Excerpt from ms of 28,156 words, 214 pages

I arrived at the SPCA to complete my first week. Everything was as usual for the past four days, kennel staff congregated outside the supervisor’s office, waiting for their first assignment of the day.

I was partnered with Josh, charged with cleaning B Kennel. To the “boot room” we adjourned, collecting the necessary supplies and accoutrements to begin our task.

Tramping back to B Kennel, fumbling towels, buckets and what-not in poorly chosen rubber boots too large for my feet, I dumped my equipment and clunked back to the boot room to exchange the industrial waders for a smaller pair.

Coming out of the boot room with a more appropriate size, I looked over to D Kennel to greet some of the rescues.

In the first stall was a short haired brown-and-white Chihuahua everyone called Momma, who had been rescued with a starving litter of four. With her since their arrival was one of her litter, a tiny black-and-white twelve week-old puppy, Baby -- the only survivor among his three siblings.

She was especially sweet, greeting anyone who walked by with a wagging tail and a proud introduction of her puppy, always mimicking her stance, situated right against her chest with his nose twitching away.

Through the day, every single employee and volunteer would take time to visit them, praising Momma and fawning over Baby.

They would play happily together, making whoever watched them smile ear to ear. During nap time, Baby curled up under Momma, who popped her head up on guard at any unfamiliar noise, then nuzzle his tiny head before settling back to sleep.

During meals, they shared from the same dish; Momma always making sure that Baby got his fill and would groom him proudly...whatever Momma did, Baby was right there with her.

But today, Baby wasn’t in the kennel with Momma.

I sought out a treatment staffer, asking where Baby was.

“He’s being fostered.” She answered.

Fostered?

It meant Baby wasn’t going to be placed for adoption, as he needed special care; what’s more is that Momma would be placed for adoption, once she was healthy enough.

I looked over at Momma as she nervously paced, whining for her only baby. I approached her and put my fingers through the fencing, trying to lend some comfort, “How you doing Momma?"

Although she accepted my attention, her whimpers continued – she wanted her baby – her sad brown eyes imploring for his return.

With my heart in my throat from pity, I pet her…“I know Momma, you miss your baby – I certainly know how that feels.”