountain Lady; maybe that will help her feel more at home.     

 

 

 

 

 

"Girl put your records on..."

 

“Girl put your records on, tell me your favorite song…” – Corinne Bailey Rae (Google it…her name + put your records on)   

 Mr. Clark and I went to a concert recently - Pink Martini, at the Atlanta Symphony Hall. They are a large group with lots of instruments, varied percussion and rich vocals. Self-described as “a rollicking around-the-world musical adventure - if the United Nations had a house band in 1962, we’d be that band,” Pink Martini performs jazz, pop and classic tunes.  

 

We were late, but Mr. Clark said that was fine because we’d only miss a song or two from the opening act - “somebody called the von Trapps” he said, adding he had no idea who that was. I wasn’t really listening at the time, but boy, did my ears perk up when we snuck into that dark hall to the tune of one of the songs I remember from the hours and hours I spent listening to “The Sound of Music” soundtrack (Rogers & Hammerstein/20^th Century Fox/1965.)

 

It turns out these von Trapps are the great-grandchildren of THE von Trapps – the Austrian family whose story “The Sound of Music” tells. After escaping from Europe during WW II, they ended up in Vermont, where the family operates a lodge and stays musical.

An odd twist of fate landed August, Sofia, Amanda and Melanie von Trapp touring with Pink Martini. Their recently released cd features several songs from “The Sound of Music,” including “Edelweiss” and “The Lonely Goat Herd.” Mr. Clark was amused and I was surprised to discover that I still know every single word of both songs… 

 

“The Sound of Music” came out when I was eight years old and I LOVED it. I loved everything about it - the movie, the music, the costumes, Julie Andrews, the beautiful Austrian mountains. I even loved those grouchy old nuns, so maybe it’s not such a surprise that I memorized every word on that record. But, I did the same with the other three records I had at the time…

Imagine – a music collection made up of four albums. Kids growing up in these days of Ipods, Ipads, smart phones and headphones probably can’t imagine being that sensory deprived… My other records were: the soundtrack from the Disneyland ride, “It’s a Small World;”  “Sounds of Silence,” by Simon & Garfunkel; and, “The Monkees” by, yes, the Monkees. Back in the day, I was proud of and did truly enjoy listening to those four LPs over and over again, as they spun around and around on my pink portable record player.

Fast forward to the cassette tape days. By then, my musical taste and collection had expanded some. We still had LPs - wooden fruit crates full of them - that we toted from place to place as we moved from home to dorm room to first apartments, etc. We also had our favorites on tape, so we could pop them in and listen anywhere, anytime…

During those days, mix tapes were a major form of communication and courtship. Have something to say to a friend or family member? Make them a mix tape. Wondering if a guy likes you or maybe even loves you? Clues to the answer for this and many other important life questions could be found on the collections of songs we put on cassette tapes and gave to each other…Later “mix tapes” were replaced by “play lists” on cds, yet the depth and breadth of the communication continued…

The other day I went through our cds – four bins of them. My intention was to organize and consolidate them into one huge 350 cd notebook. I threw the plastic cases away, but kept the cds and the sleeves. When I was finished, that notebook weighed just under 20 pounds…that’s a lot of musical memories.  

Revisiting that cd collection was like reliving the last 30 years of my life. There were the Bonnie Raitt/”chick music” years, the World Music/Celtic/Cajun music years…Pages of “Music for Relaxation” – everything from “Chill” to Gregorian chants…And, of course, a decent sampling of classical and jazz music, as well as hits from bands like Dave Matthews, U2, REM and Coldplay…I found a bunch of the music we listened to as I ferried my pre-driving teens about - Silver Chair, Smashing Pumpkins, Pearl Jam, Nirvana - pretty good music, pretty great times…I had almost forgotten about the mix tape/play list cds with handwritten names like “Road Trip,” “A Birthday  cd for Bouncing,” “Peace Out Y’all” and, “Old Guy Love Songs” (a favorite, from Mr. Clark.)

