Years ago, I worked at an animal shelter. The shelter was on the outskirts of town in an industrial park. The area was dominated by a dirt road, grey utility buildings and a few weed-filled empty lots.
Early one morning a man in coveralls knocked on the shelter’s door. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I need some help.” He pointed toward a dusty truck in the parking lot.
My co-worker, Stacey, and I followed him to the vehicle. In the bed was a dog, quite dead. “I’m sorry. All we can do is dispose of the body.”
“I found her on the side of the road. She lives around my shop, I’d feed her sometimes. I think she has some puppies.”
Stacey and I took the mother’s body and said that we would try to catch the puppies. The mechanic gave us a ride to his work shop up the road. He told us that the mother-dog spent a lot of time in the lot next to his place.
The lot was filled with junk, wispy grass, and rooted tumble weeds. In the furthest corner, against a chain-link fence, was the carcass of some sort of car. I could see that something had dug under the rusting metal and quite a few paw-prints. Stacy and I slowly approached the hole – it was clearly some sort of den. Of the two of us, I was smaller, so I got on my belly and crawled inside. It was deeper than expected, and I ended up with my head and shoulders inside this damp smelly hole. There was no light, but I could hear movement and panting. Waving my arms about, I grabbed the first thing my hands brushed across. My nose was immediately assaulted by the odors of a voiding bladder and released bowels. I dragged this noxious mass out of the den, handed it to Stacey, and dove back in. We did this three times, producing a puppy with each dive.
These poor, frightened whelps were brought back it the shelter and placed in a kennel. We gave them food, water and blankets. They hid in a corner, pressed closely together, their heads facing the walls, as if they were trying to hide from the whole world. These poor creatures had lost their entire world; their mother was gone, they had been ripped away from their home and take to a place they could not comprehend.
Over time, we were able to coax them to eat and to be handled. The whole litter was adorable! 
They were some sort of chow-mix, so each one looked like a living teddy bear. Employees, volunteers, and visitors all wanted to hold them. Before long, they were coming up to the kennel gate begging for attention. Once the pups were old enough, they were altered and adopted to loving homes.
I’ve been depressed for months. At first, I blamed it on school and getting married. Later, work stress and medication became my scapegoats. After a lot of thought, and some long walks, I think I found the source of my depression. In the past year, I have married the man I love, established a home with him, and now I’m expecting our first child. For most of my life, I have been struggling to make ends met, moving from one crisis to the next, with only myself to count on. Now, I have a supportive spouse and a loving network of friends. Like the puppies, I have been removed from what I am familiar with.
In both cases, we were taken from a bad situation and given a better life. Maybe, for the past several months, I have been hiding in the corner, afraid of everything around me.
Sorry guys, I don’t have pictures of the puppies, but these cuties look a lot like them!
