RANT ALERT!!!
About ten days ago I spotted this picture on a local Humane Society's website. Her name is Brandi, and she's a Boxer mix (I think Boxer/Labrador, from the look of her.) The blurb said that she came from a family with two young children who was moving out-of-state and couldn't take her with them. She's housebroken, well behaved, and is about 1 1/2 years old.
Now, since my Polly died in December, I've been haunting different Society's websites looking for another dog to adopt (despite my husband persistently saying "no" every time I broached the subject to him). He took a long look at this picture before he said "no" this time. I let the matter rest - being a pest hasn't gotten me anywhere so far.
The next morning he picked up the picture again and said, "She looks confused. She's looking for her people, and she doesn't know where she is or what she's doing there. She looks sad and lonely."
I said something about not understanding how someone could do that (although I do, actually - that doesn't mean I have to like it) and my husband said, "Well, we moved out-of-state and brought both our dogs with us!"
I let him stew some more, and within another two hours he had tracked me down to my office and said, "Let's go get her."
He called the Humane Society the next morning, and spoke to a very nice lady who shall go unnamed here, who said that although it was their policy not to do same-day adoptions, if we came early the next day when they opened, brought the appropriate documentation (proof that we own our home) it might be possible to do everything the same day. Their website says to bring our other animals with us so they can meet the prospective addition to the family, but my husband explained to the very nice lady that our Muffy is 20 years old, is blind, deaf, and incontinent, and no longer gets around too well (unless treats are involved, in which case she still hops around like a little filly.) He explained that Muff spends all her time either 1. sleeping, 2. going piddle, 3. eating treats with her four teeth, or 4. sleeping. The very nice lady said we didn't have to bring her (which is great, because actual outdoor temperature was below zero at that time.)
The next morning my husband and I were getting ready to head out on the 3-hour trek north, when who should call but the very-nice-lady, who said Brandi had an infection and wouldn't be available for adoption, or even for viewing, until the full course of antibiotics was over. She said she wanted to catch us before we left (which we both thought was very thoughtful) and that she'd call us when we could come and see her.
Which brings us to the present. I called earlier this week to see how she's doing, and the lady that answered the phone acted like a medieval dragon guarding the castle keep. Me: "My name is so-and-so, I spoke with the very-nice-unnamed-lady last week about Brandi, and am calling to see how she's doing." She: "Have you filled out an application?"
The conversation went downhill from there. Every time I asked how she was, I got "we don't do same-day adoptions, you know" or "other people are interested in her too" (which, according to the un-named lady, is a bold-faced lie) or "you have to bring all of your pets with you for the interview."
About ten days ago I spotted this picture on a local Humane Society's website. Her name is Brandi, and she's a Boxer mix (I think Boxer/Labrador, from the look of her.) The blurb said that she came from a family with two young children who was moving out-of-state and couldn't take her with them. She's housebroken, well behaved, and is about 1 1/2 years old.
Now, since my Polly died in December, I've been haunting different Society's websites looking for another dog to adopt (despite my husband persistently saying "no" every time I broached the subject to him). He took a long look at this picture before he said "no" this time. I let the matter rest - being a pest hasn't gotten me anywhere so far.
The next morning he picked up the picture again and said, "She looks confused. She's looking for her people, and she doesn't know where she is or what she's doing there. She looks sad and lonely."
I said something about not understanding how someone could do that (although I do, actually - that doesn't mean I have to like it) and my husband said, "Well, we moved out-of-state and brought both our dogs with us!"
I let him stew some more, and within another two hours he had tracked me down to my office and said, "Let's go get her."
