At times the hardest part of being in a relationship is knowing that there are parts of you that are difficult, trying, stressful---and knowing there is no control. My mother, throughout my childhood, often turned around to find me gone, leading a wayward steer named Jackson back into his stall by his ear--I'm sure she barely mitigated a heart attack simply by knowing that if she ran into the pasture in a frenzy, he may react. Luckily he didn't and she didn't, and I was able to usher him back to safety. These things often popped up---a flying squirrel that curled up on my doormat and found a home in my hoodie pocket, a very pregnant cat behind the Outback Steakhouse that would ride home as quiet as a mouse in my Mustang and have 6 kittens on our porch, a motley colored dog in our yard that would find sanctuary from the Florida heat.
It was just---divine----the animals. As easily as the automobiles came to me, so did the animals find me. And the facts were facts. The shelters killed them, this I knew inherently. And so---I know that I have subjected those in my life to the stress of extra paws and fur. I know, and while I'm sorry that it makes life harder, I can't possibly imagine that letting them die is worth the---what? Convenience?
I can't even put together a comprehensive list of animals that have benefited from the patience of my mother, brother, and yes----even those horrible exes that have come and gone. And now---the patience of my boyfriend who endures the lifesaving rescue of one very big, very sweet Pit Bull named Tyson.
Here's what I've learned about Pit Bulls in the short time I've been involved with their rescue. People see the breed first, and then the dog. They see the stance, the head, and they cut a wide berth around them. I can't help but to liken this to racism---isn't it really similar? It's judging by misconception alone, by appearance. It's saying, "a handful of pit bulls were used for crime, therefor, we're going to lump them all in to this stereotype." Instead of looking at his attributes: knows basic commands, great with all other dogs, calm, hardly barks, wants to play and walk with you but desires to snuggle on the couch as his primary directive, intelligent, young, strong, clean bill of health, good with cats---people see "pit bull" and that's that. That's one hell of a list of great attributes to simply disregard.
That's like getting a fantastic resume for a job that fulfills everything you could want for that position---and then making a judgement call against the individual because of someone's ethnic background. It's just...ignorant.
So here are some things that are consistent about what I'm garnering from my current rescue situation: people consistently fail me, but never surprise me; animals tire me out, keep me exhausted but give me something to work for and something to believe in; despite the hurdles they throw into my life and my wallet and my personal life and relationships, they are the reason I'm here. These things are never changing.
Cheers to being consistently covered with fur, consistently the crazy pet lady, consistently tired and consistently giving comfort to the small army of previously unloved creatures that call my house their home.
|Past, present, and adopted animals. Foster kittens were thankfully all placed into amazing homes.|
|Past, Present, and adopted animals. Bottom left: Circe, my angel, may she rest in Peace. Bottom right, Dexy---the 11 year old Shepherd dumped at East Valley that lived her last year in happiness with me.|
|Tyson, with Joplin, about whom I blogged a few years ago when I pulled her from East Valley Shelter.|
My fosters, Sheila and her 6 babies, Luna, Berkely, Squishy, Tyra and her 3 kittens, Tinga, Fontana, Cary Grant, Onjie and her 5 kittens, Dexy, Lily and her 6 kittens were all incredibly loved. I didn't go looking for any of them. Just like Tyson---running down my street, through my yard---they found me. Consistently.