It all started back in 2009.  Our old miniature poodle, Carmen, had just died of old age and we missed her terribly.  After two or three months, Mom decided that she wanted another dog in her life, specifically a miniature poodle.

As an animal rescue fan, I thought it would be a good idea to get a dog from a shelter.  We went to the Rappahannock shelter and the Prince William County shelter to search.  Both shelters smelled like bleach.  Dogs barked continuously, causing echoes in the kennel halls.  Neither of the shelters had what we wanted so we left empty-handed.

We also checked an adoption event going on one Saturday morning at Petsmart.  Things were a little quieter but the dogs were mostly hound dogs.  None of us were keen on adopting a hound dog so again, we left without a dog.

Finally, we went to petfinder.com.  Mom typed in the criteria for the dog she wanted.  Miniature poodle.  Female.  Young adult.  About one or two years old.  I watched as the search results came up on our computer screen.

The first dog on our list was named Caramel.  She was a little apricot miniature poodle, about three years old.  Her eyes were a rich, chocolate brown.  We learned that whenever she was excited, she would stand on her hind legs and wave her front paws.  We found her charming so we sent in an application.  Unfortunately, we found out later that she had already been adopted out.

The second dog we came across was Maisy Mae.  Maisy was a small, maltese-poodle mix who had been surrendered by her owners because their landlord didn’t allow pets.  She was eight years old and was a dark gray, almost black.  We sent in an application and told that she was having a biopsy done on a lump that was found on her.  The biopsy revealed that she had cancer.  A dog with cancer would’ve meant big vet bills which Mom didn’t want to deal with so we didn’t adopt Maisy either.

The third dog on our list was Poochy.  Poochy was a white poodle-terrier mix, surrendered because his owners were moving and couldn’t take him along.  He was about seven years old and was neutered.  I sent in an application and got in touch with the woman in charge of his adoption.  We talked several times online and I thought we were going to bring him home but there was a problem.  Poochy was yappy.  Mom didn’t want a yappy dog so Poochy didn’t come home with us.

The fourth time was a charm.  We continued our search and found Coco, a (then) six-year old brown miniature poodle living in a shelter in Prince George’s County.  He had been surrendered because his owners could no longer care for him.  We sent in an application and said some prayers that we would get him.  A few days later, the shelter called us and said that before Coco could come home with us, everyone who lived at our house needed to come and meet him.

My stepfather Tony and I were the first to go and meet him.  The trip from our house to the shelter took only about an hour.  The weather was sunny and not too hot.  Clouds drifted through a bright blue sky.  As soon as we got there, one of the shelter workers took us to Coco’s cage.  Coco had been brushed up.  He looked very much like a typical miniature poodle.  We took him out to the interaction pen in the back of the shelter.  While we were out there, we discovered that he knew when to come when called and sit on command.  This raised two green flags with us.

Mom and my sister, Allison, met Coco a few days after Tony and I visited the shelter.  They told the shelter workers that they were interested in adopting Coco and wanted to bring him home.  After this, we had to wait a few days for the adoption to be processed.

The next few days passed painfully slowly.  The tension was as thick as peanut butter as we waited to find out whether we could bring Coco home.  About a week after Mom and Allison visited the shelter, we got the call we had been hoping for.  The adoption had been processed and Coco could come home with us!

Tony and I arrived at the shelter the next day.  We brought along a leash to walk Coco and waited in the lobby while the shelter workers microchipped him and brought him out to us.  After we waited for what seemed like an eternity, Coco came home and has been with us ever since.

She felt her emerald green eyes begin to water with remorse as they came to rest upon the lifeless bodies on the hard, cement floor.  Her heart ached and there was a tight knot in the pit of her stomach.  Trying to fight back the tears without success, Margaret began to place the animal corpses into large, black garbage bags.

Just as she placed the last body into a bag, someone knocked at the door.  Margaret mopped up the last of her tears with a tissue and went to answer the door.

