Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
avery
NOW
Scared to Start – Michael Marcagi
“You’re just a big softy, aren’t you?” I coo as Silver presses her too-thin body against me, covering my clothes in fur and slobber. The malnourished gray American pitbull terrier mix is a recent intake at Second Chances animal shelter, where I’ve been on staff for the past six years.
I started my junior year of high school as a volunteer, working my way up to a full-time position two years ago.
I primarily work with the owner, Sharlene, on recent intakes, grooming, paperwork, adoptions and pretty much anything else you can think of.
You name it, and I’m sure it’s part of my job description.
Silver was found on the side of the road with her very pregnant belly on display.
The visible outline of her ribs when she arrived made my heart ache with the hunger she must have been experiencing.
Tears come to my eyes knowing she was most likely dumped, her old worn collared long cut off and trashed, her coat gleaming from her recent bath.
She’s very skittish around people, but after sitting with her for a while and letting her adjust to me, she’s finally found her way into my lap.
Her soft but too skinny head rests on my leg as I stroke behind her ears, the day taking all the energy out of her.
I find these slower moments here to be some of the best—gaining the trust of the animals who need it most and giving them another chance.
From here on out, she gets warmth, food, rest and someone making sure her babies have the same.
I linger for a few more minutes before I get up to check on the volunteers and ensure Keith—another full-timer who occasionally takes overnights when our usual overnighter, Sam, isn’t available—is updated on all our new intakes and animals that need medication.
I dust the piles of dog hair off my pants, constantly shocked when my black leggings are a multitude of colors by the end of the day.
I lock up Silver’s kennel and begin to make my way toward the front.
Most of the dogs are asleep at this late hour, though a few wait by their gates, eager for any attention they can get.
It makes my leaving take longer because, of course, I have to stop and give them all a proper rub and treat.
Finally, I do one last check of the clipboards, ensuring all medications were administered for the night and signed off on.
My eyes snag on a familiar signature I can trace with my eyes closed.
Kane must have been here earlier. I know he still comes by and volunteers, though not as often as he used to—maybe four times in the past month, and never at the same time as me.
I think Sharlene is secretly giving him my schedule.
It stings to know he’s been avoiding me, but my heart warms at the thought of him still coming by, seeing and loving on some of the lonelier residents.
As much as I wish all these dogs were adopted right away, that’s not the reality for some shelter dogs. Senior dogs are often harder to place, especially when puppies are available.
My heart breaks thinking of all the dogs that still need homes, my mind stuck on Silver. She’ll be one of the harder ones to get adopted. Her puppies will go first, while I’m sure mom will stay for a while longer.
I pull my phone from my pocket and bring up the shelter’s profile online.
I’ve been working so hard to keep it updated, filling it with adorable dog videos of our residents.
I’ve somehow gained quite a following and it has really made a difference, with people traveling from towns away to adopt ones that we’ve showcased.
The page has even had a few viral videos, helping with not only donations but also with getting the word out about how many shelter dogs are so desperately needing a home.
People love seeing our “Dog of the Month” spotlight, which almost always guarantees an adopter or foster picking them up shortly after.
My heart is floating with how great of a place the internet can be.
I upload a video of Silver from my phone, hoping it gains the traction I need to get her the rest and peace she so rightfully deserves.
I close out the tab before I’m tempted to look up a certain someone. He hasn’t posted since we broke up, not that I’m checking. I still look from time to time to see if maybe he’s uploaded a story, simply out of curiosity, but he’s been radio silent.
Not that he posted that often when we were together. All his pictures are still up on his page, most of which are of him and me. There are a few of him, Marcus and Grayson and one from an open mic night I made him perform at, but even our prom photos are still there.
I sidle up to the front desk, also my makeshift office when I’m here.
The front is decorated in lots of earthy tones with light beige walls and green accent chairs in the lobby.
The place is immaculately tidy for an animal shelter.
Sharlene is a stickler for cleanliness. Knowing most of these dogs have come from bad circumstances, she wants to set a precedent for how good these animals are taken care of going forward.
The long wooden counter hides the desk behind it, paperwork covering all available spaces with applications, vet bills and all the other things it takes to keep this shelter running.
I huff out a sigh as I take a seat on the plush rolling chair that I picked out because the last one made my butt numb after only a few hours. Cracking my neck, which is stiff from sitting in the same position in the kennels, I log onto the computer and start to answer some emails.
“You’re still here?” a voice calls from behind me, causing me to jump, hands flying up.
A small chuckle follows as I turn toward the culprit, my heart still racing in my chest. Sharlene stands behind me with a knowing smile, one hip leaning against the desk.
She’s in her late sixties, with long black hair that’s threaded with grays littering the front, but you’d never know her age at the rate she moves.
Always on the go, from morning until night, keeping this place sparkling and running to perfection.
“Goodness, could you at least wear a bell or something before you go sneaking up on people?” I ask jokingly, my hand to my chest. I can’t help the huge smile that fills my face as I stare at the one person who has always felt more like a mother to me than a boss.
“Now what fun would that be?” Sharlene teases with a wink.
“But really, what are you still doing here? I was just wrapping up with Keith and I saw you parked outside. Time to go home, get some sleep. Those bags under your eyes aren’t getting any smaller.
” She grabs my hands and pulls me up off the chair, the exhaustion of the past couple days finally settling into my bones.
“Silver needed some extra love, so I was spending time with her. And checking some emails. Sometimes it’s easier to be here and busy, you know?” I answer as Sharlene wraps me in a hug.
The sense of warmth and familiarity I didn’t realize I desperately needed sinks into my weary bones as the smell of her Chanel No. 5 hits my nose. Her hug brings tears spring to my eyes as I soak in the warmth until we finally pull apart.
Standing a few inches taller than me, she grabs my cheeks with both hands and looks into my eyes. “How are you, honey?” she implores softly.
“I’m okay… It’s been a rough few weeks,” I say with a shrug, trying to keep the tears at bay.
Her eyes crinkle around the edges and soft smile lines around her mouth reflect just how much life she has lived.
Sharlene opted to buy an animal shelter after she lost her husband, saying it gives her purpose in life.
She came into my life when I needed it most, as a lost girl with parents who always seem to have better things to do.
Sharlene saw something in me and decided to take me under her wing, and for that I will always be grateful.
“Have you two talked?” she asks, dropping her hands and grabbing a tissue from behind her, turning around and handing it to me.
“No,” I reply, taking the tissue from her outstretched hand. I wipe my eyes and blow my nose softly, trying to suppress the emotions threatening to assault me.
“Oh, honey…” she starts. “He asked about you today.” She watches me, waiting for my reaction. My heart leaps at the idea, the tingles in my stomach taking flight, wanting to ask more, even knowing that maybe it’s safer to keep it at that.
“How is he?” I ask, feeling safe to open up to her. Knowing she sees what I’m unable to say.
Her eyes soften before she speaks. Tucking a wayward lock of hair behind my ear that has fallen out of ponytail, she says, “He looks about as good as you do, honey.”
The tears return with full force, all the emotions from the day hitting me at once.
This is the first break I’ve given myself since I stepped through the door this morning into chaos.
I pull in a breath and straighten my shirt, trying to shove my feelings back inside the little box I keep them tucked away in.
“Silver will probably give birth soon,” I tell her, needing to change the subject. “The vet found six puppies on the ultrasound. She’s in one of our quarantine rooms so we can monitor her closely and help her gain a little strength before those babies come.”
Sharlene eyes me with concern for a moment before nodding, accepting that I’m still not ready to talk about it.
I’d much rather focus on the animals who rely on me.
I’ve always been drawn to the hardest cases, fixing them up and caring for them until they’re ready for adoption.
Something inside me calls to their brokenness, almost as if healing them heals me in a way.
A piece of my jagged heart fills every time I watch one go to their forever home.
Silver is just one in a long line of moms I’ve seen come through here.
When I started volunteering here in high school, I would mostly just walk and play with the dogs.
The passion hit me as soon as I saw the first dog get adopted, and it felt so right to be along for the process.
My degree in business was purely for my mother’s sake, something she can brag to all her friends about without actually caring what I do with it.
Her lunches are filled with praise for her college graduate daughter, but my phone stays clear of anything from her.
After six months as a volunteer, I started pestering Sharlene for a full-time job, immediately falling under her wing and absorbing everything I could.
How to care for the sick and more medically complex cases we have, assisting in deliveries if the vets are unavailable and watching some of the frail dogs turn to the healthiest, happiest dogs on their way to their homes.
Somewhere along the way, this place stopped feeling like a job and started feeling like part of me.
Sharlene has cut back her hours lately, spending more time with her grandkids and taking care of the few more medically complex fosters that she takes home, while Keith and I handle the more day-to-day things that keep this place running.
We have several part-timers and a few more full-time positions filled.
We run purely on donations, and a non-profit can be very hard. When Kane started volunteering with me in high school, a generous donation was suspiciously added to the shelter’s account every month, like clockwork. He’s never admitted that it’s him, but the payments haven’t stopped since, even now.
Luckily, we also have sponsors, fundraisers and community support to help keep us running and able to take as many dogs as necessary.
No matter how tired I am when I get home from putting out fires all day, I’m thankful this is my job.
Every day looks different, but when I look around at the end of the night, taking in the chaos, I know there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
After Sharlene takes off to check our new intake, I wrap up a few more emails.
The never-ending inbox of emails marked urgent stares back at me as exhaustion finally seeps into my bones.
Since the breakup, the only way I’ve been able to keep moving is by staying busy, knowing that if I give myself a break, the weight of my grief will pull me under again.
With a yawn, I push away from the desk. The animals have settled down for the night, leaving this place the quietest it has been all day. I adjust my hair and brush my shirt off as I stand up, grabbing my things and phone from the lockers in the back.
I ignore the texts waiting for me, knowing there’s nothing I’m really hoping for in them.
The air is brisk as I walk outside, the sun having set a couple hours ago.
I forgo the coat I brought in this morning, letting the wind roll over my skin, goosebumps coating my arms as I walk to my car.
I welcome the cold—the numbness of the weather washing over me, keeping me awake.
As I get into my car, I finally let my mind drift to Kane and what Sharlene said to me earlier—that he asked about me.
As curious as I am to know exactly what he asked, I know he probably just feels guilty about moving on.
Besides, if he really cared, he’d say whatever he needs to say directly to me.
I no longer have the strength to ignore the ache in my chest. As I drive home, the tears spill over, sobs racking my chest.