This past year I have been consumed with handling foster & intake for the rescue.
I've spent much of that time being polite and smiling at people who are some of the crappiest human beings on the planet.
People who, for years, have made a living out of breeding their beloved dogs over and over again, only to ask the rescue to take the dog when they can't take care of them anymore. They love the dog, you know, but they just don't have the means to take care of them in their elderly state. The dog would be better off with people like us, they say.
People who have had their dog for 15 years, but have now had a baby and suddenly "don't have time for it" anymore. The dog is depressed and would be happier with someone "who has time for it" they say. They love "it" so very much, but need "it" gone now. Can you please pick "it" up today?
People who can't afford to fix their dog's broken limb and when they surrender the dog, won't give us the leash or collar because they want to keep it for their next dog. Forget about even asking for the dog bed - the one thing that might make the dog feel just a little bit better about being abandoned.
People who put their drug use before their dog's welfare. Feeding the dog and providing them with the very basic necessities of life gets in the way of their fix, so they stick their dog in a cage for 24 hours a day.
You want to tell these human beings that they shouldn't even be classified as human beings. They're animals, but not really, because most animals would never do this to their human. Except you can't, because although this is volunteer, you have a title at the end of your name.
And then there's the rescue politics that I won't even bother getting into.
You waste your days trying to extinguish fires and avoiding land mines, but without fail you always end up stepping on one and blowing yourself up, and then you spend the rest of the day putting your pieces back together like Humpty Dumpty.
It's exhausting, discouraging, heart breaking, and all of those other -ing words.
I've realized that at the end of the day, this isn't where I want to be.
So I waved my white flag, told the rescue I was burnt out, and stepped down. This is my last week as intake coordinator.
People keep asking what I'm going to do with my "retirement". Randie thinks I'm going to be lost, and he's probably right -- at least in the beginning. But it'll be a good opportunity to re-evaluate some beliefs I've clung to for the past two years, get rid of that anger and sadness that I've been carrying around like a sack of moldy potatoes, and take on some new challenges.
We have a new "challenge" arriving on Sunday in the form of that white-bearded muppet I showed you a couple of weeks ago. I'm going back to what made me oh so very happy in the beginning -- fostering, something I haven't done a lot of this year -- and we'll see where the road takes us.