Deedee stood in the doorway.  Her physique contrasted sharply with Margaret’s.  While Margaret stood at five seven with green eyes and long blonde hair that fell past her shoulders, Deedee was a petite five one with chocolate brown eyes and matching hair that she wore in a ponytail.

“What is it, Deedee?”

“We have a problem, Margaret.”

Margaret raised an eyebrow.  A problem usually meant that more killings would have to be done.  Still, she listened to what Deedee had to say.

Deedee explained that a woman had brought in a litter of kittens.  The kittens had been born in the woods to a stray cat.  The woman who brought them in couldn’t keep them and was worried about leaving them at the shelter, fearing they would die.  Deedee had convinced the woman to leave them, hoping that homes could be found for them.

Margaret waited for Deedee to continue.  When she didn’t, Margaret asked, “How old are they?”

“About ten weeks old.”

“What do they look like?”

“They’re gray tabbies.”

“What’s the status on their health?”

“I don’t know.  Let me bring them back.”

Deedee left the room.  Margaret said a prayer that none of the kittens were sick.  If they were ill, it would pose a threat to the other cats at the shelter.  She held her breath until Deedee came back with the kittens.  She looked worried.

“Two of the kittens have colds.”

Margaret looked at the two sick kittens.  Both of them did indeed have colds.  Thick mucous ran from their noses and the kittens sneezed frequently.  The other three kittens looked perfectly healthy.

Margaret looked at Deedee bleakly.  ”I’m going to have to kill the sick ones.”

Deedee’s eyes went wide with alarm, “But why?”

“Because we don’t have the funds to take them to a vet.”

“Could we adopt them out?”

“I’m afraid not.  People don’t usually adopt sick animals.”

Deedee looked troubled. “What about a foster family?

“The ones we use are already busy with other fosterlings.”

Deedee sighed and restrained the first sick kitten on the silver veterinary exam table in the center of the room.  ”All right.  Let’s get this over with.”

Margaret came over to the table and prepared to give the kitten an injection.  As she inserted the needle into the kittens foreleg, guilt washed over her like an ocean wave.  Her stomach twisted.  How could I do this?  She thought.  I can afford to take them to a vet myself!

Without another thought, Margaret removed the needle and disposed of it.  Deedee looked at her in surprise.

“What are you doing?”

“I can’t kill them.”

Deedee stared in shock, “Well, what are you going to do with them?”

“I’ve decided to foster all five of them.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.  Could you go tell Lynn my decision?”

“All right.  I’ll tell her.”

Margaret watched as Deedee raced out of the room.  A broad smile crossed her face.  She couldn’t wait to get the kittens home!

outside my bedroom window.

It lights up the night.

The stars are twinkling,

like shimmering jewels on a

blanket of night sky.

A calm wind whispers,

rustling through the tall trees

and moving dark clouds.

I get into bed.

A deep yawn escapes my lips.

A deep sleep awaits…

I’m sitting in a clean kennel, waiting

for the perfect family to choose me.

The kennel reeks of soap and bleach.

In the kennels next to mine, other

dogs are barking and howling.

But I stay quite because no one would hear me over them.

The noise is echoing and hurting my sensitive ears.

I hate the noise.  I wish I could make it stop!  I want to be somewhere quiet.

People are visiting the pound today.

They’ve stuck their fingers through

the bars of my cage.  I licked them but still they thought

I was “too young”, whatever that means.

I’m seeing more people come to my cage.

There’s a man, a woman and a teenage boy.

They look interested in me.  Could they

be choosing me?

The teenager sticks his fingers through the cage and I lick them.

He nods and turns to his family, “He’s the one”.

I start to jump around.

I’ve found a family at last!

I get to leave the pound!

for people I love, for a

body in good health.

But I give most thanks

for God’s biggest sacrifice;

sending Christ to Earth.

God sent his son to

live on earth in human form

to live as we live.

He was flogged harshly

and carried his cross to where

he’d be crucified.

