Despite the smell, and the scary place with gritty eroded walls and floors and stink of shelter bleach and poo and old bad things that used to happen in dark rooms, he had those eyes.
Down at the end of the long, dark jail cell aisle, up on the right, a light, shining bright. Glistening eyes from the dinky doxie. I love you, bust me outta here eyes that were so hopeful in a place that was anything but.
Glistening eyes guys’ first name was Mighty- and it suited him.
Those eyes seemed completely out of place, in the dark, in a chain link cage on chipped concrete floors, amidst deafening chaos of barking dogs, whose eyes weren’t the least bit hopeful.
That long dark aisle of doggie hell, and the smell, made my heart stand still, and my stomach nearly puke.
The smell of fear or lost hope or something hard to wipe away, was what I remember most.
The dog catcher passed me with a new inmate. A cage door screeched shut. I know the shelter folks were trying to help these dogs, but there are so many more dogs than families.
The six month old doxie was just a puppy and his chances were better than most. I felt guilty about that. I was here to save a life. I go for hard luck stories.