Lately the “kids,” as in my kids, who are in their 30’s, have gotten back into buying records and listening to LPs. They swear the sound is better; I’m not sure about that, but it warms my heart to hear music coming from a needle and a spinning disc again.

The other day Mr. Clark had Sirius XM or one of those innocuous, non-music stations on and it felt like being trapped in an elevator or brightly lit store – no choices being made, no memories being generated or revived - just sound-fill in the air. I asked him to turn it off and replace it with one of those old “mix tape” cds I’d just found and, (no surprise here) much better energy - enlivened and engaged - ensued.      

When I started into the cd notebook project, Mr. Clark suggested that I “digitize” instead and move all of that music to “the cloud.” I opted not to, partly because I’ve always regretted giving away those wooden fruit crates full of albums, and partly because I remember how much fun it was to flip through my Grampa’s record collection when I was a kid.

He had 78, 45 and 33 rpm records that we played on an old gramophone. They were thick and sounded scratchy, but I spent hours listening to them…Maybe someday my grandkids will enjoy flipping through the pages of that huge cd notebook, popping music into a device they’ve never seen  before and marveling at what a strange place the past must have been.  

 

  

 

happy anniversary to Roscoe, our "perfect demon"

"When you say a situation is hopeless, you're slamming the door in the face of God." - Charles L. Allen

Roscoe, our latest rescue, will celebrate his six month anniversary with us this week. Right now he’s lying at my feet, snoring loudly in his dog bed. He has no clue we’re about to mark this milestone, but as in all other situations, when the fun begins Roscoe the tiny-no-longer-terrible Terrier will be there with a cute crooked smile on his face, barking his best, most enthusiastic bark, prancing about proudly like it’s all about him, which in this case, it is.  

 When we first met Roscoe, he was not this way. He was a sad, broken, scared little fellow, so sick there wasn’t much life or love left in him. He was at the animal shelter - an “owner surrender” because his person had died and no one in the family wanted Roscoe. I will admit, I can see why.

 

He is elderly and blind in one eye. The other eye was infected which gave him a vacuous, soul-less stare. He couldn’t hear due to severe ear infections in both ears. His under-bite gave his face a crooked look; because of fleas and a skin infection, he didn’t have much hair. And, probably due to all of these things, plus some rough treatment along the way, Roscoe didn’t like to be touched.    

 

There he sat, shivering on the cold concrete floor of the kennel, looking confused and sad, scared and pitiful; at times, he made a sort of a low moaning sound. I met Roscoe briefly at the shelter, but didn’t give him much thought…there’s so many sad stories there. Then one of the volunteers at the shelter posted a video of poor little Roscoe on the group’s Facebook page. I saw it and that was it for me; I had to try and save him.

Thankfully, a local rescue got him the next day and I immediately offered to foster him. I was sure that with some medicine and a proper diet, Roscoe would be easily adoptable. After all, people love little dogs, right?

My theory started to crumble when I went to pick Roscoe up at the vet and they said, “Oh, you’re here for the biter.” What? I thought I was there for the cute little guy who would soon find a loving home - not “the biter.”   

The vet said Roscoe had one of the worst ear infections she’d ever seen and he had a mouth full of rotten teeth that would need to be pulled.

 

“He doesn’t seem to have much personality,” she said. “But maybe that’s because of all the health problems. Poor little guy. Good luck.”  

 

They helped me get Roscoe to the car, but when I tried to pick him up to get him out at home, I quickly discovered that Roscoe was, indeed, a biter. It was a quick and vicious snap that came simply from being touched and there was a nasty snarling sound.  

Once in the house, Roscoe’s other issues became apparent. He ran about, pooping and peeing whenever and wherever he liked. He jumped on the furniture and up on the tables, searching for food as if he’d never been fed. Roscoe was a miniature version of the Tasmanian Devil. I fed him a big meal and, to his credit, he quickly found his newly purchased dog bed and fell into a deep sleep. It was the same kind of slumber I saw homeless people sleep, years ago when I worked in an emergency room. It was as if a full belly, a warm bed and the feeling of even temporary safety overwhelmed the soul and it simply shut down peacefully.   

