The zombies of animal rescue
OK, first of all, I’m not the kind of person who’ll open her mouth to talk about things she doesn’t know, or even talk for the sake of talking. Even less so to belittle others in order to shine in society and play the smartass. If I have nothing to say, I’ll shut my trap, which sometimes makes people think I may be uninteresting, or dumb… I don’t really care, those who have an opinion about everything and are self-righteous are the ones I’d rather steer clear of. I only give my point of view when I feel it can make sense or to bring insight to the table (but of course, everything’s always relative).
Which brings me to the purpose of this post. What have zombies to do with animal rescue you’ll ask? I can assure you it frightfully makes sense, hear me out. When I decided to create a dog rescue organization, my focus was the dogs that were seriously damaged, who we’d welcome in our peaceful home and wrap up with love and good care. But I also couldn’t wait to meet people who’d share the same commitment, with whom I could exchange and even learn from, who I thought would be amazing. After all, they decided to dedicate part of their life to do good, save animals and be a voice, make people aware and build of community of knowledgeable pet parents, they had to be special, right? Partner to do good, be stronger together, support each other, it seemed to be a logical reflection. In theory yeah, except that I did not include the malfunctioning individuals in the equation, bummer! And sadly in the dog world, there are plenty… I had mingled with dog trainers and behaviorists in the past, but frankly disliked the priggish attitude most of them showcased. Many believed that since they could show their power being pack leaders, they undoubtedly knew better. And potentially, apply that supremacy on the two-legged as well. Not gonna speak about my brief moment of lunacy when I thought it’d be fun to be a dog handler and strut in the show ring. Bad faith, big egos, politics, jealousy, crookedness, even abuse, it was all so freaking clear once the smokescreen evaporated. Unfortunately, that nasty way of being was also very much present amongst rescue people. As if saving lives made them indubitably almighty. More pathetically, the dimwits and psychos were often the ones in plain sight, shadowing the ones who were actually savvy and genuinely commendable. These were the ones who could transform into something gruesome. And as any right-minded person, I preferred to turn around and flee!
I had already witnessed people lashing out against volunteers and presidents of organizations before I became seriously involved, but believed maybe these were mostly misapprehensions. I had heard stories of advocates in the front line proving to be monsters, deliberately abusing the animals under their care, or being lost souls, found dead in their insalubrious home with dozens of neglected and shell-shocked animals. But again, I figured these were rather exceptional situations. Little did I know the rescue world unfortunately attracted the most unstable human beings and could dramatically wreck even the best of us. It did eventually force me to do some serious soul-searching, which I am positive saved me from losing it.
I know you may think I am exaggerating, that anyone devoting their time reaching out to needy four-legged can only be good. Believe me, I started with great enthusiasm, not letting the gossip and negativity corrupt my goal or make me wary of others. But the naive little Red Riding Hood would soon be facing reality and meet a pack of evil wolves! Serves you right stupid stargazer! I knew rescue was no piece of cake, but I thought mostly because it was brutal to face so much misery and try to save animal’s abused bodies and souls, not because most people involved were so deranged. The more contacts I had with different people, the more disappointed I got. Not that I felt I was better or anything, but I did not adhere to their mindsets, at all. And apart from a little edginess at that time of the month, you know, when hormones give you a kick, I trusted I was pretty balanced compared to so many of them. When you realize most actors of the rescue world are women, well, maybe it explains the incongruity… Too many had hidden agendas, rescuing dogs to fill their social profiles with exploits they actually twisted to make it more poignant, getting kudos from their audience who, in all good faith, swallowed everything they said. Others made big theories on care or training (sometimes frighteningly giving wrong guidance) when behind the scenes, they were failing miserably with their own dogs, sometimes even abusing the ones they fostered. Some were shamefully dishonest, lying to get donations in order to either buy dogs (from breeders or individuals) to fill their adoption list or use the money for private purposes. Some were total maniacs, always sewing discord and amassing a hoard of borderline followers, disclosing private details of the lives of those who volunteered for them as soon as they were not in tune with them anymore or destroying a fellow rescuer’s reputation out of pure jealousy. Yep, quite pathetic. I sometimes couldn’t believe what I was seeing or hearing. The animals to be saved were the least of their priorities. They sometimes preferred to let a cat or dog die rather than putting their ego aside. I swear it’s true! The honest people were often discreet, acting instead of talking, and thus were less famous. That was my case, I did not like fuss and did not get involved in collective lynchings, only occasionally gave my opinion when I felt things were unfair. I preferred to take care of our rescues, use my energy wisely and hide in my bubble. This made other organizations take advantage of my intergity and pass the delicate cases they had in their hands, very often dogs that were not adoptable because of various issues and they didn’t want to lose face, avoid telling their public they didn’t want to/couldn’t take care of them. That was another fact I became aware of: they very much counted on others to do their job (fosters, volunteers, organizations they partnered with) and passed the buck when something bad happened. They had no sense of responsability whatsoever. You wouldn’t believe the lousy comments some made about the dogs they dropped, discarding them like the repulsive humans who had abused them in the first place. They were no better when you scratched their dazzling surface a tad, but you only had the privilege of hearing their contemptuous monologues if you were part of their inner circle. Most of them were such hypocrites, playing a role in front of their public, a pitiful tragedy.
