“We took her to the vet. There’s nothing they can do. She’s old. Can’t see. Can’t hear.”

The questions in my mind are swirling around. All of them answered eventually. Except one. Why? How can a person live with a cat since she’s a kitten and then when she is dying bring her to the shelter to do it alone?

He signs the paperwork. A shelter worker is paged on the loudspeaker.

“Intake in the parking lot. Senior cat. Owner surrender.”

In the next breath, the older gentleman tells the front desk attentendant they have a new kitten. I close my eyes. Regain my composure. I can’t let the saddess inside me turn to rage. It takes every ounce of my will.

To my left two women and a child.

“I got him here last year sometime. I don’t want him anymore. He sheds. I want one that doesn’t. Do I have to pay the fee again?”

Behind me just voices. The words are the same. Over and over until they all just blur together. It’s saturday. The same as the last three I’ve been here. Still my question remains unanswered. Why?

I walk through the kennels like I have so many times before. I am bombarded with the sounds of dogs. Barking. Crying. Whining. Screaming for attention. Guarding their space. Making their presence known.

I stop at each cage. Offer a treat. Talk to them quietly. Offer my hand for a sniff. Some don’t take even a second to bound up to the gate. To drink in my attention. They are starved. I prepare to move on. I pull my hand away. They whine. They scratch at the bars. They paw at the cement floor. I close my heart. I have to.

I go to the next kennel. This one is so terrified he won’t even look at me. I throw a treat his way. His nose starts to twitch. He lifts his head and starts to get up. We make eye contact. He cowers. Curls tighter in a ball. I speak to him in a whisper. He starts to shake. I stand there another second, trying to find a way to connect, to make him feel safe. There is nothing I can do. I have failed.

Row after row. Cage after cage. The next a little harder than the last. With each cage I close my heart a little more. I have to.

I see Rosey again. It’s not her name. She has none. But it’s what I call her. She is gorgeous. And so young. I know I can’t take her out of the cage. She is a pit bull. I can’t say hello. I pass her by.  I have to.

I make my way through all the buildings. I look carefully at each dog. I have to chose who I will take out on a meeting pass. I have learned the rules. I don’t like them. But I play by them. I have to.

I write down the numbers. Walk back to the lobby. Take a number. I wait again. More words from people I don’t know. This time I try and shut them out. But I can’t. I absorb it all.

Three of the dogs I want to meet have been placed on hold by a rescue. My heart is filled with happiness. They have found a way out. They don’t need me. I am grateful.

I am meeting the big Great Dane mix. The stir crazy doberman mix. And the baby boy I met yesterday. The lady behind the desk looks at her screen.

“You saw him yesterday?”

I feel put on the spot. Did I break an unknown rule? I answer the only way I can.

“Yes.”

“Why?” she asks.

“Because I love him.”

This made her laugh.

But I do. I love them all.

She is a very nice woman. I’ve met her many times. She told me a little about herself on my last visit. She said that working there has made her appreciate all God’s creatures.

When she started at the shelter she didn’t really like animals. On her first day she got a call from a man that was crying.  She thought he was crazy. She couldn’t understand him through his tears. When she found out his dog had been hit by a car she was dumbfounded.

She said to him, “It’s just a dog. We got a bunch down here. Come get another.”

I guess things like that helped to change her mind over the years. And seeing the dogs and cats that come into the shelter. We are so different. But she has been changed a little bit. It’s a big step, however small it may seem. I like her. And she seems to like me.

The Dane is a sad, sad soul. He came in a stray. He’s so terrified he flattens himself to the ground when the worker enters the kennel. She tries to coax him with hot dogs. He inches his way out. It’s as far as he will go. His fear won’t allow him. I can still see his face. It breaks my heart.

Next is the Doberman and the shepherd pup . They love their time out of the cage. So do I.

As I’m getting ready to leave, I think of all the dogs that can’t be taken out of their cages. The ones that I come here for most. I make one more round and dole out treats and some love. My last stop is to see Rosey. She reminds me of the white pit I met on my very first day. He never made it out of the shelter.

I spend about twenty minutes with her. She craves love. She is sometimes unsure about me. But she can’t resist my hand. I can only put it through the bars a little bit. She presses her face against it. She licks my fingers. My face. I lay down on the floor and talk to her. She rolls over for a belly run. I can’t reach her. She scratches at my hand trying to bring more of my arm close to her. The cage is in the way. I stay as long as I can. When I get up to leave she follows me with her eyes. I close my heart and turn away. I have to.