Emily Articulated: Rescued

By Emily Erickson
Reader Staff

My living room is softly lit, the orange lamplight casting a latticed shadow from the child gate propped in its entry. Two puppies are snuggled up beside me, looking like a yin and yang, or a cinnamon roll, but one made from two different kinds of dough. Their breathing is synced, chests rising and falling as they draw in the air of their new home — the smells of me and coffee and the couch on which their predecessor — the dog before these two dogs — also lay. 

They aren’t chewing on my laptop. It’s a rare moment of peace, but one that feels particularly well earned. 

I spent exactly two weeks with the nine puppies of the rescue litter I was tasked with fostering and finding homes for. It was a task I brought upon myself and prepared for by building indoor and outdoor pens, gathering supplies — crates, food, blankets and toys — printing flyers and creating nine adoption profiles online. I knew it would be overwhelming, fulfilling and completely consuming, and I felt ready (as ready as one can be, anyway).

Although I felt equipped for the load of caregiving, I underestimated, or perhaps couldn’t have known, the taxing nature of promoting and facilitating their adoptions. For every eager, decisive person excited and prepared to take on the role of puppy parent, there were 20 spammers, flakers and wishy-washy “interested” commenters who seemed to have no real intention of adopting.

As the days went by, the enthusiasm faded, the A+ families grew thin and I became more attached to the remaining pups — more determined to find them the best possible homes. It felt like a game of escalating consequences, one in which each new level got harder. I was swinging my sword against a field of trolls; and, after a week of exhaustion (and impending despair), my psyche increasingly battered and bruised from the effort — it happened. 

I won.

And what a sweet victory it was. As the last two pups were lovingly loaded into their cars, I felt the weight of all those little lives I’d been carrying lift. I could finally reflect on all the precious moments without the tinge of anxiety about who might be left behind.

There were moments of pure magic — watching people fall in love with their new dogs, a lifetime of mutual devotion unfurling in real time. I watched a puppy leave his pack of wriggling siblings, excited tails whapping his face as he climbed into a visitor’s arms as if to say, “I’ve been waiting for you.” 

I saw a woman smooth the forehead wrinkles of a sleepy pup and whisper, “Are you my dog?” just for him to blink a slow and certain “yes.” 

I saw the excited glint in people’s eyes as they prepared for the roller coaster ahead: the first car ride home, the first night of uncertainty and joy. I watched the puppies trust that wherever they were headed, it would be a place full of love.

Between the highs and lows, the exhaustion and the overwhelm, there were people and organizations lifting me up. The Luna Project, a private rescue group in Coeur d’Alene dedicated to saving abused, neglected and homeless dogs, was there offering guidance, sharing the burden and doling out encouragement. Better Together Animal Alliance donated food and equipment and provided free on-site vaccinations. 

Local businesses like Idaho Pour Authority and Evans Brothers Coffee let the pups wear “Adopt Me” bandanas on their patios, their employees taking on pup promotion like it was a part of their job description, too.

Friends volunteered to take shifts in puppy piles so my partner and I could get each one face time with the community, and my poor followers on social media didn’t just tolerate my puppy spam — they cheered me on.

It was only two weeks. But experiences like these shed light on the incredible work being done quietly every day — the people and organizations who give so much of themselves to do what needs doing. They’re often underpaid, underfunded and overworked; yet, they show up, advocating for those who can’t advocate for themselves.

This small brush with that world reminded me how good it feels to be useful. To show up and turn “hang in there” into “here’s how I can help.” It was an experience and a reminder that I’ll carry with me into the months (and years) ahead, and one I intend to continue to act upon. But, perhaps after a few more peaceful mornings first.

Emily Erickson is a writer and business owner with an affinity for black coffee and playing in the mountains. Connect with her online at www.bigbluehat.studio.