She looks at me with hope. A chained Pit Bull wrapped so tightly around a tree that she can hardly move in any direction. She looks skinny. I can see her ribs, yet she resolutely wags her tail and appears sturdy. There is an overturned water bowl ten feet away, but it may as well be an ocean away, for there is no cool, liquid refreshment for this girl. Her only friend at the moment is the shade afforded by the tree that she is held hostage to. That is about to change. Or is it?
I am an Animal Control officer. It is my duty to save and protect those who cannot help themselves. I knock at the door of the house where the Pit Bull is chained. No answer. It is between 95 and 100 degrees outside, so I must act fast. As I walk back to my truck to grab a leash and water, a knot grows in my stomach. I know..I just KNOW that the owners won't come for her. Walking into her sight again, she peers from around the tree and her whole body shakes with excitement. In her pleading eyes, I have just become her guardian angel. The knot in my stomach tells me otherwise.
She laps up the water I've brought her as I untangle her and slip a leash around her neck. She dances around me and kisses my face as I kneel beside her. She is so sweet, maybe two years old, a brindle who unmistakably has had puppies in the not too distant past. I am her savior! I know better. I am, in seven days, going to be her worst nightmare. I instantly hate myself for it.
I leave a door tag for the dogs owners telling them that their "baby" has been impounded and is being housed at the shelter. I load her up in the back of the truck, her tail still wagging. I lie to her and tell her that everything is going to be okay. At this point, she already loves me and believes every thing that I say. As I get into my truck, I turn her fan on and then turn up the rock music LOUD. I need that pounding bass to take me somewhere, anywhere, but it's no use. I begin to lie to myself thinking that her owners will come....she will be adopted...a rescue group will take her. Finally, inevitably, the truth bares reality. She will be out of the sun, unchained for 7 days. She will eat and have fresh water for 7 days. I will look in on her and offer her affection for 7 days. She will probably be her absolute happiest for 7 days. Sadly, in our shelter and in many shelters just like it, there is always that 8th day.
Next: The 8th day
