As I worked, I became aware of how absurd the entire situation was. I had no experience caring for dogs, much less eight boisterous puppies, and I was miles from home and hours away from my intended location. But remorse hit me hard every time I considered leaving them behind. Someone had to step up for these little lives, and it seems like I was that someone today.
I got into the driver’s seat and gazed at the dashboard when they were all calmed down—as calm as eight squirming puppies can be. What comes next? My sister would murder me if I showed up unexpectedly with a truck full of mutts, so I couldn’t exactly keep driving straight to her place.
The manager of the shelter smiled empathetically at me when I arrived, weary and covered in puppy poop. After listening to my story, she remarked, “We’d love to help, but we’re completely full.” We are overburdened due to the recent spate of rescues.
My heart fell once more. “Is there anything you would recommend?”
She paused before responding. “Well, down the road there’s a woman named Ruth. She manages a network of foster homes for stray animals. She could possibly take kids in, or at least help you find the proper person.
I thanked the manager and went to Ruth’s address because she sounded like my best shot. My GPS sent me to a little farmhouse encircled by fenced-in fields and undulating hills. A grizzled old border collie sat on the porch steps, as chickens ran free in the yard.
Ruth herself, grinning kindly and dressed in overalls, answered the door. Her hands were rough from years of labor, and her silver hair was pulled back in a loose bun. Her face softened even more when I told her why I was there.
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