The perfect home and a mistaken identity
If you are open to it, working in animal welfare is full of “aha,” life-changing moments that challenge your preconceptions, your view of the world, yourself, and your place in it.
I encountered one of those moments at one of our first super adoptions in Salt Lake City about 26 years ago.
True to form, this super adoption kicked off with lots of energy and a whole bunch of people gathering for this festival-like event. Everyone got in early to set up, and the excitement was truly palpable.
Early in the day, a scruffy-looking middle-aged man, let’s call him Jim, unshaven and wearing an axle grease-stained coat, filled out an application form to adopt a dog. A short while later, when his application was denied, he broke into tears. It was tough to watch.
While his appearance wasn’t an asset, he wasn’t turned away because of his appearance. He was turned down because the address he gave wasn’t for a house or an apartment; it was for a warehouse on the far west side of the city.
In those days, we had the type of “gotcha” adoption application form that drove many would-be adopters to the puppy store or a breeder: Do you have a 6-foot fence around your yard? Who’s your vet and what’s their number? If your dog and your child are running across the freeway, who do you save first? (Kidding.) And so on. So this guy didn’t stand a chance. It was uncomfortable, but we had to protect the animals first, not people’s feelings, right? Jim hung around for a while and then left, looking sad and dejected as he receded through the growing crowd of would-be adopters.
Late in the afternoon, the event was on pace for a record-breaking adoption day when Jim showed up again and shambled up to me begging to be able to adopt the dog, who still hadn’t been placed. “Please, please, just come see where I live,” he said. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”
I softened my stance, and since things were winding down, I agreed to follow him to the place he called home, believing that I would have to tell him that this just wouldn’t work.
We arrived at a trucking warehouse. Still set on telling Jim no, I followed him to the office where he had a cot set up for himself, with a dog bed and chew toys beside it where his recently passed, longtime companion had slept and where his new friend would lay his head.
Turns out the man was a long-haul trucker who lived in his rig when he was on the road and slept in the warehouse office when he was “home.” His dog was the one constant in his life and traveled the country with him. In that moment, I understood the extent of Jim’s love for that dog and the extent of his loss.
I crashed to earth from my lofty, judgmental perch. I felt small, petty, and humiliated by my own arrogance in believing that I, we, could decide who could love and provide a good home for a pet based on a questionnaire.
This man would be with his dog 24 hours a day, seven days a week. So what if he didn’t have a fenced-in yard? Imagining their adventures together on the open road made me happy. Happy for Jim and happy for the dog who would be his best friend.
We went back to the venue and completed the adoption. In the following years, we often heard from Jim with stories and photos of him and the dog we almost denied him, posed in front of mountains, palm trees, skyscrapers, or an ocean.
Jim’s non-home turned out to be the perfect home.
My first order of business after that event was to tear up our adoption contract. We have no business playing “gotcha” and making folks who want to save a life jump through hoops when a simple conversation is all that is needed to guide the process.
That long-haul trucker taught me a life lesson I could never have paid for. He changed me, he changed our adoption procedures, and he helped save hundreds of thousands of lives.
Thank you, Jim, wherever you are and wherever the road may take you and your buddy.
I’d love to hear your “mistaken identity and perfect home stories.” Head to my recent Instagram post and comment with the story that stopped you in your tracks with an “aha” moment. We could all use some “mistaken identity” inspiration today.
Together, we will Save Them All.
-Julie
P.S. Missed the first part to this blog? Check it out here!
