They Thought I Was There For Them

I've loved animals for as long as I can remember. Dogs especially.

I've had them throughout my life, and anyone who has ever truly loved a dog knows they're never just a pet. They become part of your routine, your family, your memories. They know when you're happy. They know when something is wrong. They wait for you to come home like you've been gone for a year when you've only been out for twenty minutes.

For years, I kept telling myself I wanted to do more for animals. I didn't know exactly what that meant. I wasn't starting a rescue. I couldn't adopt every dog that needed a home. But I figured I could at least help somehow.

One day in San Diego, I decided I was going to do something simple.

I went to Walmart and started filling my cart.

Dog food. Treats. Blankets. Little dog clothes. Anything I saw that I thought a shelter might be able to use.

Then I filled another cart.

I wasn't thinking about anything profound while I was shopping. I was actually excited. I remember looking at everything packed into my car afterward and feeling good about myself. Not in an arrogant way. I was just happy that instead of saying, One day I should help, I was finally doing something.

I drove to the shelter feeling great.

That feeling lasted until I walked through the door.

I wasn't prepared for what I saw.

There were dogs behind kennel doors everywhere I looked. Big ones. Little ones. Young ones. Old ones.

Some were barking and jumping when people walked past. Others just sat there quietly.

And then there were the ones that simply stared at you.

That's what got me.

I would walk past a kennel and this dog would stand up and come toward the door. For a few seconds, I couldn't stop myself from imagining what was going through its head.

"Is this person here for me?"

Then I'd keep walking.

And the dog would watch me leave.

I made it through a few rows before I couldn't handle it anymore.

I just stood there and started crying.

Not a couple of tears that you quickly wipe away so nobody notices. I mean really crying.

An older woman who worked there saw me and came over. She tried to comfort me and thanked me for bringing all the supplies.

She told me how much donations helped them because shelters depended on people contributing food and other things they constantly needed.

I wanted to answer her normally.

I couldn't.

I went back outside to start unloading my car, still crying.

I put bags of food onto the cart. Crying.

Blankets. Crying.

Treats. Crying.

I pushed the cart back inside. Still crying.

At some point I probably looked ridiculous, but I didn't care.

What had started as one of the happiest things I'd done in a while had become one of the heaviest experiences of my life.

I kept looking at those dogs and wondering how some of them had ended up there.

Maybe someone's circumstances genuinely became impossible. I understand that life can go terribly wrong, and I know not every animal in a shelter got there because someone simply stopped caring.

But I also knew that some of them had.

Somebody once picked that dog.

Maybe they brought it home as a puppy. Took pictures with it. Bought it toys. Gave it a name. Let it sleep beside them. That dog learned the sound of their car pulling into the driveway. It learned their footsteps. It trusted them.

And then one day that person left it somewhere and didn't come back.

The dog doesn't understand mortgages, relationships, moving, inconvenience or whatever explanation a human being has.

It just knows that the person it loved disappeared.

That thought destroyed me.

I remember looking at one dog in particular. I don't even remember what breed he was anymore. I just remember his eyes.

He wasn't barking.

He was sitting toward the front of his kennel looking through the door at me.

I wanted to open every cage.

I wanted to somehow tell all of them, You didn't do anything wrong.

But obviously I couldn't.

I eventually finished unloading everything. The woman thanked me again, and I told her I wished I could do more.

She said something very simple. She told me that what I'd brought "was" doing something. The food would be eaten. The blankets would be used. The treats would make some of their days a little better.

That helped.

But when I got back into my car, I didn't start it immediately.

I sat there for a while.

The car was empty now. A few hours earlier, I'd looked at the back filled with bags and blankets and felt proud and excited.

Now I just felt helpless.

I realized something that day that I've never forgotten.

Helping animals isn't only about being the person who adopts twenty dogs or donates thousands of dollars. Most of us can't do that.

Sometimes it's one bag of food.

One blanket.

A few hours volunteering.

Sharing a shelter dog's picture.

Paying an adoption fee for somebody else.

Fostering one animal until a permanent home can be found.

Or simply choosing to adopt instead of overlooking the animals already waiting for someone.

But there's something else I wish people would understand before they ever bring an animal home.

"Please understand what you're promising."

A dog isn't a Christmas present that becomes inconvenient in March. It isn't something you keep while it's small and cute and surrender when it gets older, sick, expensive or difficult.

You're becoming that animal's world.

You have friends, work, restaurants, vacations, phones and a thousand other things competing for your attention.

Your dog has you.

They know your smell. They recognize your voice. They know when you're supposed to come home. They remember where you sit. They wait at doors for you.

And they don't understand why one day you might decide they're no longer convenient.

If circumstances truly make keeping an animal impossible, do everything you can to find that animal a safe, loving home. Ask family. Ask friends. Contact reputable rescues. Fight for them the way they would fight to stay beside you.

And if you're thinking about getting a pet, ask yourself one question first:

"Am I willing to still love this animal when loving it becomes difficult?"

When it's old.

When the veterinarian bills come.

When you move.

When it ruins something.

When life changes.

Because that's when the promise actually matters.

I went to that shelter in San Diego thinking I was bringing dog food and blankets.

I left realizing that what those animals needed more than anything wasn't sitting in the back of my car.

They needed people who wouldn't leave.

So if you're reading this, please do something for them when you can. Donate. Volunteer. Foster. Adopt. Tell someone else to do the same.

But most importantly, if an animal already trusts you enough to call your home its home, remember what that means.

"You may have many chapters in your life."

To them, you are the whole story...................