breaths on her. After several, she opened her eyes in a panic and wiggled under my touch. She coughed and choked and trembled. My mother yelped, which caused Floppy to jump up on her short little legs and circle around us.
I petted her and she whimpered in joy, burying her cute face in between my legs. I couldn’t smother her in enough kisses and hugs. I cried, hugging my little girl and reassuring her that her world had corrected itself, and treats, hugs, and long walks would return in full force.
When she looked up at me with her brownie, droopy eyes, she thanked me with a heavy blink. I saved her life. My pulse fired up, charged with a purpose far greater than any I’d yet to experience.
I had better things to do with my life than sit around and cry over a girl who didn’t need me or appreciate me anymore. A greater mission surfaced now, one that had nothing at all to do with curves, long hair, or pouty lips.
Chapter Two
Thirteen years later
Running a no-kill animal shelter carried a host of troubles, but none powerful enough to launch me into questioning whether or not I walked on the right path. I lived to help animals. I would do whatever it took to ensure they thrived. Animals had every bit as much of a right to inhabit the world as human beings did. Orphanages didn’t put children to sleep because no one wanted to adopt them. They took care of them, loved them and protected them. Why should dogs, cats, and other domesticated animals be treated any differently?
When I first took over the shelter, I removed the word euthanasia from appearing anywhere in any form. I fired all the previous workers because none of them believed running a no-kill shelter in Elkwood would last. I refused to cater to this belief. I would just as soon take the needle myself than administer it to any healthy, adoptable animal.
I hired assistants and handlers who mirrored my philosophy that all animals should enjoy the same freedom for life that human beings did. They also lived and breathed their work, working without breaks to round up foster homes and other no-kill shelters with capacity, should we overflow.
We scrutinized adoption applicants as if they were adopting a child. We visited their homes. We talked with their neighbors. We performed background checks. We followed up with visits to ensure the safety and well-being of our adopted pets. We refused anyone unfit.
I certainly hadn’t entered veterinary school considering money as a catalyst to my actions. I enrolled purely out of my love and respect for animal welfare. Once a full-fledged doctor, the vast amount of purebred dogs that would come in for treatments for illnesses triggered by their unfortunate births to mothers in puppy mills sickened me. Unknowing parents would purchase their adorable puppies from puppy mill supporting pet stores. These puppy mills over-bred dogs in unhealthy, overcrowded kennels. This often resulted in purebred dogs suffering from diseases often too expensive to treat. So, talk of the needle would erupt, and I would cry myself to sleep and curse the day when I decided to become a veterinarian.
After my parents’ early deaths, I cashed in my inheritance and bought the town’s only animal shelter, a decrepit institution where dogs usually went to die alone.
I’d risk my own life for them, as would my trusty assistants and handlers.
~ ~
An angry storm churned up the Atlantic and headed straight for us. I piled five cases of water bottles onto my cart and steamrolled down the aisles of BJ’s. I loaded up on canned kidney beans, chicken noodle soup, and canned peaches. I zoomed down the candy aisle. To weather this storm, we’d at least need some Charleston Chews and Snickers. A few moments later, food staples in hand and enough water to irrigate a small drought-ridden farm, I headed towards the empty registers.
Millie smiled at my endless parade of canned fruit and vegetables. “You’re crazy for staying.”
I heaved the
I petted her and she whimpered in joy, burying her cute face in between my legs. I couldn’t smother her in enough kisses and hugs. I cried, hugging my little girl and reassuring her that her world had corrected itself, and treats, hugs, and long walks would return in full force.
When she looked up at me with her brownie, droopy eyes, she thanked me with a heavy blink. I saved her life. My pulse fired up, charged with a purpose far greater than any I’d yet to experience.
I had better things to do with my life than sit around and cry over a girl who didn’t need me or appreciate me anymore. A greater mission surfaced now, one that had nothing at all to do with curves, long hair, or pouty lips.
Chapter Two
Thirteen years later
Running a no-kill animal shelter carried a host of troubles, but none powerful enough to launch me into questioning whether or not I walked on the right path. I lived to help animals. I would do whatever it took to ensure they thrived. Animals had every bit as much of a right to inhabit the world as human beings did. Orphanages didn’t put children to sleep because no one wanted to adopt them. They took care of them, loved them and protected them. Why should dogs, cats, and other domesticated animals be treated any differently?
When I first took over the shelter, I removed the word euthanasia from appearing anywhere in any form. I fired all the previous workers because none of them believed running a no-kill shelter in Elkwood would last. I refused to cater to this belief. I would just as soon take the needle myself than administer it to any healthy, adoptable animal.
I hired assistants and handlers who mirrored my philosophy that all animals should enjoy the same freedom for life that human beings did. They also lived and breathed their work, working without breaks to round up foster homes and other no-kill shelters with capacity, should we overflow.
We scrutinized adoption applicants as if they were adopting a child. We visited their homes. We talked with their neighbors. We performed background checks. We followed up with visits to ensure the safety and well-being of our adopted pets. We refused anyone unfit.
I certainly hadn’t entered veterinary school considering money as a catalyst to my actions. I enrolled purely out of my love and respect for animal welfare. Once a full-fledged doctor, the vast amount of purebred dogs that would come in for treatments for illnesses triggered by their unfortunate births to mothers in puppy mills sickened me. Unknowing parents would purchase their adorable puppies from puppy mill supporting pet stores. These puppy mills over-bred dogs in unhealthy, overcrowded kennels. This often resulted in purebred dogs suffering from diseases often too expensive to treat. So, talk of the needle would erupt, and I would cry myself to sleep and curse the day when I decided to become a veterinarian.
After my parents’ early deaths, I cashed in my inheritance and bought the town’s only animal shelter, a decrepit institution where dogs usually went to die alone.
I’d risk my own life for them, as would my trusty assistants and handlers.
~ ~
An angry storm churned up the Atlantic and headed straight for us. I piled five cases of water bottles onto my cart and steamrolled down the aisles of BJ’s. I loaded up on canned kidney beans, chicken noodle soup, and canned peaches. I zoomed down the candy aisle. To weather this storm, we’d at least need some Charleston Chews and Snickers. A few moments later, food staples in hand and enough water to irrigate a small drought-ridden farm, I headed towards the empty registers.
Millie smiled at my endless parade of canned fruit and vegetables. “You’re crazy for staying.”
I heaved the
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