How To Get Fired As A Volunteer
And why animals are superior to humans.
For the past four months, I have been working as a volunteer for an animal rescue organization here in the PNW. If you know me, you know the group.
One week ago, I was cruelly fired.
Bear with me. There’s a story here.
Volunteering isn’t something I have done a lot in my adult years. In 1996, I was 16 and attending a Jesuit (read: The Cool Catholics) high school in the suburbs of Chicago. Volunteer work and community involvement were huge parts of the curriculum at our school and through Loyola Academy (and my brother and his super cool friends who were already volunteers with the following organization) I started working with Open Hand in Chicago. We worked in teams of two and delivered meals to people living with AIDS in various neighborhoods of Chicago. At the time, a lot of the neighborhoods weren’t the best and there were always notes on the deliveries as well — knock three times, the landlord doesn’t know this person has AIDS so don’t tell anyone who you are with, go through the backdoor, etc. I grew up in the city and even I was always a bit timid about the actual delivery part. But the parts of the route that made me nervous were far outweighed by the incredible work we were doing and the people we met along the way: “Hookah-Man” who gave us handmade cards at Christmastime or the little boy who we would deliver McDonalds Happy Meals to along with the meals we would bring to his mom. It was an eye opening and life changing opportunity.
I volunteered a bit in college, mostly at neighborhood after-school programs but once I was in the working world, my time was filled with my job, friends and trying to figure out my adult-life. I felt I didn’t have enough time to manage those three things let alone do something for free. On top of that, I couldn’t figure out what really mattered to me.
For as long as I can remember, animals have had a huge hold on my heart. I didn’t play with dolls as a kid — I played with anything that was an animal…Care Bears, My Little Pony, my hundreds of stuffies, etc. We always had pets growing up and I always wanted more. As I got older, my friends knew where they stood when it came to me and animals as I always said that if an adult, a baby and a dog were tied to train tracks and a train was fast approaching, I would rescue the dog first as they are utterly helpless…the adult and baby have thumbs. I know. It’s a weird and extreme hypothetical, but it always proved my point. I’ve had boyfriends walk full city blocks ahead of me unaware that I had stopped ten minutes prior to pet someone’s dog, follow a stray cat, watch squirrels play. I’ve learned to ask people if I can pet their dog and have learned to also say thank you — it’s the least I can do seeing as I don’t ever interact with the dog’s owner. My first paid job was walking one of my parent’s friends dog — a little Westie named Butch. The first dog I knew I would get as a grown up would be, well, a wolf actually (my obsession with The Journey of Natty Gan was a bit extreme). I fancied myself “Snow White” and leaned over/through every fence that had a dog and reached out to pet it. I’ve created stories with my mom about the opossum (Possie) that would come and nest by our shed year after year at our old house in Rogers Park. My hamster, Squeek and dog, Ewok were a part of a secret gang that also included an imaginary snake and my hamster’s best friend, Chi-Wawa (you guessed it…an imaginary Chihuahua) and boy did they get themselves into trouble. Eeesh.
I say all this because when it comes to volunteering, the obvious choice for me, at least on a volunteer level, would have been to do something with animals. However, I have a hard time controlling my emotions when I see any animals in distress or sad. I’ve cried at zoos more times than I can count. When my boyfriend from college went to the Humane Society to pick out a dog (note: I DO NOT recommend getting a dog in college….but Jon and I have had multiple discussions about the Shepherd/Rott/Pitt mix we will get military-trained for Mads to take to school with her) I cried the entire time we were there because I couldn’t imagine helping him pick just one. When Jon and I picked out Buttons for Madeline, we had a list of 3–4 kittens we wanted to see but as luck would have it, Buttons was the first one they let us play with and of course that’s who we went home with….no one puts a kitten back!
I also knew that if I volunteered for an organization where domesticated animals were an option to adopt and bring home, we would constantly be adding to what was already a somewhat maxed-out amount of animals in our townhome in the city. Three cats and one dog put us a bit at our comfortable limit but there would literally be no one who would prevent me from bringing more in.
