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Seeing Them All Home


Fry Fry 2013 at the shelter.

I still look back on her photo.


Those big brown eyes looking at me with a silent plea for help.

I stared at her face and knew we needed each other. I bundled up on that cold December day and crossed three counties until I pulled into the parking lot of a small, rural shelter. I walked in the front door and was met with a smiling face in a sad atmosphere. The muffled sounds of dogs barking filled the air around me as she asked, "can I help you?"


"Yes. I saw a little dog on your page. A little white dog. Is she still here?"

"Oh yeah. She's here...she's pretty sick."


I was lead through a set of double doors and into a dim room lined with chain link kennels. On the left were the larger dogs, spinning in circles and barking; bouncing off the walls of their cages. On the right were elevated cages, chain link sides and wire bottoms. Surely one of the shelter workers had cared enough to try and provide a semblance of comfort as each cage had a small piece of cardboard placed in the bottom, to try and provide some relief from the harsh flooring.


Most of the cages were empty. I took quiet steps as my eyes scanned the empty spaces until I was met with the brown eyes that had captivated me the day before. There was no tail wag, there was no barking or panting, no smiling or effort to "appear adoptable." She sat hopelessly next to a bowl of water, tinted yellow from whatever medication had been poured into it in an attempt to combat the illness that plagued the shelter.


"How did she end up here?"

"The people who owned her said she had puppies...they kept one of them instead. Dropped her off here."

"Can I pet her?"


My gentle hand was met with cautious acceptance. I reached out to her and she didn't accept, or deny, my efforts to love her. Her heart was broken and her body was sick. She leaned into me as I cradled her and coughed. Once, twice, three times.


"Is it kennel cough?"

"Probably in the beginning. We can't get rid of it. They've been sick for a while."


She was exhausted and defeated.


"I'll take her."


The woman who lead me in, turned to lead me out. I adjusted my stance to follow her and that's when another cage came into view...


"Wait, what about this one?"


Two kennels down from where I had just collected my little cotton bundle, sat the frame of a second defeated dog. Slumped into the corner of her dingy confines, she was facing the rear wall. I asked, more forcefully, to the figure walking away from me, "what about this one?!"


I tucked the first little dog under my arm and reached for the latch of the cage. As I talked to the little brown mop of a dog in front of me, she had no reaction to my voice. The shelter worker was now beside me as I asked, "is she deaf?"

"Probably. She's pretty old. We know she's blind."


My hand stroked her overgrown hair and my touch startled her. As she turned to sniff in my direction, I was finally able to see her sweet face. I brushed her hair back and was met with two horrendously infected, blind eyes. Yellow pus dripped from her nose and she coughed, the sound now familiar from the first dog I'd claimed, now wheezing at my side.


"How long has she been here?"

"A while. She's old, blind, deaf...and sick. Nobody wants her."


A fire ignited in my soul at that moment. I felt the blood rush to my face and my heartbeat pierced my temples. My hands started to sweat and I swallowed the lump in my throat before I delivered my response as a firm declaration...


"I want her."

Aspen brought joy to our home from December 2013 until she passed away in April 2021. Rest in the sun, sweet girl.

I walked out of that shelter with a dog under each arm that day, reciting a vow that I would seek the unwanted, comfort the abandoned, care for the forgotten, and heal the broken.


I would spend my life being a voice for the voiceless and advocating for the ones who had been left behind.


I would devote my time, my money, my energy and my life to providing a home for the homeless. There was a world of dogs just waiting. Waiting for love, waiting for a family, a home to call their own. There was a world of dogs who needed peace, patience, love and understanding...and a humble heart to hear their spirit say that it was time to let go. There was a world of dogs who sat with silent prayers for mercy, that longed for someone who loved them enough on their final day, to set them free from their earthly body and on to their home in the sun.


I vowed in that moment, I would see them all home.

Fry Fry poolside August 2022. She is still alive and well and a founding member of our dog crew.

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