We All Need Those Feel-Good Moments

**ADVISORY: This blog took a bit more time than usual... over an hour and a half since I got engrossed in the moving Taking Chance (incredible, be sure to watch with tissues or a sweatshirt handy). It's a normal Lisa diatribe, but maybe a few bits here and there worth something.**

Anyone who knows me, or knows of me, by now knows that I don't have a typical day from one to the next. Not that I know anyone who really does, but my life tends to stay on the merry go round. Sometimes I can set my own pace, other times, I'm at the mercy of the playground bully. Some days, I just have to close my eyes and hang on as tight as I can, and pray I can stand up straight enough to kick him when I get off.

Last night, I got to play Dress-Up Barbie. I was invited as a guest of Memorial Health to their table at the Addy Award (big kudos to them for winning a gold for their trauma funding video documenting reactions from Memorial's workers during the Imperial response). I am always nervous about these types of events. For the most part, I'm not a glamorous person. I prefer flip-flops, tank top and shorts. So when Lisa told me I was going to have to go formal, I freaked. I didn't get a chance to even look in my closet until 11 pm on Thursday. I had two choices, only because I've had to do it two years ago, twice in one year.

I was able to get a sitter for the dogs so I could just leave from work and go to the soiree, but it meant taking my clothes, makeup, brush and all that jazz with me to work. At 5, I asked my co-worker if she needed in before I changed, and in I went. If only there was a way our bathroom worked like Superman's phone booth. Twenty minutes later, I came out, and surpised the heck out of my boss. The dress was a little big, but I had it tight as I could. But as much as I startled him, I figured it wasn't bad.

I drove down, and walked in to the event. I was early, way early. And without a date. But, afterall, it's a Savannah event, and a few short moments later, I found my way to some friends.

The evening was fun, thanks in part to a dinner companion with as twisted a sense of humor as I have. And the food was worth all the dress up: lobster, filet mignon, and decadent brownies.

I headed home, exhausted, but still had to finish getting everything ready for our big event in Richmond Hill. We had to cancel the Bluffton event. Those are hard to staff most months anyhow, so I think folks were relieved to not have to make the drive. I got so busy working, I forgot I was still in a cocktail dress, until Hannah started batting at it.

Around 1 am I finally crawled into bed. Just like clockwork, Cookie (aka Samoa) woke at 2 to go potty. I had forgotten to take her out before I went to bed. My mistake, not hers, and I was paying for it in the cold.

Mornings always come too soon at the ranch. But for the last two months, I've been blessed to have two fabulous ladies take over my morning duties so I can catch a little extra sleep before work. Saturday mornings on event days are the worst; I'm usually by myself and have to get up extra early to get the dogs out, fed, cleaned up, and put in crates for our travels to whatever event plus play Tetris with the rescue-mobile before heading out, usually at 9 am.

So like most mornings, I got up, stepped on Vinnie's tail since he had changed the way he was facing since we went to bed, grabbed my robe and proceeded along my task list. By 8, I was somewhat dressed, and by 8:30, reinforcements had arrived. What angels! We assembled the vehicles, got crates loaded, and headed down to the Hill. There's nothing quite like a day of doggies, and more importantly, we had been welcomed with open arms by another group. There were other rescues there, all sharing stories about dogs, asking about some of ours they had read about. I had gotten Purina to send down water bowls, samples and shirts for the event, so we distributed them out.

The day was great: four solid applications and 27 canines came through our microchip clinic, including a few that tried to take my hand off. I drove home, excited about the prospects for adoption, but tired as all get out. Tina, my constant angel, came back with me and stayed behind to take care of the pups and make sure everyone's crate was nice and clean. I went to the office to check emails and start on adoption packs. It was then that I got an email that just brought tears to my eyes.

Many of you remember Hope, our Carolina Dingo mix who came to us with an embedded collar. A friend of mine fell in love with her photo in December not long after her beloved Rottie had passed. She offered to foster Hope for us when she returned from the holidays. She did... and fell in love with her. This week, she decided she was ready to make the commitment. In my inbox today, I found the most heartworming letter I could have ever asked for. I'm giving just a sample here, but treasure every single word she wrote:

Miss Hope is full of surprises! She is a powerful teacher. I expected her to be broken down, tired, and old beyond her years. After two heart worm treatments, intestinal worms, an embedded collar, ears tattered by flies, dog attacks, and years of neglect and abandonment, that would seem reasonable. But Hope has defied all odds. She glides gracefully through the air at lightening fast speed as she runs laps around her new back yard! She is young at heart, vigorous, and charged with energy. Her ability to give and receive love is amazing. As I write our story, she is curled up next to me on the couch, radiating a calm peacefulness.

