Two roads diverged...

It's been nonstop lately. A couple people on vacation this week, including our intrepid receptionist, "The Gatekeeper." She's been at the shelter for a dozen years or so. How ever she keeps going day after day with the violin-laden verbal diarrhea pouring out of the phone receiver and at her desk window over and over and over, I'll never know.
Yesterday, in the midst of a couple crises, including an owner-present euthanasia or two and a fish-hook-in-lip debacle with the past-due-to-be-neutered cat of a lady who (insert story involving moving and no money, but "Thank you thank you thank you! You guys are wonderful! I will come back on Wednesday and make a donation!" AKA, sedation, neuter, vax, nail trim, pain meds, antibiotics and fish-hook-removal, on the house while "donation" gets rerouted towards a sixer and a carton of Pall Malls)...well, in meanders a classy-looking broad with a dog who needed a rabies shot THAT DAY, because she needed proof for court the next day. Typical. It's amazing to me how these things in these people's lives happen on such an urgent basis. I always thought that generally, any formal notification such as a court date, collections notice, evictions,and even voluntary moves, babies being born, allergy developments and the like, kind of came on with some time to plan...but it doesn't seem so if you go by the pressing needs of our clientele.
Anyhow...so.
Court date tomorrow for an animal control citation, I'm assuming. Rabies shot needed TODAY!!
After finishing the removal of the fish hook and the testicles from the cat, it was her turn. She drags in a big plastic crate. I start drawing up the vaccine. My boss starts filling out the certificate. Lady can't fathom if the dog is over or under 20 lbs, so I glance in the door at the little, oh, 8 pounder within. And I just knew.

I was looking my own dog in the face, but yet not. After some questions, I came to determine that indeed, this was littermate to my own beloved Svetlana. This lady's sister is an illustrious breeder of PoodlePoms. Pomadoodles. Diddlypoodoodleranains. Whatever the frig.

My dog came from my work. She was 8 weeks old, still with her mom and littermates, and her rear leg was crushed...compound fracture. "Breeder" took her to a vet and was outraged at the prospect of spending three hundred on exam, xrays, etc. I remember it, 2 years ago...I remember my boss asking what the family's annual income was (we can only offer financial aid to people who qualify as low income). I remember the answer being "$80,000." I remember my boss' reply was silence and then an apologetic "no."

I remember the next day, we were closed down (UNHEARD of!) so staff could all attend a compassion fatigue workshop. It was time for Us. Our time. For a day, no animal garbage dump and recycling center services. One. Day. I remember in the middle of crying group therapy time, hearing the "tink tink tink" of a dipshit at the front window, knocking. It was a couple and a puppy with an e-collar and a homemade "cast". SSI papers were in hand for proof of need. Little batfaced foxy black puppy...and scent of gangrene from across the room. The amazing coincidence of a puppy matching the description and injury of yesterday's phone call! Puppy was zipped off for an emergency amputation.

Now, I was dogless for a dozen years...since leaving home at 18. I could've had a million dogs all that time, with being a vet tech. But I always declared I would wait until I owned a home. And it would be a sporty fun dog, medium sized. A labbish mixy thing maybe. At this point in time, we were set to close on our house in three weeks. As nursynurse, of course it was me who had to take home little tripod puppy to watch her that night. And the next night. A Poodle-Pom was not what I'd pictured myself with. But Cupid's arrow flew anyway. It was worrisome for a while, because the people who brought her in (who turned out to be "breeder"'s brother-in-law) were supposed to come up with a few hundred dollars to cover the amputation, and get her back. I was in love already. My boss kept me strung along for weeks, even though the people hadn't so much as called to check on her in all that time. Finally, I adopted her. She was a terror as a pup, a bitch to housetrain and has a horrid yap...but she is the apple of my eye, my Sveta. She runs around on three like nobody's business, and goes to schools and nursing homes. We just passed our Delta test for pet- assisted therapy. She makes the worst day disappear with her happy dance at the door. I love this dog ridiculously. Personality plus. Her tag says it all- "Piece of Work."

To see her sister in a piss-slippery plastic crate, shy of touch....what her life might have been....
She was scrawny and worried-looking. She had never been vaccinated until now. We also tried to get into the friendly spay discussion but didn't get far due to obvious lack of interest and a strange, sleepy ennui. The lady remembered the one with the broken leg. "We thought they'd just put it to sleep."

Hardly!


How profound it is, the way happenstance and random events can shape our whole future. Or that of a dog. Thank heavens Sveta lost that leg. Thank. Heavens. It was such strange mix of emotion to watch the other dog, the parallel reality, my own little bedbug's sad doppleganger, leave the building.