An animal shelter can be a sad place to visit.
Some walk around nonchalantly, seemingly satisfied with the comfort of a corrugated roof overhead. But the slightest clap of thunder sends them scurrying into inner corners.
Others fight and bark incessantly. Out of boredom. Or perhaps as a manifestation of inner angst and fears.
A good number stare forlornly into space, perking up only when a potential
parent is sniffed out.
Take Me Home, their eyes seem to say. Licking paws in earnest, hoping to make an impression. But when the children walk away after stooping to cluck and coo, sneaking a little tickle under the furry chin in transient pity, they
re-resign themselves to the flies buzzing around their melancholic
miens. Dissappointment, a house-rule they have come to accept.
I don't know how long this facade of nonchalance will last. The slightest memory of happiness sends me scurrying into darkness.
I have barked at many. Perhaps next I will bite.
When the phonecalls come from all and sundry, except one, dissappointment is a house-rule I must learn to accept.
A Pound Puppy, all rolled into one...
Labels: Musings