My Banshee

I remember when Banshee was first brought into the animal shelter. My friend told me a little about her. She had been found as a stray, under some farmhouse. By the way she interacted with people, they had the impression that she had been a stray all her life. She didn't really like people, she growled a lot, and she kept to herself. Maybe she was always a stray, or maybe her capture was that traumatic. Either way, she was here with us and she definitely stood apart from the rest of the dogs that we had there.

 

She, at first, looked like a pit bull, although she was obvious a mutt of some sort. She was tan-colored mostly, but she had milky white fur along her muzzle, underside, paws, and just a touch at her tailtip with a tail that curved ever so slightly. She also had one brown eye and one blue eye. Otherwise, she had mostly pit bull traits, like the shape of her head and body.

 

She was kept in a pen by herself, locked up and kept away from the other dogs since she had a habit of snapping at them. So she was laying there in her pen, curled up on her little plastic bed (better than the concrete floor), and simply waiting for the next meal to come. But, there was something too adorable about her to dismiss, something that made me want to try and see if she could become people friendly. We always approach new dogs with an abundance of caution, and this time was no exception. I opened the door to the pen. She didn't move. She opened up an eye and looked at me, but that was it. So I moved into the pen and closed the door behind me. I sat down on the opposite side of the pen from her. I didn't approach her. I didn't reach out at first. I simply sat there and let her get used to the idea of my being there.

 

After a few minutes, she lifted her head and took a good look at me. Then she stood up, walked over to her water bowl, and took a drink. Since she was up anyway, I reached out my hand, and she just looked at me intently. I pulled back, but she was still looking at me. So, on a hunch I guess, I called at her sternly, "Hey! Get over here. Now!", and I put my finger on the ground in front of me. She stood there, watching my finger, but otherwise not moving. "Here!", I called out again in a commanding tone. She slowly walked over to me, to the point on the ground where I pointed. She didn't sit down. She just looked at me, raising her snout a bit and sniffing the air around me.

 

I slowly brought my hand up closer to her head, keeping a close eye on her for any sudden movements or a snarl of any sort. She looked apprehensive, but I put my hand on her head without incident. I petted her a bit between the ears, and she visibly relaxed at that point. Her ears perked a bit, her tail wagged just a tad. I pulled my hand back and I nodded to her. In a much softer tone, I said, "Good girl". She didn't move again. So I slowly stood up and left the pen. She curled back up on her plastic bed. I considered the entire thing to be a good first step.

 

Now, I only got to see her once a week. I have a full time job. My friend works at the animal shelter full-time, and I was technically signed up as a "volunteer". Because I live in a small apartment and I have neither the room nor the resources to own an animal, my friend had the idea to bring me with him so I can play with the cats and dogs while he works. So we went to the office at the shelter with that idea, and they thought it was fantastic. The animals, while taken care of in terms of food, water, and medical needs, are lacking in human interaction. So, a "volunteer" like me who is there just to play with them, brings a little bit of joy into their lives and helps keep the animals people-friendly when it comes time for adoptions.

 

But like I said, I have a full-time job. And I could only go to the animal shelter with my friend on my days off, on the condition that he was actually working that day anyway. If he was off on the same day as well, then I didn't get to go.

 

So, I saw Banshee once a week. Over the course of time, she started to really come around. She got along well enough with the other dogs that she could be let out of her pen (although she still had occasional fights with the other dogs, but most do). She was friendly enough that my friend was able to pet her a bit while he did his job.

 

Banshee was kept in the "forsaken" room. Really, it is simply another dog pen area, but it is inside the main building at the shelter. It's for the dogs that have problems that make them almost un-adoptable. Either they don't like people, don't like other dogs, or in Banshee's case, they are smart enough and motivated enough to jump/climb fences. Whatever the case, if a dog needs to be under more controlled conditions verses roaming freely in the yard (about a half-acre yard), it's kept in the "forsaken" room.