 

I immediately fired off an email to the rescue, detailing the reasons Roscoe wasn’t going to work out. Then, something about the sight and sound of him enjoying that deep sleep struck me and made me decide to give Roscoe another chance.   

 

Day by day, Roscoe settled in. He became less wild and more willing to do his business outside. He stopped running all over the furniture and gradually seemed to notice us. It wasn’t that he needed our approval or sought our affection; he just seemed to appreciate the regular meals and a routine. He still snapped when we tried to touch him and didn’t like being picked up, but he allowed us to clip his leash on for walks and could hop in the car by himself, so we all began to get along.

Once he was squared away enough health-wise to go through the surgery, Roscoe went back to the vet to have his rotten teeth pulled. By this time we’d pretty much decided we’d adopt Roscoe as the list of strikes against him was just too long for potential adopters to deal with and, besides, Roscoe had wiggled his way into our hearts.

The vet said the dental surgery would be tough, but Roscoe would feel so much better afterwards that he could end up acting like a totally different dog. And, that is exactly what happened.

 

Within a week, Roscoe became the most friendly, affectionate little guy you could ever want to meet. He loves being petted and having his head scratched. He rolls over for belly rubs and enjoys being brushed. We still can’t pick him up without a snarl and a snap, but there’s no need to carry him anywhere, so no worries there. It turns out there was a great dog inside that poor pitiful pooch, living in such pain. Needless to say we adopted him.

 

The other day Mr. Clark came down from his home office proudly proclaiming he’d Googled Roscoe and it turns out he’s what looks to be a purebred Norfolk Terrier. According to the AKC, Roscoe is “one of the smallest working terriers, active, compact and hardy.” His breed is described as “fearless and with incredible courage.” Farmers and hunters admire their “gameness, loyalty and great charm.”

The Norfolk Terrier’s temperament is “happy, spirited and self-confident.” They are also “barkers and very vocal.” Roscoe and his kin are considered to be the “perfect demon” - “self-confident dogs who carry themselves with presence and importance and thrive on human contact.”

Yep! That’s our Roscoe. The breed’s life expectancy is 8-14 years, which means we don’t have a lot of time left with Roscoe. But what time we have, we will enjoy, treating our little guy like the king he has become. Happy 6-month-anniversary, Roscoe!  

 

 

 

 

 

 

looking at lights and letting them go...

“We’re born with millions of little lights shining in the dark and they show us the way. One lights up every time you feel love in your heart. One dies when it moves away.” – Passenger, “All the Little Lights”

We’ve been doing some remodeling lately, which means sorting, cleaning, painting and reflecting – a lot of reflecting - so many memories encapsulated in such a mess. Living in a house, busy with the day to day, year after year, one doesn’t notice the wear and tear that indicates time is passing. A mark here, a scuff there, a small crack in the wall…Life goes on. We resolve to clean and patch, sort and organize, but we never do...

Then, at some point, the kids move on, life settles and slows, and it’s time to face the disorganized mess that has become obvious between these now oh, so quiet walls. It’s easy to stay distracted in a loud house full of activity, but once that’s done, the long neglected boxes and bins filled with forgotten memories begin whispering from the dark dusty places where they’ve been piled away…

“If you’re going to move ahead you have to deal with us someday… “ those bins and boxes seem to say. And, one look at the true state of these walls, closets, baseboards and cabinets clearly indicates that “someday” is today.  

Starting into all this is hard; listening to music helps. An album I find myself playing over and over again is “All the Little Lights” by Passenger. As I sift, scrub and paint, the song about all the little lights has become a favorite. It’s a sort of anthem for the process I’m going through – reliving the lighting up and going out of so many little lights over the years…

Part of repairing, repainting and remembering is to take some photos down and hang others up. The work under way needs to be to archive rather than hoard - to define how to honor all those little lights still shining and those that have gone out, while leaving space for the lights still to come, the memories still to be made, the photos still to be taken.  

