Southside Animal Shelter is located at:
We are open seven days a week.
Monday - Friday, 11:00-6:00; Saturday - Sunday, 12:00-4:00.
No appointment is necessary unless the animal is being fostered.
Call 317-710-2831
THE PERFECT PUP!
For anyone out there who is searching for the "perfect pup," and actually believes that he exists, here is one to consider. Of course, he is a stuffed dog, but he is a compilation of everything you are looking for in a dog. He doesn't shed, he doesn't dig, he doesn't bark. He is that mythical dog that is guarenteed to get along with kids and with other dogs. He allows children to treat him as a plaything and never dares growl or nip back in defense. He never has a potty accident, never piddles with excitement when new people come to visit. He never jumps up on people, he never gets into the trashcan or bothers you when you are not interested in caring for him.
You don't have to walk him or play with him. You don't have to worry about bad habits forming from lack of stimulation and exercise. He will never grow out of his cute puppy stage, you will never have to invest in regular vet care or expensive emergency care. You will never have to decide to let him go when he is horribly ill, and you will never have to hold him as his life slips away.
Unfortunately, the only dog you can find with these attributes is a stuffed toy. If you want a living, breathing pet, please be prepared for the unexpected.
No dog is "perfect," but then, neither are we humans! Please do not get a dog if you cannot accept this fact. Millions are euthanized every year because of our society's disposable attitude. Ask any shelter worker -- owner-surrendered dogs cry and grieve after they are left at a shelter. Their hearts are broken.
HOW COULD YOU?
By Jim Willis
When I was a puppy I entertained you with my antics and made you
laugh. You called me your child and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was "bad," you'd shake your finger at me and ask "How could you?" -- but then you'd relent and roll me over for a bellyrub.
My housetraining took a little longer than expected, because you were
terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of
nuzzling you in bed, listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs," you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.
Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career,
and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently,
comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings
and when you fell in love.
She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" -- still I welcomed her into
our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy. Then the human babies came along, and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love."
As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur
and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes,
investigated my ears and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything
about them and their touch -- because your touch was now so infrequent -- and I would have defended them with my life if need be.
I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret
dreams. Together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway.
There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you
produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me.
These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf.
Now you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and
they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family. I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness.
You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good
home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog or cat, even one with "papers." You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar as he screamed "No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You gave me a goodbye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too.
After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your
upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked, "How could you?"
They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy
schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you -- that you had changed your mind -- that this was all a bad dream... or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited.
I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day and I
padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet
room. She placed me on the table, rubbed my ears and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood.
She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down
her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down
sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured, "How could you?"
Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said, "I'm so sorry." She hugged me and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself -- a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. With my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not meant for her. It was you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of. I will think of you and wait for you forever.
May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.
The End
~Copyright Jim Willis 2001~
tiergartenjim@yahoo.com
A Prayer for Animals by Albert Schweitzer
Hear, our humble prayer, O God, for our friends, the animals. Especially for animals who are suffering; for any that are hunted or lost or deserted or frightened or hungry; for all that must be put to death. We entreat for them all thy mercy and pity, and for those who deal with them, we ask a heart of compassion and gentle hands and kindly words. Make us, ourselves, to be true friends to animals and so to share the blessings of the merciful.
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Contact us
Southside Animal Shelter
1614 W. Edgewood Ave.
Indianapolis, IN 46217
317-710-2831
