Last Friday morning there were ninety-seven dogs at the local animal shelter. Thursday night, there had been ninety-eight. That missing dog didn’t have a name, but he had a number.
I never met this dog, but my husband had. It was he who called me, the first week of December, worried because a stray dog that had been hanging around the canal had been picked up by animal control. He was a good boy, an American Bulldog, and spotty-white, just like Lily. Happy to meet everyone, loved attention, and he was deaf as a post. It would take some work to bring a dog we knew nothing about into our house, much less one that was stone deaf. He loved people, but what if he didn’t care for other dogs? We had Lily and Baby to think about, too. There were a lot of “what if’s.”
I made a call to animal control and reached them before the dog was even checked in. I was so flustered I could barely remember the name of the street he was picked up on, and they needed that to confirm if they had him or not. They did, and he was still in transit. They’d have to hold him for five days–a “stray hold”–and he might be available for adoption at that time. Might.
“Here’s my name, here’s my number. Don’t let anything happen to him.”
Later that evening, I found his picture on their web site. Intake number A148095; American Bulldog, age unknown. They had taken the picture while he was still in the truck, head hung low and sad. I wrote that number down.
On the fifth day, I went to animal control in person and gave the desk attendant his number. They looked him up and saw my name and number there, but there was also a note. His owner had called and would be coming to get him. Thank gods, he had an owner and he could go home to his family.
I turned to leave and something nagged at me, so I turned back and said, “You have my name and number. Don’t let anything happen to him.”
I’d hit refresh every day on his intake photo just to check–just in case–and he would still be there. Maybe his owner was waiting on payday? You do have to pay a fine if they pick up your pet, and the economy does suck right now. Admittedly a whole lot naively, I gave the owner the benefit of the doubt and went on thinking he would come get his dog. I closed his intake tab.
Weeks later, I received a message on Facebook from someone who works at the shelter. Was I still interested in the bulldog? The “owner” decided he really wasn’t the “owner” after all, and the dog was still there. I was floored. And the “what if’s” struck again.
I told the girl to give me a couple of days to talk to some deaf dog rescues on resources for guys like him, and I’d get back to her. After all, they had dogs in the shelter that had been there since July, so there was time. Time for us to figure it out, find him a home, or bring him home. I spoke to one very nice lady in particular who worked with deaf dogs, who ended up sending me a follow up email that asked, “What happened to the dog? He’s not in their system anymore.”
His tab that I had just reopened two days ago and refreshed over and over was right in front of me. I hit refresh, his picture disappeared, and there was only this message:
“This animal is no longer in the shelter system.”
It had been less than forty-eight hours.
I didn’t save his picture, but I didn’t need to. I can still see his face.
I’m so sorry, buddy. I’m sorry they didn’t call me. I’m sorry the “what if’s” got in the way. I’m sorry we were too late.
I’m sorry you left this world a number.
I’m so sorry… I’m sitting here in tears right now, wondering about that poor pup. You have a huge heart and you did what you could. I know it’s easier said than done, but don’t beat yourself up over it. You did more than anyone else. 💜💜 *hugs*
damn, girl, make me cry why don’t cha!
Oh no! Could he have gotten adopted? I hope? *HUGS*
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