I assumed I would be walking a few dogs and possibly scooping some litter boxes when I initially volunteered at the rescue shelter. Not too wild. You know, I simply wanted to lend a hand a bit.
That first morning, I wasn’t prepared for what I encountered.
The director virtually seized my arm and hurried me into a small room that was painted green. The towels were moving while three other volunteers crowded around bundles of them inside.
“Bottle babies,” she blurted out. “Mama was not present. Their only chance is with us.
Five small, black puppies, no larger than my hand, were writhing and wailing for food. “Here, just go slow and steady,” someone urged, thrusting a hot bottle at me.
With my pulse pounding in my chest, I sat down on the floor and took up a wriggling infant. Its mouth was wide, probing, and frantic. The first time, I nearly dropped the bottle because my hands were shaking so much.
The puppy, however, finally caught on after several attempts.
One of the other volunteers leaned over and muttered something that made my stomach turn around as I was feeding him and felt the smallest heartbeat against my palm:
“You are aware that fosters are required for the overnight shifts, correct?”
Somehow, I had consented to take all five puppies home with me by the end of that day. They stressed how difficult it would be to keep them alive without continual care, and I believe that threw me off surprise because it happened so quickly. They clarified that these delicate creatures required feedings every two hours, even during the night. Additionally, I found myself nodding along like some sort of unintentional hero because none of the other foster families could care for more than one or two pups at a time.
A cardboard box full of sobbing fluffballs in my passenger seat made the drive home seem unreal. The car had a little scent of wet towels and milk formula, and every bump in the road caused a chorus of high-pitched yelps to reverberate throughout the car. I looked at the packaging and wondered if this was a bad idea. What was my knowledge in caring for puppies?
I still couldn’t get the picture of those little mouths searching aimlessly for food out of my head. Who would step up if I didn’t?
It was a chaotic first night. The alarm on my phone sounded every two hours, waking me up from whatever semblance of sleep I could find. Warming the bottles, placing each puppy precisely, and ensuring that they burped correctly (yes, pups do burp) took an eternity during each feeding session. There was a peculiar joy in seeing their drowsy eyes flutter shut once their small bellies filled up, but by the third night I was exhausted from caffeine and sheer willpower.
The smallest puppy, with a white fur patch on his chest, appeared weaker than the rest. He had trouble gripping the bottle and frequently dozed off in the middle of feeding. I began referring to him as Lucky, not because he appeared especially lucky, but because I thought that naming him would help him have a chance. I held him especially close whenever it was his turn to feed, encouraging him in whispers as if he could hear me.
During our weekly check-up, the veterinarian informed me that he was not gaining weight. “You might want to get ready.” Her remarks were like a kick to the stomach. Getting ready? How can you become ready to let go of something you’ve already come to cherish?
I made the decision to try something new that night. I didn’t follow the timetable exactly; instead, I fed Lucky whenever he cried and then held him upright to aid in digesting. In the hopes that the soft hum might calm him, I put some soft music on in the background. Almost imperceptibly, he started to get excited. His motions grew more purposeful, his cries less weak. I sobbed with relief when he eventually mustered the fortitude to crawl toward me rather than lie limp on my lap.
The puppies got louder and stronger as the weeks went by. Their once-quiet whimpers became playful barks, and their awkward attempts to investigate my residence left their destructive footprints all over the place. I had to deal with furniture that was scraped to pieces, shoes that were completely bitten, and many puddles that needed to be cleaned up every day. I enjoyed every moment of it, though, in spite of the mess.
Then the unexpected turn of events occurred.
I was battling a particularly tough stain on my carpet one Saturday afternoon when someone knocked on the door. A man was standing outside with a leash on a big black dog that had an uncanny familiar appearance. She resembled Lucky in that she had a white fur patch on her chest, a sleek coat, and deep eyes.
The man remarked, clumsily stroking the back of his neck, “I believe she is yours.” Or, you know, your pups. She was discovered walking close to the park.
Piecing together what had transpired didn’t take long. Everyone believed that their mother, the mom dog, had not survived. She had managed to escape whatever misfortune had split her from her litter and had been on her own up until this point. All this time, she must have been looking for her babies.
It was quite beautiful to watch the reunion take place. She sniffed the air and wiggled her tail wildly as soon as I allowed her inside. The puppies staggered toward her one by one, their noses twitching in interest. I swear I heard angels singing when she dropped herself to the ground and let them nurse. Even Lucky knew where to go automatically, having depended on me for so long.
Their mother stayed with us for the following week, teaching her pups how to play, behave, and—most importantly—regain trust. I was reminded of why I had initially fell in love with animals as I watched her patiently and lovingly lead them.
The puppies’ time to find their forever homes has arrived. As they filled out applications and gushed about how adorable they were, prospective adopters poured in. It was more difficult than I thought to say goodbye to each of them, especially Lucky. I gave him a strong hug before he went, telling him that he will always hold a particular place in my heart.
But their mother remained, at least for a while. The staff at the shelter thought that she deserved a break after everything she had been through. She moved in with me, of course.
It has been interesting to live with her. She is very nice and very protective of me, barking at anyone who tries to approach me too closely. She curls up at the foot of my bed at night, serving as a reassuring reminder of all that we have experienced together.
In retrospect, I can say that volunteering at the shelter had a profound impact on my life. Even though it was messy, emotionally taxing, and stressful at times, I learned something priceless from it: sometimes the things we sign up for aren’t what we expect, but they’re precisely what we need.
Don’t hesitate if you’re considering adopting, fostering, or volunteering. It will be worth it, I promise, even if you end up with more than you expected. The benefits greatly exceed the drawbacks, whether it’s saving lives, developing patience, or finding a closer bond with the planet.
Share this tale with your friends if it struck a chord with you. Let’s raise awareness of the amazing effects that animal shelters and rescues have on people and pets. And hey, if this inspires you to do something, tell us in the comments below what you intend to do next. One paw at a time, we can change things together.