As I proceed, I find each project has a tipping point - the point at which the possibility of completion becomes clear and the need for closure sets in, becoming bigger and more urgent than the search for distraction or the need to avoid. The act of finishing one project provides inspiration to go on to the next…and the next…and the next…And, before long, you realize that it feels good to take control of your environment, as miserable and tedious as the process is.  

At our house, for the first time ever, the process of complete renewal has reached a tipping point. There is no going back. I’m throwing away far more than I’m keeping and that is as it should be. I can’t be headed into the future bogged down by toting around too much of the past.

As I repaint, renew, redo I reflect on all the little lights, tucked away or proudly displayed. It occurs to me that a house is a home - not a museum. There should be some blank space left on the freshly painted walls.

Initially, my hope was to get the house organized before I put the garden in. Optimistic at best, delusional at worst, the scope of the project far exceeds this timeline. Now I’m wrestling with the need for balance – how to keep the home project momentum going without letting it dominate my life? If I’m truly in this for the long haul, I can’t let my need for closure in each room loom larger than putting the garden in and attending to the other things that need attending to.  

The key is to live the process, steer a clear course during the journey and remember that life is lived one room, one garden, one season at a time. There is a balance between obsession with order and complete neglect. Just because I’ve not found that balance before doesn’t mean I can’t find it now. My goal is to find that balance, learn to maintain it and continue to experience the journey as a ride through all those flickering lights along the way…

It will also behoove me to stay diligent about cleaning. Chaos overtakes order much quicker than order is reclaimed from chaos.  Peace of mind can be found in a box of Swifter dusters, a good vacuum, a quality mop and some clean-smelling cleaner. And, don’t forget to add a non-negotiable cleaning schedule to the calendar. Then there’s the music, whether it be listened to on Ipod headphones or blasted out of old school speakers – to keep the momentum going, keep the music playing, in your heart and in your head.    

 

Hans Hofmann said, “The ability to simplify means to eliminate the unnecessary so that the necessary may speak." So true. I would add something about all the little lights, shining in the dark and showing us the way…

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

money...happiness...empathy...greed?

“Money may not buy happiness, but I’d rather cry in a Jaguar than on a bus.” – Francoise Sagan

Money has always been a tough topic for me. I grew up in a family that didn’t have much of it and for years Mr. Clark and I struggled to make ends meet. There was a time, a frighteningly long time, during the recession when Mr. Clark was out of work. Nothing like having the wolves claw through the door to make you appreciate the thing that kept them simply howling outside and that thing was money…

 

Thankfully, those times are gone and for the first time in my life, I am able to live comfortably, without money worries. It’s a strange and wonderful blessing and it has me knocking on wood, trying hard to be ever humble and being careful to be generous. When I saw an NPR offering this morning titled “Does Money Make You Mean?” you can imagine how quickly I clicked on it.    

 

This TED talk (www.ted.com/talks) by a social psychologist named Paul Piff describes “how wealth changes behavior and how almost anyone's behavior can change when they're made to feel rich.” Piff does his research at the University of California - Berkeley and he also travels in circles of researchers who are interested in the same topic.

 

In one study, he rigged games of Monopoly to create privileged players, in another Piff tracked how drivers in expensive cars behave behind the wheel. In other experiments, he tested whether people who felt poor or rich were the most likely to take candy labeled as being specifically for children; he also tested who is more likely to be generous or help others.        

 

What Piff found was “increased wealth and status in society lead to increased self-focus and, in turn, decreased compassion, altruism, and ethical behavior." He adds that he is not suggesting only wealthy people show these patterns of behavior. “We all, in our day-to-day, minute-by-minute lives, struggle with these competing motivations of when, or if, to put our own interests above the interests of other people.”

