Chapter Thirty-Six

Bec

T he New Hope adoption event draws a bigger attendee turnout every year. It’s desperately needed, since we can count on the number of animal surrenders after the holidays increasing too. Unfortunately, this year is no exception. Part of me understands, no one can fully control their circumstances in life, and if someone chooses to give a pet to a person who isn’t prepared to take on the responsibility, it’s not a good situation for anyone. Another part of me can’t stand the thought of how confusing and traumatic the entire ordeal is for an animal.

The thought makes my heart ache. I feel my body overtaken with the intense need to move, to hurry, to act. A restlessness settles in my bones, and I know the only thing I can do is keep focused on the tasks I agreed to take on in preparation.

The remedy is never simple. The shelter is underfunded, understaffed, and runs on the fumes of a handful of dedicated, but burned-out, employees and countless volunteers. It’s never enough to keep up with the strays and surrendered pets that come through the doors looking for a new home.

I step out of the kennel after returning the puppy I was working with today to his bed. The vet’s best guess is he’s about six months old. You wouldn’t know it by looking at him. His energy is not that of a carefree, fun-loving puppy. His tough beginning stripped him of that silly puppy stage and what’s left is a cautious boy who will have a long journey ahead of him before he can trust a human. I’ve only worked with him for a few weeks, but I’m hoping his future family will bring him to the Center for classes after he’s adopted. New Hope always provides our contact information to the families, especially for those who take home the animals that we work with while they’re at the shelter.

“See you soon, little one. You get some good rest.” I wait until he settles onto the cot, his eyes tracking my movements carefully, always alert, before stepping away.

I catch sight of Abby closing another kennel farther down the aisle.

“Hey, slugger,” she says casually as she breezes past me to head toward the main office that’s used as a sort of catchall room. We have event planning meetings there, lunch breaks, meetings with families, pretty much anything that requires a decent amount of space. Something New Hope is certainly short on. Every inch of this place is used to its fullest capacity to house animals and the things they need to thrive. This room is what’s left as the hub for everything else it takes to keep the place running.

“‘Slugger.’ That’s new,” I say.

“You know, since you’re hitting home runs now and everything.”

“It feels like you and Dee are in a race to make as many baseball references as possible. Maybe you two need to meet Aiden’s teammates since you’re so into the sport.”

“Say no more. Where do I sign up?” Abby asks with a wink. “Hey, are you done for the day? Wanna grab some coffee next door?”

“A million times, yes. I feel dead on my feet,” I say.

Abby hesitates for a moment before continuing. “I didn’t want to text you and ruin what I can only hope was a good date because you still haven’t told me much of anything, but you should know, the Kellers pulled their sponsorship for New Hope.”

“What? How could they do that? How could they do that now ?” We have a month left to get ready for the adoption event and the shelter is already at capacity as is. The Keller family owns several massive businesses in Columbus, one of which Dee works for. They notably donate to many local organizations and charities across the city. Why would they pull their support for New Hope? They’re our largest sponsor.

This is bad. This is really fucking bad.

We bundle up before walking next door, grabbing coffees, and sitting down in the cozy café as Abby fills me in on the details and the few plans New Hope has scrambled to put together to try to regain some financial footing.

Abby pulls out her laptop to show me a few places she’s asking to make a donation, just a few from a list of many that the staff and volunteers are scraping through. Any support we manage to find will be like putting a Band-Aid on a broken leg. As a volunteer, I don’t know all the details of New Hope’s financial situation, but I have to imagine the Kellers’ backing has been a critical reason the organization has kept its doors open.

“I’ll reach out to my brother. His company is involved in the community and always donates to New Hope. I’ll see if they can dig a little deeper into their pockets this year,” I say. It won’t be enough, but maybe if we find enough Band-Aids, that will at the very least buy us some time.