Here's something you might be interested in.
I expected the adoption event to be like any other. The ladies and I would sit and talk, the dogs would relax and scarf a few treats, and all would be good. I really didn't know this new group of dog rescuers, but I had come not to expect much. Dog rescue people are obsessed with saving the lives of animals, because they can't get the rescuing they need for themselves.
Two years ago, Ellen Degeneres had the unfortunate experience of adopting from a rescue. The adoption didn't work out. Her dog chased cats or something. She passed the dog along to her hairdresser and kids, forgetting about the contract she had signed. She had agreed to return the dog to the rescue, if it didn't work out.
Miss Doggie Do-gooder from the rescue got wind of the exchange, and came marching in to fix things. She whisked the pup out of the children's arms, and placed it in a new home, traumatizing everybody involved. Her cruel, nonsensical actions made Ellen cry on her own T.V. show.
People of average intelligence would figure that since the dog was in a good home, there was no need to enforce the contract, but not Miss Doggie Do-gooder. She, and only she, knows what's best for dogs.
I got my first clue that dogs are the smarter species, when I tried to give Snuggles, a Standard Schnauzer, a bath before the event that day. Upon entering the grooming room at the shelter, I saw Lula, San Diego's own Miss Doggie Do-gooder. She announced that she would be giving Snuggles a bath and ordered me to hand him over. I almost bit her hand.
"I'm perfectly capable of giving a dog a bath," I said.
"I," she said with emphasis. "am a certified professional dog groomer."
"Well, I," I replied, "am a licensed hair dresser. If I'm good enough to wash people's hair, I'm sure I'm good enough to wash a dog's.
"You're going to give me that dog," she snapped.
"No, I am not!"
She lunged. We scuffled. I fought her tooth and acrylic nail. I don't know why I cared. I only know that the dog's leash was frozen to my hand. She wasn't getting her hands on my dog.
After a couple of minutes, she broke away heaving, her smooth, red tresses looking maniacal. She stuck a long, red talon in my face.
"You are acting like a bitch," she shrieked.
"The shelter bitches in heat have nothing on you," I shot back.
She stormed out and marched down to the supervisor's office to voice a complaint. She was not supposed to do that. We were given specific instuctions not to bother the shelter staff, but to report any problems to the volunteer liaison downtown. This meant nothing to Miss Lula Do-gooder who considered herself above the rules.
I put Snuggles back in his kennel and took another dog out to the run. I told Bess, a retired prison nurse, about my experience. "Wow!" she said, gnawing on a hunk of jerky. "Lula must be major PMS-in'." She went to see if there was any Midol in the First Aid Kit.
Miss Lula Do-gooder appeared in her yellow grooming apron with a leashed Bloodhound.
"What the hell are you doing out here?" I asked. "You're supposed to be grooming dogs for the event."
She smiled coyly and batted her long lashes like she did for the rendering guy when he came to empty the dumpsters. "I hope I didn't upset you," she said.
My jaw dropped. When I gathered myself, I said, "Consider it forgotten. I needed the exercise."
I unrolled a woven mat and flopped it across the sidewalk. "You're not allowed to block the sidewalk," she said.
I blinked. "I'm not blocking it. The mat is flat."
"Rules are rules," she said.
"And a door knob like you shouldn't be trying to enforce them."
"F@#% you!," she yelled, showing me the crimson nail of her middle finger. We ended it by telling each other what we could kiss and where to kiss it.
Where were the dogs while all of this was going on? They were calmly watching us act like fools. Their eyes darted from face to face as if to say, "And you call us wild animals?" It is to their credit that despite everything that took place that day, they were still willing to love us unconditionally.
I expected the adoption event to be like any other. The ladies and I would sit and talk, the dogs would relax and scarf a few treats, and all would be good. I really didn't know this new group of dog rescuers, but I had come not to expect much. Dog rescue people are obsessed with saving the lives of animals, because they can't get the rescuing they need for themselves.
Two years ago, Ellen Degeneres had the unfortunate experience of adopting from a rescue. The adoption didn't work out. Her dog chased cats or something. She passed the dog along to her hairdresser and kids, forgetting about the contract she had signed. She had agreed to return the dog to the rescue, if it didn't work out.
Miss Doggie Do-gooder from the rescue got wind of the exchange, and came marching in to fix things. She whisked the pup out of the children's arms, and placed it in a new home, traumatizing everybody involved. Her cruel, nonsensical actions made Ellen cry on her own T.V. show.
People of average intelligence would figure that since the dog was in a good home, there was no need to enforce the contract, but not Miss Doggie Do-gooder. She, and only she, knows what's best for dogs.
I got my first clue that dogs are the smarter species, when I tried to give Snuggles, a Standard Schnauzer, a bath before the event that day. Upon entering the grooming room at the shelter, I saw Lula, San Diego's own Miss Doggie Do-gooder. She announced that she would be giving Snuggles a bath and ordered me to hand him over. I almost bit her hand.
"I'm perfectly capable of giving a dog a bath," I said.
"I," she said with emphasis. "am a certified professional dog groomer."
"Well, I," I replied, "am a licensed hair dresser. If I'm good enough to wash people's hair, I'm sure I'm good enough to wash a dog's.
"You're going to give me that dog," she snapped.
"No, I am not!"
She lunged. We scuffled. I fought her tooth and acrylic nail. I don't know why I cared. I only know that the dog's leash was frozen to my hand. She wasn't getting her hands on my dog.
After a couple of minutes, she broke away heaving, her smooth, red tresses looking maniacal. She stuck a long, red talon in my face.
"You are acting like a bitch," she shrieked.
"The shelter bitches in heat have nothing on you," I shot back.
She stormed out and marched down to the supervisor's office to voice a complaint. She was not supposed to do that. We were given specific instuctions not to bother the shelter staff, but to report any problems to the volunteer liaison downtown. This meant nothing to Miss Lula Do-gooder who considered herself above the rules.
I put Snuggles back in his kennel and took another dog out to the run. I told Bess, a retired prison nurse, about my experience. "Wow!" she said, gnawing on a hunk of jerky. "Lula must be major PMS-in'." She went to see if there was any Midol in the First Aid Kit.
Miss Lula Do-gooder appeared in her yellow grooming apron with a leashed Bloodhound.
"What the hell are you doing out here?" I asked. "You're supposed to be grooming dogs for the event."
She smiled coyly and batted her long lashes like she did for the rendering guy when he came to empty the dumpsters. "I hope I didn't upset you," she said.
My jaw dropped. When I gathered myself, I said, "Consider it forgotten. I needed the exercise."
I unrolled a woven mat and flopped it across the sidewalk. "You're not allowed to block the sidewalk," she said.
I blinked. "I'm not blocking it. The mat is flat."
"Rules are rules," she said.
"And a door knob like you shouldn't be trying to enforce them."
"F@#% you!," she yelled, showing me the crimson nail of her middle finger. We ended it by telling each other what we could kiss and where to kiss it.
Where were the dogs while all of this was going on? They were calmly watching us act like fools. Their eyes darted from face to face as if to say, "And you call us wild animals?" It is to their credit that despite everything that took place that day, they were still willing to love us unconditionally.