 

Some of the studies used real income, others simply made people feel rich or poor, based on their role in the study. Here’s how the work unfolded:   

 

In the rigged Monopoly game, a coin flip determined if a player was “rich” or “poor.” The “rich” players received more starting money, twice the dice rolls around the board and twice the funds when they passed Go. They also got to use the Rolls Royce game piece. The “poor” players were given the shoe game piece and no advantages. All the players quickly realized the game was rigged. At the end of the game, the winning players (all from the advantaged group) were asked why they won. The consensus was, in Piff’s words, “because I’m so awesome.” They talked about experience, skills and knowledge; some mentioned lucky rolls of the dice. None seemed to remember that a coin toss was what had turned them into “a privileged player in a rigged game.”  

 

In the driving study, Piff’s team observed “hundreds of drivers over several days.” What they saw was that drivers of expensive cars are 50 percent more likely to break the law than those with inexpensive cars. In fact, those in the least expensive cars did not break the law at all.   

 

The experiment involving who was more likely to take kids’ candy revealed that subjects who were made to feel rich (with the same types of entitlements as the subjects in the Monopoly game) took twice as much candy from a kid-ear- marked bowl as participants who felt poor.

 

The generosity study involved rich participants and poor participants being given the opportunity to share $10 with a stranger in need. The poor participants were consistently more generous than the rich. 

 

Piff states that in “dozens of studies with thousands of subjects” researchers find that “as a person’s wealth increases, their feeling of compassion and empathy go down, while their feelings of entitlement increase…The wealthier you are, the more entitled you feel to that wealth and the more likely you are to prioritize your own interests above the interests of other people.”  

 

Is Piff condemning wealth or the wealthy? Yes and no. He concludes the talk by making it clear that the research also indicates with “small nudges in certain directions…levels of egalitarianism and empathy can be restored.” The example he gives is of a study that involved subjects watching a 46 second video about childhood poverty. They were then given the opportunity to help a stranger in distress who was presented to them in the lab. The results indicated that rich people are just as generous as poor people, which had not been the case before watching the video.

 

“This suggests that these differences are not innate or categorical, but are malleable to little nudges of compassion and bumps of empathy,” Piff says.  

 

I’m not sure what the lesson in all this is for me…I do know all of those months of Mr.Clark’s unemployment gave me a deep and sincere appreciation for, “There but for the grace of God, go I…”

 

I believe there is no inherent harm in wealth, nor nobility in poverty; and, those in the middle class certainly understand the struggle. And, whether moving the Rolls Royce or the shoe around the Monopoly board of life, beware of that feeling of entitlement and never, ever take all the credit for where you end up in the game. 

 

Be mindful, be careful; remain thankful and self-aware…While much of my family’s current financial security is the result of hard work, luck has also been a factor and, as in all things, so has the hand of the Lord.  

 

Roscoe, our pound puppy, about helping his friends

“It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.” – Eleanor Roosevelt 

For years I’ve visited Barrow County Animal Control, almost weekly, in pursuit of Pets of the Week photos for the newspaper. I’ve done this for three papers, so I can say I’ve spent a good bit of time with the poor souls who end up at the shelter.

Some are dumped; others are brought in as strays. Sometimes pets are given up because of things they do – like escape from the yard or pee on the carpet or bark too much. Other times they are surrendered because their people have fallen on hard times, ended up in assisted living or died. Pregnant animals, sick animals, animals about to pass get given up because their people don’t know how or lack the funds to cope…So many sad stories…so many sad eyes.   

For all the ways dogs, cats, puppies and kittens find their way into the shelter, there are only three ways out – adoption, rescue or euthanasia. Barrow’s adoption and rescue numbers are getting better, but the sad reality is that most of the animals are euthanized.   

This is no one and everyone’s fault. The animal control staff does the best they can with the resources they have, but those resources are limited. There is simply no time in their day to provide more than the bare essentials. And so, the animals at the shelter spend what’s left of their time on cold concrete floors, in loud kennels with no access to the outside, listening to each other bark, howl, yowl and meow. Some watch the passersby with hope; others give up, curl up and wait to die.

