Understanding

In the “self-help” world we live in today, it can be confusing to know who we are and what we really want. Book stores are flooded with written advice on how to accomplish the most obscure tasks, and even my daily internet news feeds post success stories about things that I honestly have trouble qualifying as positive…much less successful. I understand that most of this is simply advice, but it often leaves me feeling like I’m the only person out there who is not obsessed with losing weight or erectile dysfunction! I want to re-grow hair, and now I can do so like a “pro”!

But as complicated as this all sounds, I truly believe that we are all searching for one basic thing. We seek to be understood. This quest is further complicated by the notion that we are all more complicated beings than our predecessors. Really? Of course; I’m the new Andrew 2.0! Throw in the fact that with one click I can find thousands that seem to agree with me and I’m now really on to something. I should write a book!

Of course there is good advice out there. We are, if anything, a more open society and few topics remain taboo. But have we traded our skills to convince and persuade others with simply lining up a posse of internet followers? This hit me hard a few months back when I ended up in (what could have been) a huge argument with my eighteen year-old daughter. It started innocently with her response to my commentary following a story on the morning news. Maybe I didn’t realize that I was looking for a “hell yeah!”, but when I didn’t get one, I got mad. How could she be so stupid?

Luckily this argument began when we were both rushed for time. We stepped away from the altercation with our typical “have a good day” and “be careful on the road”, but I feel sure that the disagreement still bothered us both. Okay, I’m sure that it still bothered me. But the longer I thought about this, the less sure I became of my resolve. I was still as sure of my views on the news story as I was a few minutes before, but my thoughts on her understanding changed completely. I realized that I had placed the burden of her understanding me on the wrong person. This was not her responsibility, it was mine. If you want to be understood, the ball is in your court.

Hope

Sometimes I wonder why I am compelled to spend so much of my free time at the shelter. Okay, I never really wonder about this; maybe I should have said that I wonder where all of my free time goes. But I do understand that look people give me when I’m standing in front of Petsense on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, holding a leashed dog, attempting to strike up a conversation with anyone who will make eye contact! I’m selling something-soap, salvation, home security systems; I am a salesman.

“If you will simply grasp the end of this rope, you will understand!” Not really; there’s none of that. But as the days run together I often forget from exactly where my motivation originates. Giving up rarely crosses my mind, but a little nudge is always welcome. Let me describe the nudge.

It’s almost dark and it has begun to rain. I would love to walk outside and stand in the deluge, but I know that by doing so it will make the smell of my clothes even more unbearable than it is now. Sweat, dog urine, roach droppings…filth. I no longer noticed the smell of the house, or the group of dogs we had just removed from the house, because I was a part of it now.

The 17 dogs we brought in were terrified. They were huddled in the corners of their cages as we described to each other (and anyone who would listen) the conditions they were removed from just minutes earlier. I think we were all still in shock, and maybe a little sore, from crawling through the filth just to be sure no one was left behind.

I hadn’t really planned on going in to much graphic detail about the living conditions that these dogs were just removed from, and I think I will stop here.

 We had reached a point where ran out of things to say to one another in the crowded little isolation room and the air grew quiet. Quiet, but for a thumping sound in one of the cages behind me; the echo created by a dog’s tail hitting the floor of a metal cage; the sound of a wagging tail. When I turned in the direction of the noise, the thumping stopped. The room was once again quiet, but the little brown dog that had made the noise was smiling; the tactic had worked; she got a bite. I walked over to her cage and opened the door. I removed her and held her to my chest. I could feel her tiny heart thumping in her chest as she tentatively licked my hand.

I’ve told this story to several people and their response is usually that this little dog we now call Princess was thanking me. I’m sure she was thankful, but that is not what I felt…and this is not what keeps bringing me back to the shelter. This little creature, this tiny little spirit, having minutes before been living in some of the worst conditions I’ve experienced, had her head held high and was looking to make a connection. She was moving on; she had hope. She gives me hope.