Rescued

Nearly ten years now, I read an article on a local blog about an animal shelter that needed food donations. I had just moved to the South and saw, only the week before, my first stray: a starving boxer mix. I sat crying on the side of the road as I tried to feed him. But he was a little too scared and a great deal too wily, and I never caught him. With that experience still weighing on my mind, the article about the local shelter struck a nerve.
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Let me first explain my experience with animal shelters up to that point in my life. Growing up, my dad always told me that we rescued our purebred Australian Shepard. In reality, a nearby family needed to give him up -- he was just too much to handle. Our local shelter had several dogs, and as a kid I visited them on field trips. I grew up in an area where stray dogs didn't exist. Any dog running down the street had a collar on, identifying its home. And even if there wasn’t a collar, a local neighborhood dog alert would go out, because everyone realized that the dog in question likely belonged to a neighbor. Even when I moved to Boulder, Colorado to attend college, I still never saw a stray dog. And when I say never, I mean NEVER. One time, in order to lift the mood of a friend who’d recently gone through a break-up, we went to the animal shelter to meet and walk some dogs. The shelter was bright and shiny and had dozens of volunteers, as well as a long waiting list for most of the dogs inside. Imagine, for a moment, a squeaky clean vet clinic full of happy people and but only a few animals; this was the Boulder shelter. Another surprise: none of the dogs were from Boulder. Every single one had been trucked in from neighboring areas and other states.
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The boxer mix I'd seen on the street had left me haunted. It was an experience I explained in great detail to my husband, Nick. After seeing the local shelter's need for food, Nick and I agreed that it would be nice to bring some food to this shelter. After all, we were trying to make a positive impact in our new area. Driving to the shelter, I mentally patted myself on the back for doing a good thing. I had just moved to a new city and I was already contributing to the community. I deserved a cookie, and planned to make some later that afternoon. The music was loud, the sun shining, and we were in high spirits.
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Nick grew up with a dog adopted from the pound; a grey, scraggly mutt named Rosie. Like most rescue dogs do, Rosie had touched his heart, and as a result he was insistent that our first dog should be a rescue. I, however, was set on two specific breeds, and often complained about how much breeders charge; it would be so expensive to buy the dog of my dreams! I told Nick that I would keep an open mind about adopting a dog, but I was very dubious.... after all, I had a vision. I guess I can't blame myself entirely; my experience in Colorado led me to believe that if you wanted a dog, you should buy one, because there simply aren't very many at shelters. How naïve.
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Nick and I had barely driven around our new town, much less to this particular animal shelter. We drove and drove, but the shelter was much further than expected... hell, it was in the county. As we approached the address we noticed that the entrance to the property, a long dirt road, was blocked by a rusty metal gate. Driving past, we could just make out the facility. I gasped. I could see about 20 pens facing the road, all full of dogs, and there were even more behind it! We pulled over a little ways down the road and debated what to do. We decided to wait, hoping the gate was only closed because it was lunch time. Part of me wanted to leave the bag of food resting on the gate, drive back down the road, and go home forgetting what I had seen. I think my curiosity kept us waiting. I wanted to see how many dogs they had.

An employee unlocked the gate and agreed to show us around. As we drove up the driveway, my shock quickly overpowered my curiosity. You know the feeling when you are inside your house or office and walk outside on a hot and humid day? The sudden rush of hot air overwhelms your lungs, knocking you back. That’s the best way to explain the reality check that slapped me smack in the face.

I suddenly felt sheepish as we unloaded two measly bags of food. Thank God we even had two; Nick spent 5 minutes in the store convincing me that it would be money well spent. Looking back now, I think my idea of bringing a bag of food was more self-serving and symbolic than anything else. A pseudo-altruistic check-in-the-box to make me feel like a good person. I remember setting the food down, but not much else. It was LOUD.

There were 200 dogs greeting us: big ones, small ones, light ones, dark ones. Some with four legs, some with… less. There were brand new puppies, romping in the afternoon sun, and old grey dogs, steadily eyeing us from their perch. The pens were clean, the water fresh. But there were so many homeless dogs… it was haunting. That was the moment when I realized that I could never buy a dog. I couldn’t ignore these 200 beautiful smiles tugging at my heart.
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I think of that starving boxer that I met on the side of the road just weeks after moving to the South. I never saw him again, but he has never left my mind. I started returning to the shelter in following months to walk dogs. I began to develop bonds with some of the animals, learning their names and habits. On one trip, I decided to take photos, and I snapped a shot of a dog named Lily (a hound in one of these photos). It was this photo, and Lily's beautiful soul, that showed me why I was brought to this shelter: to capture the hearts of those animals waiting for a home. Since then, I have devoted hundreds of hours to photographing these beautiful creatures. Some have stolen my heart, several have ended up in my home, and many have been adopted. Sadly, some of the dogs I photographed, and are featured here, have since passed away, spending nearly their entire lives in the shelter. I have grown as both a photographer and a person through my experience with ARF, and the amazing animals helped me realize not just a passion for dog rescue, but a passion for pet photography.