les & hb

Hattie Brown is the one in yellow. She is a 3 year old Chihuahua mix who came to me when the local animal control officer found her living (not terribly well) off a backyard compost heap. HB is my first little dog (my last dog--the late, great Homer P. Wilson--weighed more than 100 pounds), and I'm smitten. So smitten, in fact, that I waffle between wanting 2 or 3 more little dogs and deciding that I only have room in my heart for HB. HB takes up lots of love. Of course, she has to share her Leslove with Carl and Betty Lou (the cats).

I just returned from a conference of animal shelter workers. I've been working in animal shelters since 1989 when I took my first job with the Humane Society of Seattle/King County. I was an "animal welfare technician" or something like that and I made $4.50 an hour to scrub cat cages, medicate sick dogs, and deal with a fairly callous public who would line up out the door of a Saturday and get rid of their animals by the dozens. Always more people ditching their pets than coming to us to adopt. The death toll due to overpopulation was mighty high. I began to hate people. My supervisor got calls.

Of course, now that I'm 17 years in the profession, I don't hate people. I sometimes think they do some awfully stupid things and some are so downright mean and heartless that I do find myself able to dredge up some hate for them. But I also know that hating people will only stop me from talking to them. And if I can't talk to them, I can't help them or their animals.