"We all have a past. It’s impossible to make a way in this world without hurtful experiences... Hope knows about what it means to heal, and forgive and forget, and to feel safe enough to accept love. She has a strong spirit. Both of my dogs have enriched my life. I will never forget Train. His death was the end of an era for me. As I look into the future with Hope, it seems that she is picking up where Train left off. She is teaching me what it means to find my own strength. We are both rescues."

What an amazing day. That was until I got further into my emails to read something that just set me off. Two months ago, a woman was denied adoption for one of our dogs. In that time, our adoption coordinators have changed, and due to people's crazy work and family schedules and my having to go back to work full time, we're not as on top of things as we used to be. We try, but we make mistakes. This person engaged me in a couple of emails about a dog that we would not be releasing for adoption until next week. I initially had her confused with someone else and told her that we had cancelled the app for lack of response to our phone calls or emails. Then this week she started hounding me about meeting up with the dog. The pup was in the process of being brought back to me as she was not being nice in her foster home. I know I've been long winded, so to shorten it up, I was not as detail-oriented to this woman's emails as I probably should have been. She asked us about our adoption days this weekend, I told her when they were but also told her that due to the dog's attitude, she probably would not be there as we like to create a harmonious environment as much as possible. Then late last night, we cancelled one event. So in the email I received, I was critized for not telling this woman that since the event was cancelled where else I would have the dog she wanted to see available. Let's try to remember that on our adoption applications it specifies that applicants meet the dogs once their application is approved. We cannot bring every single pet to every adoption day; we just don't have the manpower to do so. I had grown very tired of the emails. So I went through our archieves and found that she had originally been denied on January 7th and sent a notice. So I informed her of this, and again stated that we are an all-volunteer organization and apologized that she felt frustrated. This was what I got:

"Just because you are a volunteer does not excuse your poor performance. You keep beating that drum, but I never asked you to work for free. If I need to pay for your services, then speak up and tell me, but don't act like the world owes you something. If you don't want to do it, then quit!

If you are doing this for recognition or a pat on the back, the you are doing it for the wrong reasons. The ones that suffer are the pets that you could be placing instead of reminding everyone what great deeds you're doing.

If your true intent is to place an animal in a loving home, then put me in touch with someone who can actually help me. If not, quit wasting my time.

Thank you for your time and I hope you find the recognition you think you so richly deserve."

So as I was driving Duke to his new home tonight, I pondered that. What would life be like if I did quit? I could have the convertible I missed so much, probably live back on the water, maybe go grocery shopping on a more regular basis, heck I might even get back into cooking for myself (I know, it's a stretch, but it could happen). A friend of mine was kind enough to take my call during my reflection time, and I became so engrossed in conversation, I missed the directions from my GPS, which reminds me of a female version of Ben Stein. I abruptly hung up on him, anxious to get Duke into his home, for what I thought might be my last adoption.

I noticed the homes as I drove in. Lots of front porch lights on, clean neighborhood, two story homes. The kind of place I might live if I didn't have to have so much land for 99 dogs. I parked, flipped on the interior light to find my adoption stuff, then got out to get Duke and his carrier. I gave him a little pep talk, reminding him that he had been a street dog hanging out with the wrong crowd and this was the ticket to change his life. He did his little feet stamping thing, whined a little bit, then settled down. We walked up to the house (I felt a little guilty walking through their perfectly manicured lawn, trying to remember what it was like to have grass at home before the dogs took over landscaping duties), and rang the doorbell. I thought I heard a small dog, but didn't remember reading about them having a current pet on their application. Instead, it was their youngest daughter who immediately opened the door and stretched her arms to get him. Yes, he was going to have it made... three young girls to dote on him every waking moment of every day. It's what every dog deserves.

I joined the family in the living room, all of us on the floor to greet little Duke to his new home. Before I could open his kennel door, the oldest girl reached out and handed me something. "This is so you never forget him," she said. I looked down. In the few short hours since I had seen them at our adoption day, this young lady had taken great time to draw me the perfect picture of Duke, along with his new crown and cape and a food bowl that said "The King." She mounted it to yellow construction paper and wrote the words "Thank You!" all around it in different colors. It took all I had not to start weeping. If she only knew how badly I needed that.

We finished the adoption, said our goodbyes, and I drove home, happy to have the recognition I "so richly deserved."