Diary of an orphan

I sat with my face pressed against the wire that encircled me, watching and waiting for that one compassionate human to pass my enclosure and bend to take me into loving arms that would carry me away to a happy ending ... NO SUCH HUMAN CAME! My fellow companions sat across the way. They too were caged and waiting. "Nondescripts" that is what I heard the familiar voice of the keeper say. I had heard him tell a family that I was a Rottweiler puppy and that I had been abandoned along with my mother. Such a shame, too. A fine breed of dog, the Rottweiler. A place such as the pound should not have to pick up fine dogs, but irresponsible owners abandon them or let them run the streets and the poor tykes that don't starve, end up here. Shaking his head from side to side, he would say, such a shame, such a shame. If only that breeder had been more careful, this tyke would not be here today, and I would sigh and hope.

 

Days would pass without any visitors and having nothing to do, I would curl up into a ball and snooze away the idle hours. Often I would dream of mother ... Dear beautiful mother ... who always cleaned my glistening coat to perfection and spoke to me in an ever so gentle voice. She taught me to greet humans warmly with wagging tail and to forgive them if they spoke too harshly.

 

I remember, as the keeper led her down the hall and behind the great, grim iron door. No one ever came back from there and when its rusty, iron hinges creaked shut, the place would fall silent and we would stare, silently, at the door for hours, but we always knew that it was goodbye. The keeper had tears in his eyes that day, and mother's wise and waxened eye peered into his face and forgave. Mother, Mother I cried. I could not imagine life without Mother. She was all I had. The tiny cramped cage held me fast. She tried to turn for one last look, but the door closed. I often find myself staring at that door, as if by magic, it will open and she will appear.

 

THERE IS A VISITOR! I place my paws upon the wire and whine to attract attention. They glance, and pass me by. My coat is scruffy and dingy, I think and hurriedly try to lick myself pretty. It is no use, but at least I can rejoice a little for they have picked my dear friend, a nice white coated fellow with spots who will make them a nice dog. I cry for him, he is so happy.

 

Today, a ray of sunshine filters in through a window and I gaze at it in wonderment. I hear the scruffling feet of the keeper approaching. He has a lead and opens the door to my cage. My friends hang their heads in silence. I know what is coming. Meekly, I wag my tail and follow him down the hall. I glance back and the poundmaster is placing a smaller, cleaner puppy in my cage. He is beautiful, with a golden, fluffy coat and big, doe-like eyes. Surely he will not have long to wait. What is it the poundmaster said? A collie. The old keeper sniffs as the great, iron door creaks open. I look for mother and, as the door closes shut, I sigh.

 

(Sherron A. McBee)