I’m not jaded, it’s just the truth. In fact, my truth, what I experienced in all honesty (you can read more about me here and the mystification around our last rescue here). Too many times, I listened to their confessions behind closed doors, witnessed the wrong handling or poor treatment these dogs had received while under their care, but I always focused on repairing the damage they’d done instead of pointing the finger at them and publically revealing their misdeeds to unveil their true colors. Maybe it was a weak move, but it was a battle I didn’t want to take on. It was already painful enough to rub shoulders with irresponsible individuals in order to rescue a dog from a shady situation, I was not going to try and change the whole humankind (besides, I felt it was a lost cause). I sometimes attempted to make a point here or there, but quickly realized it was no use, they were too strung up and narrow-minded. Don’t get me wrong, I did try to raise awareness as any legit rescuer should, showed the benefits of a good diet, natural supplements, spaying & neutering of course, positive training, respect of each dog’s disposition and promoted seniors and special needs, but the audience was hardly receptive (the French are quite thickheaded, you don’t tell them what to do!). I always tried to highlight progress and hope instead of worries and disenchantments to make people weep, what many other organizations used as a strategy to get more donations. Deceit was their middle name. I did not slander others either, even if I did not agree with them. I must admit, over time, all the negativity getting the upper hand in this rescue world unsettled me to the point where I ended up doing my thing on my own and avoided being in contact with them. Except when it was to reach out to a dog in need they had access to, I tried to suck my aversion up, but it always left me with a sickening aftertaste. As soon as I took my distances, I also became a target, fanatics trying to bash me, but they had not much to gnaw on, I had always been ethical, doing things my way instead of following their dodgy rules, that’s what made them so angry. The ones who were happy to have me as a support and conceal the mess they’d made, suddenly questioned my approach, the fact that we were a sanctuary and did not put our dogs for adoption, what once reassured them, knowing they would be in good hands until the end. They lamely had to calm their fustration because I had just welcomed a very sick dog that one of their volunteer had interest for... We were not supposed to save one that was a little younger, not matter how shattered he was, it was their mission, thinking our seniors were just veggies that would ruin the spirits of a youngster! Besides, we had too many dogs for them to be really happy and well cared-for they thought! Yes, that’s how twisted they were! They couldn’t wrap their heads around the fact that my level of commitment was by far higher than most. Although I once was amazing for giving those nobody wanted a better life, for keeping a house so spotless, according to them (I got a “I don’t know how you do it, my house is a mess and I have much less dogs!), once we had Chihuahuas in the mix, no matter how much care they required, it changed their perception, people were jealous. I couldn’t care less what they thought honestly, it was so foolish and I had little esteem for them and their hoard of brainless ass-lickers anyway, but when two dogs from two different organizations, who needed help (my big heart was my worst drawback), were handed to me too late, it was the last straw. Both hadn’t received the proper care, underwent invasive surgeries or were administered harsh treatments without a prior thorough health exam and respectively passed a week and month after they had arrived in our home, despite our attempts at mending the shattered pieces. Of course, none looked as damaged from their pictures before I saw them for real. So many did the strict minimum to avoid too many expenses, or provided reckless care to show their audience they take action, treating dogs like a case that you want to close fast in order to pass to the next, even it it means making a total botch. I didn’t want to be associated with any of them anymore. The general public had a tendency of putting everyone in the same basket, not making much distinction between the ones that were trustworthy and those indeed quite immoral. So I quit. I felt bad, but I didn’t want to take the risk of losing my mind. I would continue in the shadow, still opening my door to any animal in need that crossed my path, but cut all ties with the unhinged actors of the rescue world.
Leonie was just skin and bone, had been “cared-for” by a rescue advocate for weeks before, one acclaimed by many for being such a hero.
