I am a shelter dog, do you know what that means?

I could have wander in from the streets, surrendered here by my owner, or seized from my previous home.

You stare at me from the other side of the kennel. Look at my bed and cozy blanket, my toy half chewed in the corner. This is my home, for now, at least, that’s what my handlers say.

They tell me that I’m cute, take me to lunch sometimes, and spoil me rotten with treats. But at the end of the day, they turn off the lights and say, “maybe tomorrow baby”, give me a head rub, and leave with sad eyes.

Every day, I get to see new faces. They walk up and down the aisle looking at all of us. Poking their fingers inward, wanting to be loved, licked, or to connect.

Sometimes we jump or bark, eager to socialize, begging for attention. Maybe we cower in a corner, growl, and are afraid of human hands who have not been kind to us in the past. Few of us are quiet, unamused, or bored. The longer you’re in the shelter, the smaller the walls get around us, and all we dream of is running through the grass – free.

I wish I could tell you exactly where I’ve been or where I’m from, that I enjoy fur friends or children to play with, but my handlers will tell you what they’ve learned about me since I have arrived.

I could be high energy, bouncing off of the walls. I could be low energy, wanting to curl under a blanket and cuddle all day.

Perhaps I’ll love kids, running around with them, maybe eating a sock or two along the way. Maybe I am unsure, afraid of kids or don’t know how to handle them that small.

I could love dogs and want to run around and play tug of war. I could dislike dogs because I was once used as a weapon or maybe I never learned proper socialization.

I am not perfect, I may have to pick up a few skills or learn a few things along my way.

Where ever I came from, whatever I like or dislike, I am a shelter dog who is in need of love, a family, a home, patience, and freedom. I may have been lost, but you found me.