We waited in anticipation all day for an answer about the dog. Claudia finally received a call at 4:00 from Mr. Beck, and he indicated the answer was “No” and they would be euthanizing the dog the next day. He indicated the liability factor was still a concern for them. Claudia called me and gave me the bad news. We were both very distraught and beside ourselves.
I was so upset at this time, I was crying at my desk. How could they just say "no" after all the time we spent with the dog, and why did Greg give us false hopes? I mean, he said, "If it was up to me, I'd let you have the dog." What changed? I had no idea.
I was not thinking real clearly at this time, and my emotions started getting the best of me. I drafted an email to Greg Beck in about ten minutes that vented all my frustration and anger at his decision. Not thinking clearly, as I said, I vented out a lot of hurt and anger in that email, and then I hit "Send". It wasn't 30 seconds after I hit "Send" that my phone rang and I could see it was Mr. Beck as his name showed on the display. I picked up the phone and said, "You couldn't have read that email that fast." He admitted he didn't but read enough.
We proceeded to get into a somewhat heated conversation, and at one point, he said, "I can't believe you sent an email like this to fellow County employee." I felt like saying, "I can't believe you're treating a fellow County employee like this", but I also knew that he didn't think anything was wrong with his behavior or treatment of Claudia and I. In his mind, he was just doing his job. I admitted to him that I was very emotional and upset at the moment. However, what got me about him is with everything I had said, the only thing that concerned him was that I said, "You yourself led us to believe yesterday that there was a chance we could adopt this dog, and now you've done a 180 and now say we can't. Why the antics yesterday, Greg?" He said, "What do you mean, antics?" I asked him, "You told us yesterday if it was up to you, you'd let us have the dog and now today, you tell us no, he's going to be euthanized tomorrow? You gave us false hope." He refused to acknowledge doing this and instead kept bringing up the liability issue with the County. I told him more than once we would have released the County of any liability.
We talked for several minutes, and at one point, I explained to Greg that he could have avoided all the hurt feelings in this situation if he or his staff would have told us from the beginning, when it appeared they had obviously made the decision that the dog was unadoptable--that the dog was unadoptable. Someone should have told us--not indirectly, but directly. Not insinuating or beating around the bush or hinting at it, but straight out. Greg said, "I thought my staff did tell you." I told him, "No, nobody told us the dog was unadoptable. Instead, they saw us coming in every day, twice a day on the weekends, feeding him and bonding with him. And your vet tech told us to adopt the dog as soon as he was available. Now why would she say that if she considered the dog unadoptable?" Of course, he couldn't answer that. After some haggling, he finally agreed, "Yes, you're right. Someone should have told you." I told him, "In the future, just tell the person. Don't let them come every day and feed or bond with a dog. Just tell them from the beginning!" He agreed and said he would talk to his staff about doing this in the future.
I emailed Claudia and asked her if she wanted to go feed Buddy after work. She wrote back and told me, “I just can’t. I want to but I can‘t.” I told her I’d go feed him because we knew he’d be hungry. I knew it would be hard, but I would do it anyway because I couldn’t stand the thought of him going hungry, especially on his last night living on this earth.Before she hung up, Claudia asked me if I would call Connie and let her know what the decision was. Connie is a friend in Alabama who we met over the internet after running across her blog about a dog she rescued. We had been in contact with her about our shelter rescue and had asked her for some advice about what to do with him once we got him home.
I called Connie and we spoke for several minutes. I told her what had been decided about Buddy, and she was literally appalled. Before we hung up, she told me, “Lori, don’t give up. There are a lot of people praying for this dog. I’m going to pray for a miracle.” I told her I wouldn’t give up and I’d be praying too.
I left work and drove out to the shelter. Since I didn’t have any food with me, I stopped at Burger King and got four double cheeseburgers (hold the pickles, ketchup, and mustard) for Buddy. When I got to the shelter, he was standing in his outside kennel. I tore off a piece of the cheeseburger and held it out for him. He came forward and ate it from my fingers. I sat and fed him all four cheeseburgers piece by piece. Piece by piece, he took ever so gently. I’ve never had a dog that took food so gently from my fingers.
My heart was breaking as I sat there with him, and I prayed to God to somehow save this dog. I told God, “You just can’t let him die after all this. Please, you can’t. He deserves a chance to be a dog, to be my dog, to have a life like what my dogs have. He’s probably never had that. Please Lord, don’t let him die.” I said goodbye to Buddy for the last time. He wouldn’t come up to the kennel bars to let me pet him, and I‘m not sure why. Perhaps he sensed my sadness. I tried to hide it, but dogs have a sixth sense, you know. I know he did. I told him I loved him and then said goodbye.