Same for Titus, he arrived to us too late, he passed a short week after his arrival. It had taken more than a month for him to be transported to us after his rescue, to our great dismay…
So, the zombies… If I refer to some rescue people as zombies, it’s to give them the benefit of the doubt, the majority don’t deliberately mean harm, it’s just an external factor that affected their whole being to the point where they can’t function well anymore. You see, I always try to remain empathetic! That applies to those who were not damaged in the first place that is. I agree there are good people in the rescue world, you just have to dig a little. Maybe a little more… A tiny bit more… There you go! Almost as complex as finding a needle in a haystack… People who really care, who want to help without getting anything in return, who know what they’re doing and have their head well screwed on are disappointingly a rare sight. As mentioned before, they often work in the shadow, focus on the animals instead of putting themsleves in the spotlight and yearning for other’s recognition, with whatever strategy they may see fit. They build a screen to the evil ones, wear repellants to keep them at bay, as much as possible. Garlic works on vampires who try to suck up your soul, you just have to be creative! It’s not specific to the rescue world when you think about it. Just like in any other area, there are disrupted people who disserve those who do good deeds. Welcome to planet Earth and its smorgasbord of inhabitants! And when you enter the underworld, there is no limit to mass destruction. The zombies of rescue can scare the heck out of you and make you want to flee when they approach you! They make undefinable sounds, with foam coming out of their mouths when they get too worked up, eyes bulging out and you just know they’ll eat you alive if you don’t resist. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that rescuing animals is bad of course, but it’s what they make of it that is, and how they present it. They lost complete reason and only think about their thirst, no matter the damage they can cause, whether be on humans or animals. In their defense, most probably started with good intentions, but the harshness of the environment made them lose all perception. Yes, it’s tough to be fully immersed in animal rescue, your beliefs are put to the test and if you don’t have tough skin, you won’t survive or at least, keep your sanity. This is exactly where I think many cross the point of no return: instead of reassessing themselves and maybe take a breather to get a clearer view of the situation, they hold on to that frayed rope that is bound to give way one way or the other. Abuse unfortunately never stops, your nerves are constantly requested and you can hardly keep your head above water. And when your brain lacks oxygen for too long, it cannot function properly anymore. I think many fervent advocates should rescue themselves first before trying to tackle animal misery. They don’t do them a favor becoming erratic and losing all common sense. Animals need balanced human beings to have a chance of living in this world, especially when it’s those supposed to give them another chance. Quite an aberration when you think about it, many so-called rescuers save a dog from abuse only to drop them in a similar dubious environment. Is there really any hope in this world?
It took me a few years to reflect on this. I know it’s a rather tragic observation, but it’s what I digested from my ordeal being fully immersed in the animal rescue world. The best memories are the ones with the dogs themselves, not the people. I do think rescue is like a virus though, that imprints your DNA when you catch it, but that can break out in various ways depending on your immunity. The ones with a strong immune system remain asymptomatic for the most part, except for an enlarged heart and propensity to develop rashes when in contact with lame two-legged, while others will display high fever that severely damages their brain and leaves them debilitated. These are the ones who become zombies, who won’t self-quarantine in order to limit the spread of their rampage. On the contrary, their goal is to infect anyone in the vicinity and create chaos, leading an army of blinded individuals who, for the most part, think they are part of a legit endeavour. The lucky ones end up regaining consciousness and escape, still quite confused by this troubling episode and rather bruised, while the others get swamped and succumb to the sinsiter force, unconsciously or not. They’re the ones who disserve the rescue community, showing how humans can be monstruous.
You may wonder, how can you avoid being bitten by the malevolent rescue specimen? You don’t particularly need to spritz yourself with holy water, but it is safe to wrap yourself with any kind of protection. The most effective one being keeping your senses. This is what saved me personally, although it was challenging at times. I was constantly under pressure, many trying to slyly destroy my beliefs and morals. At one point, I became some kind of Terminator, keeping harmful people at bay, wearing a nonsense-proof shield that served its purpose, but made me very lonely in the long run. I was set on one mode, saving damaged dogs and caring for them only, 24/7, avoiding anyone daring making me take another direction (even next of kin), putting my life into brackets, neglecting my well-being. The dogs came first, always. Not a sustainable tactic. With around 30 furry kids at one point, I definitely pushed my vocation a little far. But you know what, I was always true to myself and each soul that entered our home was loved and well-cared for. Yes, even with so many. My goal was to give them the best family life possible and hopefully make up for the years of neglect and abuse they had endured. It was worth all the sacrifices I made to fulfill that endeavour. I always thought that if you wanted something done well, you had to do it yourself, which is why I never counted on anybody else to do my job. I got criticized for it, because I could not save as many as others. Quality over quantity was my motto, even if I got frustrated to be unable to save a few others that crossed my path. Yes, rescue is really hard on you, nobdy wins in this battle, not even the most truthful and genuinely involved activists. Actually, I think they’re the ones who suffer the most since their emotions are taken on a rollercoaster and their strength slowly fades away. The key I guess is not being afraid of saying no, to know your boundaries and always remain truthful, to yourself, the animals you save and the others. This should prevent you from transforming into some spectre of yourself. The only time I could have been related to the living dead was when I got woken up in the middle of the night by an epileptic dog having a seizure or a senile senior crying. And well, over time, worries and sorrow did indeed give me a scray reflection in the mirror…