These are stories from a rescue volunteer in a southern shelter about dogs (and sometimes cats) – life in the shelter, life outside the shelter, and occasionally the goings on around town. Spay and neuter people. Spay and neuter.

The stories of the dogs and cats who end up in our shelter are sometimes known, but most often not. And certainly not in the detail that those who come to adopt them would later offer about how much they were loved, how silly they were, how loyal, how smart.

The ones who end up in shelters are there because a human has failed them. The stories are numerous, tragic, horrific, traumatic, sad, and confounding. Tales of being left behind, tied to a gas pipe after the family moved on and left their big black dog behind. Of being dropped off, often as if in a hit and run with the human most inhumanely dropping and fleeing the scene of their transgression – unable to look human or animal in the eye in their moment of abandonment. The people who surrender their old dogs because they’ve gotten new puppies. Or want to go on vacation and don’t want to pay for boarding. Owners who make a commitment and break it for reasons they can’t help – a death, a debilitating illness; and for reasons they can but choose not to – I don’t have time for training, my dog is bad, I didn’t mean to let her have puppies, but I also didn’t spay or neuter either of my dogs.

I don’t understand these people.

When I came across River, I was on my fourth dog. My family got a dog in my high school years. She was my first. While in college, I got my second dog, Remy. I didn’t know any better at the time and I bought her from a pet store. All the same, I loved her and learned a great deal about responsibility, taking care, and what was required. We went to training, I paid for her vet bills – though as a college student this was a chore. She was a non-negotiable when a boyfriend suggested not having her would be easier. Then a few years later came number three: my retired K9, Oktan, and a new level of loyalty, training, and care. I was not his first owner but I was his last. We learned to work together and he provided me safety, loyalty, bravery, steadiness, and discipline in a time of need. Then came Zuri, a German Shepherd who’d been rescued in Arkansas, found starving and emaciated. She’s never gotten over her hunger, but she learned a great deal from Oktan and has been an outstanding companion and emerged as the leader of her own pack, which today stands at four dogs.

River came about a year after Oktan’s body betrayed him and his quality of life was diminished to the point I had to make the terrible decision to let him go. Nearly a year later, I moved from Washington, DC to Mississippi and literally stumbled upon a rescue with available puppies at a school fair. I asked the woman with the puppies if she had any older dogs available. While I don’t recall saying it this way, she tells me I said that I was interested in a dog no one else wanted – I wanted the dog who was never going to get adopted. She told me to check out their website and visit the shelter to see who might be a match. I showed up there just a couple of hours later and found another employee and told her the same thing. I explained my affinity for German Shepherds, larger dogs, and older dogs. She introduced us to a series of dogs – all of them German Shepherds or mixes of some sort. But none of them were River. I’d seen him listed online and knew he was the dog for me. After meeting all of these other dogs, including the infamous Christmas Puppies (more on them later) I insisted we meet River. And that became my first real introduction to a shelter in the south.

River was listed as being in the shelter since 2006. He was brought in as a puppy – maybe 6 – 8 months old. He had been living out by the river near the old YMCA building and a local gym member finally caught him and brought him into the shelter where he then lived for ten long years (making a move in shelter locations along the way). River was shy and scared. He was black and had the markings of a rottweiler. But he was small for the breed, so even the rottie lovers weren’t interested. All of these things, and then his advancing years, caused him to be overlooked. He didn’t like being brought outside and the staff at the shelter had to force him to go on every outing. So for his sake, we went inside to meet him. He was in the far corner, along the wall, with a dog on one side, but not the other. This is where he spent all of his days.

Walking into the shelter, the noise is overwhelming. All of the dogs start barking. Sometimes it begins with just a few at the front, but the rest quickly pick up on the cue and soon the entire place – some 250 voices strong – pick up on the news that a human has entered. Maybe someone is going home. Or just getting a special treat or a walk. But something is definitely happening. We walked past all of the other dogs, most of them standing at their kennel doors, some jumping for attention. When we finally got to River he stayed put in the back corner of his back corner kennel. He didn’t come anywhere near the door. He didn’t bark. He didn’t seek attention. He didn’t try to make eye contact.

So I asked if I could go in. Given permission, I flipped the latch and walked in. I knelt down and waited. Nothing. I got closer and waited. Still nothing. I got even closer. And he moved away to the other corner. I stepped over the urine in his kennel and petted him gently and quickly on his slightly dingy fur. And then I moved away again. He looked at me and then looked away. I got up, walked out of the kennel, latched it behind me and started walking away and telling the nice lady that I’d like to adopt him, to her stunned surprise. My husband tells me that as I walked away – for he was still standing at the kennel door and watching, in awe of the massive need of all of the dogs surrounding us – River barked.

The next day we brought Zuri to the shelter so she could meet River and be sure they’d get along. Nobody wanted to send River out of his comfort zone to a home he wouldn’t be able to actually live in with another dog. River didn’t care at all about Zuri and to her credit she let him feel that way. River had to be forceably brought outside. He was not at all interested in this. But he did let me pet him again.

A week later to the amazement of everyone involved, we brought him home. And so began my life as a volunteer at a southern rescue. I had always said I couldn’t go to a shelter because I wouldn’t be able to leave without a dog…and while that has occasionally proven to be true, as it turns out I can do it, and I can make a difference in the individual lives of dogs and in the system in which they live.  River was only with us for a year and four months before passing – and it hurt every bit as much as it did when Remy died, who I’d had since a puppy. I would have liked to have had him longer. I would have liked for him to have had longer in a home for himself. The gift of love that we gave each other is one that we can all have. And so this is River’s Tale.