It was hard to see as I drove out of the parking lot of the shelter that night. If there was ever a time I needed God to intervene, it was now.
I was so upset at this time, I was crying at my desk. How could they just say "no" after all the time we spent with the dog, and why did Greg give us false hopes? I mean, he said, "If it was up to me, I'd let you have the dog." What changed? I had no idea.
I was not thinking real clearly at this time, and my emotions started getting the best of me. I drafted an email to Greg Beck in about ten minutes that vented all my frustration and anger at his decision. Not thinking clearly, as I said, I vented out a lot of hurt and anger in that email, and then I hit "Send". It wasn't 30 seconds after I hit "Send" that my phone rang and I could see it was Mr. Beck as his name showed on the display. I picked up the phone and said, "You couldn't have read that email that fast." He admitted he didn't but read enough.
We proceeded to get into a somewhat heated conversation, and at one point, he said, "I can't believe you sent an email like this to fellow County employee." I felt like saying, "I can't believe you're treating a fellow County employee like this", but I also knew that he didn't think anything was wrong with his behavior or treatment of Claudia and I. In his mind, he was just doing his job. I admitted to him that I was very emotional and upset at the moment. However, what got me about him is with everything I had said, the only thing that concerned him was that I said, "You yourself led us to believe yesterday that there was a chance we could adopt this dog, and now you've done a 180 and now say we can't. Why the antics yesterday, Greg?" He said, "What do you mean, antics?" I asked him, "You told us yesterday if it was up to you, you'd let us have the dog and now today, you tell us no, he's going to be euthanized tomorrow? You gave us false hope." He refused to acknowledge doing this and instead kept bringing up the liability issue with the County. I told him more than once we would have released the County of any liability.
We talked for several minutes, and at one point, I explained to Greg that he could have avoided all the hurt feelings in this situation if he or his staff would have told us from the beginning, when it appeared they had obviously made the decision that the dog was unadoptable--that the dog was unadoptable. Someone should have told us--not indirectly, but directly. Not insinuating or beating around the bush or hinting at it, but straight out. Greg said, "I thought my staff did tell you." I told him, "No, nobody told us the dog was unadoptable. Instead, they saw us coming in every day, twice a day on the weekends, feeding him and bonding with him. And your vet tech told us to adopt the dog as soon as he was available. Now why would she say that if she considered the dog unadoptable?" Of course, he couldn't answer that. After some haggling, he finally agreed, "Yes, you're right. Someone should have told you." I told him, "In the future, just tell the person. Don't let them come every day and feed or bond with a dog. Just tell them from the beginning!" He agreed and said he would talk to his staff about doing this in the future.
I emailed Claudia and asked her if she wanted to go feed Buddy after work. She wrote back and told me, “I just can’t. I want to but I can‘t.” I told her I’d go feed him because we knew he’d be hungry. I knew it would be hard, but I would do it anyway because I couldn’t stand the thought of him going hungry, especially on his last night living on this earth.Before she hung up, Claudia asked me if I would call Connie and let her know what the decision was. Connie is a friend in Alabama who we met over the internet after running across her blog about a dog she rescued. We had been in contact with her about our shelter rescue and had asked her for some advice about what to do with him once we got him home.
I called Connie and we spoke for several minutes. I told her what had been decided about Buddy, and she was literally appalled. Before we hung up, she told me, “Lori, don’t give up. There are a lot of people praying for this dog. I’m going to pray for a miracle.” I told her I wouldn’t give up and I’d be praying too.
I left work and drove out to the shelter. Since I didn’t have any food with me, I stopped at Burger King and got four double cheeseburgers (hold the pickles, ketchup, and mustard) for Buddy. When I got to the shelter, he was standing in his outside kennel. I tore off a piece of the cheeseburger and held it out for him. He came forward and ate it from my fingers. I sat and fed him all four cheeseburgers piece by piece. Piece by piece, he took ever so gently. I’ve never had a dog that took food so gently from my fingers.
My heart was breaking as I sat there with him, and I prayed to God to somehow save this dog. I told God, “You just can’t let him die after all this. Please, you can’t. He deserves a chance to be a dog, to be my dog, to have a life like what my dogs have. He’s probably never had that. Please Lord, don’t let him die.” I said goodbye to Buddy for the last time. He wouldn’t come up to the kennel bars to let me pet him, and I‘m not sure why. Perhaps he sensed my sadness. I tried to hide it, but dogs have a sixth sense, you know. I know he did. I told him I loved him and then said goodbye.
It was hard to see as I drove out of the parking lot of the shelter that night. If there was ever a time I needed God to intervene, it was now.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment