A dog named Jasper

Today I watched a slide show that included the story of a dog named Jasper.  Jasper was rescued, and deemed "dangerous."  He was a small mixed-breed, with a coat covered in mats, and eyes that conveyed fear.  He did not like to be approached or touched. 

Some rescue folks I work with took the time to clean Jasper up, get him fixed, and eventually gain his trust.  One woman in particular was very good at understanding how to approach Jasper, and she and her own dog were a big part of helping Jasper learn how to become a well-socialized dog, who ended up being adopted.  This woman wiped away a few tears, as we all watched the slide show.

This same woman is someone who has noticed, on occasion, that my mind does not always learn things or understand instructions the way most people seem to take in information.  In clinic situations where I am not knowledgeable, she seems to instinctively know how to say something in a way my mind quickly comprehends.  I have a feeling this ability of hers is directly related to her ability to work so well with dogs like Jasper.

I do not believe that any of my clinic co-workers have ever read this blog of mine.  I kind of hope they never do, just as I would rather my kids, and my mother, never do.  I do not want any of my clinic co-workers to start wondering if I am a "bad" person, somebody who is going through too much to be a part of the rescue world.  I am keeping very close track of how my mind is handling the stresses of driving transport and assisting at clinics.  When I first sit in the van, and start a 16-hour day with a group of cats, my mind focuses immediately on the souls I am about to be responsible for during that whole time.  The ones who belong to families are precious to me, because I know how much each of them means to their humans.  The ferals or strays who belong to no one are precious to me, because I am now a part of the current few humans who have probably ever tried to be kind and helpful to these beings.  My mind remains focused on this, as I drive, and as I help at clinics. 

I try very hard to always be honest with myself about my motives, my focus, the state my mind is in.  (This is not something I can say I have seen many humans do, but it is very important to me.)  I know I am not at all in a good place, right now.  My mind is in the worst condition I have ever experienced. 

If I ever get in that transport van, and cannot feel my mind focus on the critters on board, I will know it is time to give up my work in the rescue world.  I cannot say this is not going to happen.  I have no idea what will happen as my mind disintegrates.  But I am watching very closely for it, and will be honest with myself and others if/when it does happen.  Regardless of what anyone may think or say about me, the last thing I want to be is a danger.

Jasper was kept in a tiny kennel and abused by a human for the first years of his life.  What people saw as "dangerous" behavior was simply Jasper, trying to survive.

I'm trying to survive.