 

I used to start the day by playing with the kitties, then I'd play with some of the dogs in the open yard (playing fetch with frisbees and such), then when it got dark I'd go down to the "forsaken" room where she was kept. Well as time passed, I found myself just going down to the forsaken room and spending all day with her. I'd brush her, pet her a lot, make sure she had fresh water, all that sort. Then, on a passing thought, I got permission to take her on little walks along the outer rim of the property. It seemed like such a shame to me that she was cooped up all the time, so I got a leash and took her out into the yard.

 

And you know how dogs love walks. I took her to a huge garden area that the boss of the shelter was building. Banshee was running around excitedly, sniffing everything. Sometimes she'd find a nice patch of nice green grass and she'd plop down and roll around in it. Oh the look on her face as she did that was priceless. It was like she had a little slice of doggy heaven. Her tongue would be hanging out all goofy-like as she sprawled and wriggled all over the grass. Insanely cute.

 

So it came that I was spending all day with her, like I said. On the flip side, she grew completely attached to me. When I'd first arrive in a given day, she'd greet me by jumping up real high and giving me a gentle nose-to-nose bop. She got to the point where she'd never leave my side. Step by step, she was always right beside me. If I sat down, she'd sit down next to me and lean up against me. If I had to lay down for a bit (I work the graveyard shift, so I have to take a mid-day nap to keep myself going. My friend would just set me up with a towel for a pillow and let me nap in one of the unused dog pens inside the building), she'd lay down beside me and lay her head down on my shoulder, watching me sleep. If one of the other dogs growled at me, she'd bite him. If something scared her, she'd run behind me and whimper, knowing that I'd protect her. If I left the forsaken room to do something, she'd sit at the door and wait there however long until I came back.

 

I said earlier that I couldn't adopt her because I didn't have the room for her. But, as I have often told other people, it became clear that she adopted me.

 

She was so excited to see me when I first arrived that she'd start bouncing around happily, running back and forth from one end of the forsaken room to the other, zipping here and there, jumping up and boping me playfully nose to nose, and barking excitedly. I'd have to give her a few minutes to calm down enough for me to get the leash on her, then we'd go out for our walks (which was more along the lines of her running full speed and pulling me along like a kite).

 

Leaving at the end of the day started to become difficult for me. Banshee's separation anxiety disorder didn't help things much. When we'd lock her back in her pen for the night so we could go home, she'd start whimpering and yelping (another reason she's in the forsaken room). Well, one day, we put her in her pen and she starts up with that. Hearing her yelp and whine just really tugged on my heartstrings. It's bad enough leaving a loved one behind and only seeing them once a week. It's absolutely dreadful to hear them whine and carry on. But I hear this sudden, intense scratching noise and a "THUMP". I turn around. I have the door to the forsaken room open with my one hand. It leads to the outside world, to freedom, to those areas where she loves to be walked. And when I turn around, I see that she had just jumped over the walls to her pen. She's in the forsaken room because she is known for climbing fences. So if she gets out, she'll make a break for freedom. I'm the only thing standing between her, and her escape.

 

I'm not fast enough in my reaction. Before I can do anything, she's running right at me and...she throws herself at my feet. She lays her head on my feet, whimpering and crying. She's begging for me not to leave. Between myself, and freedom, she chose to beg for me to stay. So I close the door behind me and I bend down. I kiss her between the ears and I pet her. I speak softly to her, asking her to behave for me and I tell her I'll be back for her. I tell her she's my baby girl and that I'll always come back for her. She starts whimpering and crying, and I start crying a bit too. I pull her into my lap and I rub her belly for a bit before I set her down and lead her back into her pen. I beg her not to do it again. I know she can't understand me, but this time when I go to leave, she doesn't jump her pen. I turn out the lights as she continues to whine and cry, and I close the door as I leave.

 

They ended up building a ceiling over her pen to stop her from jumping it. As weeks went on, I continued to spend all my time with Banshee. I convinced my friend to bring along his camera and take a few photos of myself with her. We'd go for several walks every time I visited. And each time I visited, she'd be even more excited to see me. She'd buzz around the room, running loops and jumping up again and again to lick my face. We'd go on our walks and I'd spend the rest of the day petting and brushing her out. It actually got easier for me to say good-bye each week. Visiting her quickly became the one thing in my week I'd look forward to. I worked five days a week, had one day off, and one day for my Banshee. I told my co-workers about her. I brought in the photos that my friend took. And as silly as it sounds, I started playing the lottery hoping I'd win something big enough to buy a house big enough to accommodate her.

