Okay, so I am walking with my friend when all of the sudden we see a sign that to me, not following it, is simply not an option. That's right, puppy sale is scrawled across a piece of paper and hastily taped to the front door of a pet shop right here in Old Town.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
We make haste, asking the lady behind the desk where all these puppies are. She points upstairs and we are off. Another thing that is off is the smell that is wafting down from above us. Puppy poop. But that does not slow us down. Not even a little bit.
Arriving at the top of the stairs, I feel like I am in a scene from Cruella Deville's private collection. Every cage is tiny, forcing the puppies to sit on metal grates that work like sieves so that the poop and pee can just drop directly underneath the grating, where they just stay on some newspaper. I know instantly that the puppies must hate this situation, since no animal likes to mix their excrement with their living space.
Ah, no human likes that either, I am pretty sure.
My friend and I take off in different directions towards the puppies; nobody is there to take them out of their cages, but that does not keep me from sticking my hand inside a cage. I walk up to a little American Eskimo puppy and he goes wild. Like starved-for-attention-all-his-life, wild. He is getting as close to me as the metal grating allows, puffs of his soft white fur are sticking through the cage to freedom. He's licking me and melting me all at once. It breaks my heart, it really does. I move onto an English Bulldog who is already a year old. His underbite and droopy face only make him more endearing; he looks a little over it, though. I am sure a year in a place like that would make me over it, too.
I see a Himalayan cat, so beautiful with blue eyes and a fawn colored coat edged in chocolate brown. She is meowing and jumping and reacting to me like I am the only hand that has ever pet her.
I call Drew. With a cacophony of barks and meows creating a fitting soundtrack to my very sad story, I tell him where I am. I tell him about the delicious white puff of an eskimo puppy, the thick shouldered english bulldog who reminds me of a gentleman, the gorgeous cat who has no lap on which to curl up.
I start to cry, I can't help it.
It is really just that sad to me.
Drew tells me that we can adopt a puppy when I get back from tour. I tell him I want to adopt all of these puppies now.
Oh, and the cat too.
Of course I cannot.
I know that they are not humans, I understand this. But still, they are living creatures and they are special and precious and lovable. And I hope that they get adopted. Soon.
This might sound funny, but the two cats that Drew and I adopted are literally such a joy to us. They have become part of our little family in an astounding way and it comforts me to know that they are home to greet Drew when I cannot.
I am going to open up these comments for you to brag on your special pet. What do you love about your cat/dog/fish/bird/horse/
I am all ears.
Or in this case, eyes.