Doggies

R came by this morning, to take us out to breakfast. A HUGE breakfast, which will keep me most of the day. Looking forward to him getting his new house in livable condition, and we can have a waffle breakfast there. We got talking about bunnies and cats and dogs, and he'd heard about Spanish war dogs, used by the Conquistadores against the American natives - mostly Spanish Mastiffs and Great Danes. Being me, I did a little research, especially after having seen a "Dogs 101" episode last night on Great Danes -after having seen three of those huge animals yesterday at the market. And I learned incidentally about dog carts, which literally were for dogs to pull carts.




The shelter's volunteer coordinator - G, is supportive of my decision to withdraw, but still included me on the email calling for assistance at the booth they'd set up at the farmer's market on Saturday. I got it on Friday, after a solid ten hour work shift, and did not respond. But I have this core ethic, starting during my early years in the OR. If someone asks for a shift change, and I can cover them, I do. Unless I have a formal appointment or commitment, inconvenience be damned. And I felt the same rule applying here, G had to leave to set up another program at 1100, and Laura would be at the table herself, and have to pack it up herself. I didn't want to make a promise, so I just waited - with the request weighing down my pocket.

Woke very early Saturday, so we went to the rummage sale to support our local NPR station. I picked up a few small dishes and a little box perfect for incense, and generally enjoyed junking. Home, and snuggled down, and watched the clock. At 1030, I realized I had no real reason not to go, decided to drive down, and if I got a parking spot (a real challenge) I would help out. A car pulled out of a free spot just as I got where I'd intended to look. Ok, fine, I guess I'm stuck. I ran into G on my way in, got a hug and sympathy, which choked me up. After a bit of fruitless search, I found someone to ask at the information booth, I found Laura and the shelter booth in sore need of a banner. (Salt Lakers are supposed to be so friendly, but I'd have gotten much more help in Boston looking lost than I did here.)

Knowing how near invisible we, as a stall, were, having walked past twice - intentionally looking for her, I appropriated the stuffed dog just sitting there as a prop, and got him dancing as The Huckleberries played some damn fine blues right behind us. I have this thing about turning just about anything into a puppet... wanted to be a Muppeteer growing up. Caught more than a few people, this silly woman making a stuffed dog dance to the blues and wave at them. (Couldn't bring a shelter dog with us, due to how they do rabies shots, and the profusion of dogs brought to the market.) I like Laura, and I liked meeting all those lovely, healthy, happy dogs and good folks they brought with them. Many had spent time in shelters, and found themselves well adopted. A significant accumulation of donations, a few t-shirts sold, possibly a few volunteers recruited. My smile muscles hurt by the end, but that's alright too.

I'm very glad I did go, because the person who HAD volunteered to help out didn't show. Reminds me of a parable.

Which all means, I will stay on the volunteer mailing list, help out at off-site events as I can, and maybe go back to the shelter in the fall, when the toxicity may have settled down. I know G will use my problem as a political stick, and welcome to it. Wasn't feeling good about my lack of courage and fortitude, but I deal with difficult people every day for pay. My volunteering can't be the same ole same ole.




Feeling better and better about my decision to let the grey in, after a last attempt to dye, then strip it to orange, then cut it all off, then let head material get long. The tie-back-ableness of styleless length suits. I look forward to never cutting the damn stuff again.