He called the Humane Society the next morning, and spoke to a very nice lady who shall go unnamed here, who said that although it was their policy not to do same-day adoptions, if we came early the next day when they opened, brought the appropriate documentation (proof that we own our home) it might be possible to do everything the same day. Their website says to bring our other animals with us so they can meet the prospective addition to the family, but my husband explained to the very nice lady that our Muffy is 20 years old, is blind, deaf, and incontinent, and no longer gets around too well (unless treats are involved, in which case she still hops around like a little filly.) He explained that Muff spends all her time either 1. sleeping, 2. going piddle, 3. eating treats with her four teeth, or 4. sleeping. The very nice lady said we didn't have to bring her (which is great, because actual outdoor temperature was below zero at that time.)
The next morning my husband and I were getting ready to head out on the 3-hour trek north, when who should call but the very-nice-lady, who said Brandi had an infection and wouldn't be available for adoption, or even for viewing, until the full course of antibiotics was over. She said she wanted to catch us before we left (which we both thought was very thoughtful) and that she'd call us when we could come and see her.
Which brings us to the present. I called earlier this week to see how she's doing, and the lady that answered the phone acted like a medieval dragon guarding the castle keep. Me: "My name is so-and-so, I spoke with the very-nice-unnamed-lady last week about Brandi, and am calling to see how she's doing." She: "Have you filled out an application?"
The conversation went downhill from there. Every time I asked how she was, I got "we don't do same-day adoptions, you know" or "other people are interested in her too" (which, according to the un-named lady, is a bold-faced lie) or "you have to bring all of your pets with you for the interview."
I understand there are people out there who go and get dogs from the shelter on the spur-of-the-moment, and after a few days of messes on the floor and the chewing of priceless objects, return the offending creature from whence it came, but I'm not one of them. I'm not going to take a dog home and decide three days later I don't want it after all. Dogs aren't ill-fitting shirts in an ugly shade of puce that I'm going to return to Wal-Mart to get my money back.
I don't mind meeting their conditions for adoption. They're reasonable. What I do object to is being told one thing one day, and still another thing another day. I object because the first person told us they bend the rules all the time, for the right people, and the second one never did get around to my original reason for the call, which was to see how Brandi's doing. She acted like it was a state secret and the price for revealing said secret was her head or something.
Has anyone else out there ever noticed that there are some lower-level or mid-level managers that treat their fiefdoms like a chastity belt guarding a lady's honor? I have LOTS of experience with this type of person, having spent 18 years in the military.
When I was working as the supervisor for what was called the "I.D. lab", there were written instructions in place for how to issue someone a military I.D. that were never to be waived, for any reason. I never waived the written instructions. However, the powers-that-be at that particular command insisted that all military members bringing in their dependents for I.D. cards had to be dressed in uniform, or we weren't allowed to serve them. I realize that not all the folks that read this are formerly military, so I'll set this up for you.
Say you're a soldier or sailor that dresses up in a starched, spit-shined uniform every day of the week including Sundays, and you're given a half-day off by your kindly supervisor to go home, retrieve your wife and children, and take them back to the base to get I.D. cards for them. How many of you would take off the stiff, uncomfortable uniform and put some baggy shorts and flip-flops on (this was in a tropical climate)? ALL of you would? So would I. Yet every time I bent this inflexible rule, I got yelled at for it. BUT.... (you knew this was coming, didn't you?) if I refused service to an out-of-uniform client and he or she went screaming to my supervisor, guess what happened? You're right - they told me to take care of the customer. I always ended up looking like the bad guy for enforcing a rule that I thought was bullshit to begin with.
I only worked there for about six months before they rotated me, which is the way the military does things - it makes you more well-rounded in your job. The guy that took over after me had a different management style that I did - he was militant (pun intended) about enforcing the uniform rule, and even went so far as to chew people out for not being "proud" of their uniform and their service, thereby embarrassing them horribly in front of their wives and children.
After all is said and done, I'm not hopeful that we're going to be able to adopt this lonely-looking girl after all. I'm going to call again tomorrow, and this time I'm just going to ask to speak to very-nice-lady, instead of braving the wrath of the dragon again. Wish me luck. :)
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