CHAPTER TWO
AFTER
THE DECISION—PROMISES MADE
(12TH
installment, Scruggs and Samantha, by
Mary de la Pena)
After leaving the front desk at the
Pomona Valley Humane Society and finding my way back to the large dogs, I found
waiting for me at cage 83 was the same worker I had seen earlier in the cat
ward.
I pointed to Scruggs.
The volunteer opened the cage and looked at his tag. I quickly wrote down the number. While the gate was open, I stepped inside and
had a chance to run my hand quickly over his back. Every vertebra was prominent, as were his
ribs and hip bones. His skin was gritty
and covered with scabs. But his grin never faded, and his tail never stopped
wagging. His eyes danced with joy and he
laughed like only dogs can laugh. I
wanted to throw my arms around him, but the volunteer backed me quickly out of
the cage. Since I had already had the
“no bonding until adoption day” lecture, I didn’t push the issue any further.
The same clerk helped me again back at the front desk. She told me the dog would be available on
Saturday. She caught the pained
expression on my face.
“I’m not available on Saturday,” I explained. “I have to be at a charity event that takes
me out of town all day. What will happen
to the dog?”
It was her turn to look pained. “His holding period is up on Saturday, and we
don’t keep our large dogs for long after that. Too many large dogs,” she said,
not looking up at me.
That was all it took for the tears to overwhelm me. They
began to course down my cheeks and I could feel one dripping off the end of my
nose. I snuck my hand up to swipe at it,
feeling like a child who backhands a runny nose. There was a burble in my
throat as I started to speak. No words formed—only a snotty coughing sound.
The woman behind the counter looked up quickly and fastened
her eyes on mine. I know she saw my
tears because her face softened and her voice became even more concerned. “I’ll tell you what,” she said, tapping on
the computer. “Let me put a note her on
his file. I’ll have the animal behavior
specialist give him a look. If he has no
major behavior problems, we’ll keep him an extra day. Since we’re closed on Sunday, this will give
you a chance to get him Monday.”
By that time I was outwardly sobbing. I couldn’t believe my reaction to the relief
that overwhelmed me. Without looking,
she handed me a Kleenex and smiled to herself.
“Here,” she said, handing me his adoption information. “You’ll need to bring this paper back with
you on Monday,”
I took the papers, my hand shaking so hard I almost dropped
them. With a smurfy “thank you”, I
stumbled out of the office and into the waiting area. Unfortunately as I did
so, another truck was coming in with more animals. Two more starving street dogs were unloaded
and pole-walked to the back holding area.
Seeing the dogs, and surmising their fate, I broke down
completely. All my years of training and
professional experience flew away as I let my emotions run away with me. Lawyers are trained to keep their heads when
everyone else is losing theirs. We must
never let our emotions run free when dealing with critical situations. Yet there I was, standing at the entry of the
Pomona Valley Humane Society, tears coursing down my cheeks, fear and panic
consuming me. I bolted for the large dog
runs. I couldn’t help myself. All self-control was gone.
I stumbled to the pen where Scruggs was sitting, laughter in
his eyes, tongue lolling out in a happy grin.
When he saw me coming he laughingly came to the cage door, pointing his
nose through the chain-link fencing. I thrust my fingers through the gate and
he turned his head for me to scratch the side of his face, and down to his
throat.
As I crumpled to the concrete floor, again sitting with my
feet in the drainage trough, Scruggs stopped laughing and looked more closely
at me. He began to lick my fingers,
which were grasping the gate. I placed my head against the gate, and he licked
the top of my head.
“I promise, Scruggies,” I said, letting him lick my face and
fingers. “I won’t leave you behind. I promise.”
With that he finally lay down, sticking his nose under the
fencing. In unison we sighed.
So, there I sat for at least a
half hour and let my emotions roll over me in waves of grief and loss. I grieved for the deaths of my mother, my
former husband, my former in-laws, but most of all, for the death of my Rottweiler
and my three cats. All the grief that
had consumed me for the last eighteen months finally spilled out into the
gutter as I rubbed this dog’s nose and face.
At last, when my tears were
done, Scruggs knew. The laughter
returned to his eyes, and he began to dance.
He twirled and did his perfect pirouette, laughing and smiling his happy
dog smile. His smile was so infectious,
I laughed too.
I finally left the shelter to meet my law partner
husband. I had to let him know our
family was growing by another dog.
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