Volunteering: A Form of Torture

I wrote this narrative for a class at school. I really wish I could put it in the fiction section. Enjoy my pain.

 

I pulled up to the compound. With a text to my mom that I made it, I was out of the car, keys in hand, walking to the entrance. The long front windows of the building allowed me to see rows and rows of people seated and facing the entrance. I tried to ignore the fact that if I could see them so clearly, they could see me too. I awkwardly opened the door, and the leader of this group told me I was fine to go straight to the back. I had walked right into a training session. This should have been my first clue that the day was not going to go as planned.

A few weeks prior, I received an email from the Humane Society of Southwest Missouri asking for volunteers to transport dogs and cats to an adoption event at Petsway. My fingers raced along the keys to secure my position as a dog transporter. The time had come for me to fulfill my duty. I was slightly nervous; will the dog like me?

I waltzed straight up to the front desk and stated my business. The girl working asked me what size of dog I would be most comfortable transporting. I told her that I would only be comfortable with a small dog. She assured me that Nakaya was a well-mannered canine and the smallest one they could offer me.

When we arrived at Nakaya’s cage, I saw an adorable, light brown, mixed-breed dog. I also noticed that she was definitely not small. I can still do this. They said she’s sweet, I thought to myself. Nakaya had to be forced out of her cage, and she would not willingly come with me. The lady had lied to me; Nakaya was not a calm, fun-loving dog. When she was finally convinced to follow us to my car, she left behind a puddle.

We finally made it outside to the parking lot, and it was like deja vu; Nakaya wouldn’t get in my car. She had to be lifted onto the seat. I asked the worker, “She will stay where she is, right?”

“Yes she will. She doesn’t move around. She is a really calm dog,” she said. Judging by her history of lying to me, my trust was very thin, and I prayed that she was telling me the truth.

I plugged in Petsway to my GPS. It would only take me about five minutes to get there. Okay I can do this for five minutes. I took a deep breath and put the key in the ignition. I had barely left the parking lot before Nakaya had jumped up to the front seat to sit next to me. I yelled and told her no. She jumped back to the back. Then she decided she wanted to come see me again.

When I pulled up to the Petsway, my fears were not alleviated at all. The parking lot was dead. It must just be early, I thought, trying to convince myself. Next came the hard part of getting the dog out of the car. I walked around to the front passenger’s side door, where Nakaya finally ended up, and pulled on the handle. She jumped right out. Maybe she will start cooperating with me. This was an incorrect assumption.

I started toward the door into the Petsway and Nakaya wouldn’t budge. She was not small, so it took some effort for me to pull her through the door. Safely inside, I noticed it was even deader in the store than the parking lot. When I finally saw people with the bright green Humane Society shirts, they were carting around cages of cats.

“Hi, I’m here for the adoption event,” I said to the woman who seemed to be in charge. I gestured to the leash I held, as if she didn’t know I brought the dog for the event.

A puzzled look took over her face. “This is a cats-only event,” she responded.

My face fell as I realized that all of the stress I had already been through was for nothing. “Well, what am I supposed to do?” I said.

The woman proceeded to tell me that there was a dog adoption event across town and that I was welcome to take Nakaya there. I slightly unloaded on this stranger, telling her of my stressful morning. She agreed that it might be best for me to just take Nakaya back to the shelter.

Defeated but determined, I walked out of the Petsway and to my car. I was going to make it back to the Humane Society without any hiccups. This idea was quickly demolished when Nakaya started to squat in the middle of the parking lot. This cannot be happening. Instead of regular disgusting dog poop, the foul brown substance that came out of this dog was liquid and chunky, and it reeked. When she stood up, signaling the end of her horrific business, I tried to walk quickly to my car. I really didn’t want to have to pick it up. I thought I could live with the guilt. Of course Nakaya’s fear of doors struck down my hopes of leaving once again.

The guilt slowing creeping up on me like the poop now inching down the asphalt, I decided I needed to clean it up. Returning into the building proved to be difficult yet again as I had to pull the larger-than-small dog through the door. The only clerk working was handling a customer, so I stood and waited. When the customer finally made a move for the door, I said, “This dog just pooped in the parking lot. Do you have something I could use to clean it up?”

In reply, she pointed to a few measly paper towels hanging from a dispenser right in front of my face. I knew they would not do the job, but I didn’t see any other options.

When I came back to the door, I held poopy and dripping paper towels in my left hand, and I tried to herd Nakaya through the door with my right. Some diarrhea dripped out of the paper towels and onto the ground right outside the store. I prayed that no one would step in it. A man who saw my struggle opened the door for me, and I pulled Nakaya until she followed. I threw the paper towels in the small trash can near the register. Then I realized I had brown liquid trickling down my hand. I turned around to see if I needed to clean up the drippage outside, and I saw a woman lifting her flip-flopped foot in disgust. She had just stepped in it. This cannot be happening.

I turned quickly to find the bathroom, dodging other dogs and trying desperately not to make eye contact with the Humane Society volunteers who thought I had left 20 minutes ago. After I had successfully cleaned my hands and taken some deep breaths in the bathroom, I made my way to the car. I had to lift Nakaya into the backseat. When I was safely inside, I called the Humane Society to give them a heads up. The lady on the phone seemed surprised and told me about the other adoption event. I made it clear that I was not in sound-enough mind to drive across town with this medium-but-definitely-not-small-sized dog.

With the keys in the ignition, I started the journey back to the shelter. Nakaya was just as indecisive as she was on the way to the event. When the five minutes were up and I was back at the compound, I took a few deep breaths. I pulled Nakaya along through the front doors and up to the desk. I told the woman who helped me get Nakaya out to my car about the misfortunes of the morning and gave her Nakaya’s leash.

With nothing else to say, I made my way back to my car, not allowing the tears to fall until I was alone. I sat in the front seat and looked at the damage. The floor of my back seat was wet. Dirty paw prints covered the tan leather of both the front and back seats of my car. My vision grew blurry as I realized the urine smell would make it extremely difficult to forget this day.