A bit of hope began floating in the air at the shelter last summer when a volunteer group was organized. (Before then volunteers weren’t allowed, but thankfully that changed and Boy! did they go to work…) Within weeks there were new water bowls in every kennel – previously there was watering system that many dogs couldn’t figure out so dehydration was a risk. Then came rolling buckets, compete with new mops and squeegies for each room, to help clean the kennels…

 

Up went a website and a Facebook page featuring photos and information about each available pet. Then came an Amazon.com wish list and calls for donations of cleaning supplies, beds, blankets and towels to make the animals more comfortable. Other welcome donations include treats, chews and unopened, unexpired bags of food. There’s a certain kind of leash that’s easy to slip on and hard to get out of – that’s on the wish list, as are Nyla bones as something for bored dogs to do.

 

The volunteers take the dogs outside to walk them, rub their bellies, and assess how socialized they are. Is this dog friendly? Can it walk on a leash? Does it know “Sit!” How does it do with other dogs? Often that hyper, timid or shy edge goes away once that pup is outside, away from the nervousness and noise.

Some of the volunteers have experience with rescue organizations, so they spend their time finding the next stop and transport for lucky future pets. Others know about dog behavior or specialize in cats, so they are able to tell potential adopters what they are getting (and how great that will be...) Several volunteers with kids do “kid testing” with dogs and cats. There are volunteers who solicit pledges for foster care and treatment of sick animals. And, there are volunteers who want to help, but get too sad at seeing the animals, so they wash food bowls, do laundry and help maintain the shelter landscaping.

Basically, the volunteers do things the staff doesn’t have time to do. They understand many of the animals will die, but they want to maximize their chances of making it out of the shelter while making their time there more comfortable.

 

Recently, I started volunteering at the shelter. The training program requires that I spend time with an already trained volunteer before I have access to the animals, so currently, when alone, I wash food and water bowls, fill water dishes and do laundry. When I’m with a trained volunteer, we scoop poop, hand out towels, blankets and beds, spend time with the cats and take dogs outside.

One thing I can do now is hand out treats and that’s just wonderful. Some of the dogs are super friendly and enthusiastic, eager to greet and gobble the treat. Others are scared, too scared to trust, if even only long enough to take a treat. Some have just shut down and are curled up, not willing to even make eye contact. The cats are the same – some climb on the bars of their cages to scream how great they are, others are unable to respond. 

Over time, and it’s a very limited time, most of the animals become less suspicious and more trusting. They’ve learned it’s okay to take a treat and listen to a few kind words from a human passing by.

My goal as a volunteer is to become trained enough to spend time with dogs outside and cats inside. I have a soft heart and cry easily, so I’m not sure how this will work out. My heart might get too broken, too quickly to continue on…One thing I ponder, as I wash bowls and fold laundry, is why do something that will make me sad for animals, many of whom won’t make it out of the shelter alive?

 

What I’ve come up with is that all creatures need something to dream about. Even on a cold, hard, concrete kennel floor a sleeping dog dreams, so maybe the good I can do by giving that dog a belly rub or short walk, or by giving that cat some loving, is to give them something to dream about - something warm and pleasant and nice - a few moments when they felt loved and like things are going to turn out alright.

Last week there was a small, old, blind, deaf, badly matted and obviously confused dog circling its kennel, trying to figure out where it was. A volunteer brought the old dog a nice, soft, little bed, coaxed him into it and there he settled, almost instantly, into a deep sleep…

 Saving Barrow County Animal Control Pets is the volunteer’s page on Facebook; find them online at www.barrowpets.org. For information and how you can help, go there. The shelter is located at 616 Barrow Park Drive. Donations of unexpired, unopened pet food, bleach, paper towels are always welcome. And, now that there are people to hand them out, dog and cat treats are also much appreciated.