 

Sooner or later, it happens though. It's an animal shelter. The animals are there to be adopted. In the back of my mind, I always knew it was a possibility. But, it's also possible in the same way that it is possible that your best friend or family might just drop dead. You just don't consider it to be very likely. Dogs in the forsaken room are kept there to keep them away from people browsing the shelter looking to adopt a pet. So, the possibility was remote at best.

 

But tonight, while I was walking Banshee, I overheard a conversation. She had been admitted into a program called HOPE, which takes dogs which are thought to be un-adoptable, and these dogs are brought into prisons to be trained by convicted felons. The idea is that these felons train the dogs to behave properly (and are supposedly kept under strict supervision), and both parties supposedly benefit. The convicts train out the bad habits of the dogs and hopefully make them adoptable, and the convicts apparently adjust better to living in society after getting released from prison. Or so the program claims.

 

So my Banshee, my loving baby girl, is going to be picked up by some kennel bus, shuttled to some kennels close to a prison where I'm never going to see her again, and she is going to be alone, not knowing why I'm suddenly not around anymore. She's going to think I abandoned her. Her only company is going to be employees of the kennel who are only going to be around long enough to feed her and give her water, and whatever convict they bring along to train her to roll over and fetch the newspaper. She's not going to have the love and attention I brought her every week. She's not going to have someone there to take her on long walks and giggle as she rolls around in the grass and looks goofy. She's going to be scared and alone in unfamiliar territory.

 

I spent most of this evening alternating between pouting and outright crying. Banshee was near frantic. She was sitting there, watching me cry as I held her close and gave her as much attention as I could. She was whimpering and licking my face, licking at my tears and trying to cheer me up. It only broke my heart even more. To know that she cares that much for me, that she loves me that much, that she is so loyal to me, and that in about another twelve hours, none of it is going to matter since she's going to be locked in a cage and whisked away.

 

If she doesn't get adopted straight out of the HOPE program, she could return to the shelter. But nobody has given me a timeframe for how long that might be. It could be a few weeks. It could be months. It might be years. And from what my friend says, a slight majority of dogs do get adopted out of the HOPE program, so the chances aren't even in my favor that I'll see her again. And if she comes back, who knows when that'll be?

 

I take a little solace in having the opportunity to say goodbye. I take a little solace in knowing that if she does get adopted, at least she'll have a home now. Really that's what we always want for the dogs at the shelter. We want them to find a home. But still, this has been a terribly emotional evening for me.

 

My heart feels so heavy right now. I cried until I was dehydrated. I cried until I hyperventilated and my head felt all fuzzy. I haven't cried this hard in almost a decade. It feels like I'm losing a daughter. This was my Banshee. This was my baby girl. And I'll probably never see her again. She's going to spend the rest of her life wondering what she did wrong that made me abandon her like that. I promise you baby girl, I didn't abandon you. Life just sucks like this sometimes and there's nothing I can do about it except hope that my lottery ticket hits and I can build a nice big house for you with a big doggy playground in the backyard with fifteen-foot-high fences so I can let you run around every day.

 

Until then, all I can do is cry and cherish the memories I have of you, my baby girl, my Banshee. I know I promised I'd always come back for you. And if you return to the shelter someday, I promise I'll come back for you. I'm sorry I can't do anything about it right now. I'm sorry.

 

To my Banshee. While I'm at it, to all of the loved ones everybody has had to leave behind due to shitty life circumstances. To all the forgotten ones in the forsaken room. To all the cats and dogs sitting in animal shelters around the world, just waiting and wanting a loving human to come and bring them to a safe home. To all of the domesticated animals roaming neighborhoods, woods, and alleyways that don't even have a shelter to keep them fed and safe.

 

To all of them, my heart bleeds tonight.

 

I've always said that the two most terrible words in the English language are "Good bye". I feel that especially right now.

 

This is one of the photos of Banshee that my friend took. I'm so grateful to have any photos of her.

Done