I may have mentioned elsewhere that I seem to have been retired without intending or planning it. It's taken me a bit to really come to terms with it, but I've begun to.
One result is, I have a little leftover time, and I needed to get out of the house a bit. I mean, one can watch just so much cable news before one's brain turns into peanut butter. So last Summer I did something I'd been thinking about for awhile. I signed up to volunteer at the Alameda Animal Shelter.
The story of the shelter is one of the great local stories of the Alameda post-base era. Before 2012, the Alameda Animal Shelter (then managed by APD) was troubled. I recall stopping in there a couple of times since moving here, once to inquire about volunteering. Now, I don't want to cast aspersions, I don't know any details, but somehow the place always felt wrong, uncomfortable, like the people working there didn't like working there — but like I said, I really don't know anything, this was just an impression. Then the Great Recession hit, and all of a sudden the city budget was really tight, funding for the shelter suffered, and eventually the city announced it would close it down.
The response was like nothing I'd seen, ever (and I lived in Berkeley for 24 years). Through true grassroots activism, a group of Alamedans (including Patch blogger Mim Carlson) created the Friends of the Alameda Animal Shelter, and barely six months later took over the management of the shelter. When I stopped by last June to look into volunteering, I noticed the general feel was much lighter and cheerier, despite the walls being Industrial Toilet Green or some such horrid color. I signed up for an orientation.
Now, when I thought "volunteer", I figured the volunteers did the boring admin work, allowing the professionals to manage the residents.
Not. Quite.
Turns out professional care is really a small portion of the kind of attention that the critters need, and the full-time staff (of what, six, seven?) that does the actual management of the enterprise (including animal care, maintenance, etc.) spends the vast majority of their time stuffing 10 lbs. of metaphorical kitty litter into a 5 lb. bag.
What they need (the residents, not the staff) is just attention. That's it. The dogs need to be walked, the cats need to be petted, the kittens need to be played with; I'm not sure what you do with rabbits and chickens, but whatever.
The term of art is "socializing". The goal is adoption. Giving the animals care and attention and, yes, love, that's vital, sure, but the real point is for them to find, as they say around the shelter, their "forever homes" (awww…..). A kitten that's well-socialized early will tend to be cuddlier and less aloof; an adult cat who gets attention will suffer less anxiety from being stuck in a kennel (let's be real — a cage) all day. And dogs — well, after 20,000 years of domestication, dogs are so innately human-focused that almost any attention at all, even just a few minutes sitting with them, improves their well-being, makes them more calm and well-behaved, and ultimately, more adoptable.
So I went through the general orientation, and the "basic care" sessions for dogs and cats, and started a regular shift in July. I come in once a week, just after the cleaning shift. (It's not that I have any objection to cleaning cages — I pick up my share of poo — but one of the advantages of being officially retired is that I don't have to get up to be at work at 7. I plan to keep it that way.) I didn't intend it to be like this, but after a couple of weeks, I fell into a pattern of focusing on dogs. At 9 AM, I'm one of the first people the dogs see that day — the cleaning folks can't really focus on them other than to move them out of the way to clean — so they seemed to have more immediate need. And since I'm, y'know, a big macho guy, I mostly spend my time with the bigger dogs. I also seem to relate to them better and more immediately than cats or smaller dogs.
The "personal satisfaction" that one gets out of volunteering is almost cliché by now, the sense of doing for the community, helping those unable to help themselves, yada, yada… And given my slightly misanthropic streak, working with non-humans had particular appeal. Serendipitously, the not inconsequential activity of walking around the marina for a couple of hours has helped my weight, on which I have — with some success, I don't mind saying — been working. But the salutary effect on my emotional well-being was unanticipated. I catch myself whistling or singing to myself 'way more often than I had been, my general non-specific anxiety seems lessened. My heart's opened a bit, to use an old hippie/New Age metaphor; I'm more calm and well-behaved, and, presumably, more adoptable.
So, apparently, thought a gray tabby kitten that we'd had with us on a mobile adoption who decided she wanted to live with me. At one point we looked directly at each other and I heard the name "Marie" in my head. I thought about it for a few days, then took her home after my next dog-care shift. Yes, I know it makes me sound like a space cadet — and that's the short version.
All of my friends told me I was going to end up adopting someone, and I fully expected them to be right. I talked here about how I felt ready to add another companion for myself and Harvey, my 11-year-old black-and-white. I'm beginning to think the dog I saw in my future may indeed turn out to be several; maybe the best part is I don't even have to add fencing to my yard.
Here's a story:
Marshmallow is a white pit bull, about a year old, so she's fully-grown, but still a puppy at heart, and quite affectionate. One morning I took her to the fenced-in "no-leash" area out back. And she was having a grand old time, running around, tossing toys here and there, and splashing in the wading pool. Then she ran up to the bench where I was sitting and jumped into my lap. And there I was, with 60 lbs. of wet pit bull in my lap, slobbering over my face.
Oh, and did I mention? She's deaf.
And that's something else I've learned, that there's someone out there for everyone. Someone — and whoever you are out there, you impress the hell out of me — had it enough together to feel comfortable adopting a year-old deaf pit bull. Indeed, you never know; kittens and puppies are popular, of course, but just this year several quite-long-term residents (I once wryly used the term "inmate" and got a dirty look) were taken home, no doubt by folks who can appreciate the advantages of an adult pet.
Sadly, a recent injury, since the original draft of this post, has kept me from visiting my canine friends. That's a whole other story, but I look forward to returning soon. That's also why this post seems kinda half-done, but, what the heck. Anyway, if by some chance you're interested in volunteering, take a look here, or email the Volunteer Manager. Or just come visit.
