To work here, you have to have a heart of steel.

Seeing a dog tremble, suffer and go crazy had to take it’s toll. Looking into their eyes and seeing a longing for any scrap of attention had to feel like looking into a mirror after a while. Killing the unwanted for their own good had to feel like spilling your guts into a bucket.

The only thing keeping Jenny inside the shelter was the idea that she was about to make a tangible difference. She was going to save a dog and the feeling lifted her spirit above the soup of pain and necessity where her body was currently submerged.

The fluffy one was nice. The yippy one wasn’t. The daschund with the loveably dumb disposition nearly stole her heart from under her brown sweater with the snowman on it.

But it was the basset mix that pushed her over the edge. The dog’s face drooped, his tale kept a metronomic pace as opposed to other tails that wagged impossibly fast.

He was nothing but a hound dog who felt more right in her arms than anything had before.