Christ was crucified

like a common criminal

to pay for our sins.

I am truly blessed

to know that Christ died for me

and for all of us.

Kennels line the walls, with

each one occupied by cats.

Some are kittens, others are adults.

I see some with claws and others without claws.

The colors are a rainbow of brown, white, orange, gray and black.

Some have been surrendered by owners.

Others have been brought in as feral strays.

Yet many more are the result of unwanted births.

I pace anxiously through the room, trying

to choose.  My heart aches and I bite my nails nervously.

I know I’ll be saving a life today but I wish I could save many more.

Not all the cats I see will survive.

Some must be killed if they don’t get

adopted, all for the crime of being unwanted.

I come to a cage with an orange tabby.

He’s an adult that purrs like a motorboat.

He has claws but I pick him up anyway.

He settles into my arms, wrapping his paws

around my neck.  He’s mine!

Kennels line both walls with each one

containing several dogs.

The cards on the kennel doors tell

the stories.  Some are aggressive.  Others

are shy.  Still others need to be trained.

There are shaggy dogs and short coated dogs.

I see large breeds and small ones.

Some are mutts while others are purebred.

I walk through the hall

and look through each cage.  My heart aches and I

wring my hands nervously.

Not all the dogs here will make it out alive.

Some must be killed to make room

for more unwanted dogs.

I find a yellow lab in the last run.

He greets me excitedly and licks my hand

through the cage.

His tail wags quickly and his rich brown eyes

are brimming with love.  He’s mine.

I want him!

It was in the middle of summer.  My sister and I had gone down to Mathews to spend time with our maternal grandparents just like we always did.  The sun blazed that day though a cool breeze flowed through the air.  Soft white clouds peppered the light blue sky.  The air was thick with the smell of salt water.  The water of the Chesapeake was calm only becoming wild and foamy when our Grandy (our name for our grandfather) drove us all out into the middle of the bay.

As soon as we reached where we needed to be, Grandy got us set up with our fishing rods.  I remember that it didn’t bother me as I watched him stick a worm onto the sharp hook at the end of the poles.  After he did this, I took a seat at the back of the boat near the motor and cast the line, watching the anchor and hook disappear into the water.  Then I waited patiently.

As several hours passed, my sister and I caught our fair share of croaker fish.  Each one sounded just like a frog when they croaked.  Some were big enough to keep.   Others were too small and we had to throw them back.  At some point during our trip, Grandy even caught a flounder but it escaped from the line before we could get it in the net.

I felt pretty happy towards the end of the trip.  Just before we were going to pull in our rods and go home, I felt a sharp yank on mine.  It was so hard that I almost let go.  I cried out to Grandy that I had caught another fish.  The end of my fishing rod bent so far that I thought I would lose the catch.  I dug in my heels and pulled with all my might to reel in the fish.

After several minutes of intense battle, I finally managed to see what I caught.  Attached to the end of the line was a shark.  The shark was the length of my arm.  Its back, top fin and tail were a soft shade of gray.  When Grandy turned it over to cut it loose, I could see that its belly was as white as a marshmallow.  The shark had several rows of sharp, jagged teeth that were as sharp as razors and ready to tear into the flesh of unsuspecting prey.

I watched as Grandy cut the shark from my fishing pole.  He refused to let me touch the shark so I simply watched as he tossed it back into the bay.

My face turns red as a beet

in sharp, harsh anger.

Tears stream down my cheeks

leaving rivers on my skin -

red, wet, and bleary.

Frustration builds up

like magma ready to blow

from huge volcanoes.

I take some deep breaths.

I’m upset over nothing!

I try to calm down.

Frost begins creeping over

like icy shadows.

Leaves shed cool green gowns

in exchange for warm garments -

red, orange, yellow.

Night lengthens itself.

The sun weakens, cowering

in its submission.

My mind relaxes.

Soft breezes caress my cheeks.

Fall is here, at last.