I say all of this, because a handful of months ago, I found the most perfect volunteer opportunity for myself. It was at a rescue not terribly far from my home that worked primarily with a certain type of farm animal. Lots of them. That I could take care of. And love on. And pet. And talk to. Of all ages. Of all sizes. And in my rational mind I knew I couldn’t bring one of them home (although my heart felt differently). After my first training, I was absolutely in love with the entire organization and every single animal on that property. I remember calling my mom on the way home after that first day and almost crying I was so excited about it. I had found my cause. MY thing.
In the weeks that followed, I started going to the rescue on average about twice a week. Madeline and Jon got involved. We went on holidays. Everyone got rescue swag for Christmas. One time donations were made and then we started becoming monthly donors. Texts were exchanged between the person who ran that particular farm — first about shifts, but then about her job, checking in when she was sick, checking in on sick or injured animals, photos were sent to me of incoming animals, baby photos of some of my favorites, etc. A friendship was beginning. I was one of five volunteers who contributed (significantly) to her Christmas gift. Jokes were made about how I was going to camp on her property this spring to help with all the new animals. High level discussions were had about Jon and I buying the property next door to the rescue. I was put in charge of planning a summertime fundraising event. I was trusted to work on the property on my own.
On bad days, Jon would look at me and say hey, you have the rescue tomorrow — that’s gonna cheer you right up. I loved those animals. I had bonded with some of them. I had routines with some of them. I chatted with them for hours while on my shifts. I chatted about them for hours at home and quite frankly with anyone who would listen. I had truly found the thing that made me the most happy — aside from Jon and Mads. Nothing could top it. I couldn’t believe my luck in finding this one thing that filled so many parts of my soul.
Then I made the fatal error of trusting the gal who runs that farm and another volunteer. Through talks behind my back, decisions were made about me and my time at the rescue without discussing or asking me about anything first. I was told how I felt based on hearsay and then essentially elbowed out and demoted to a shift twice a month. This was all done via text to boot. The exchange went something like this:
Rescue Girl (RG): Hey. You are uncomfortable. There’s a shift every other Monday you can do.
Me: Huh? I come almost eight times a month. I feel like two times a month is a slap in the face. I am not uncomfortable.
RG: People told me you are uncomfortable. But we can make your normal shift work. I’ll give you some tips and strategies.
Me: Ok…I’m not uncomfortable. But great. I want my regular shift. And I am committed. And love the responsibility. I love the animals. It is my joy.
RG: Have a nice trip!
Me: nothing — shocked — crying the entire afternoon and evening instead of spending time with my daughter before we both left on separate trips.
RG a week later: We’ve filled your shift. Thanks for your help.
Me: What? Please don’t do this.
RG: never responds or is heard from again.
Me: spends the next handful of days crying, shook, confused, angry. Upset that some people I trusted and liked and thought I was becoming friends with obviously have issues with interpersonal relationships, communication and conflict. Upset that something so wonderful was cruelly taken away from me. For literally NO reason.
And that concludes my time at the rescue. Someone whom I thought I was becoming friends with, someone whom I thought saw my passion and commitment and true love for the animals and the organization, just cut me out completely and out of the blue. Broke my heart. Broke my family’s heart.
Is there a lesson here? Probably. Do I know what it is? Nope. Maybe don’t volunteer? That people hurt others without any remorse or consideration? Don’t have long conversations over text? Truly, I don’t know.
What I do know is that now that I have written this all out, I am releasing the story and going to try and release the hold the sadness and anger have on my heart right now. I have spent too many hours and days agonizing over this when I could have been focusing on my daughter and my husband — the two people who have always been there and are my true lights.
I miss the animals. I miss their goofy faces and their ability to cheer me up on low days. I miss knowing that I was loving on them and treating them with a kindness they didn’t get prior to their arrival at the rescue. I know they are in great hands at the rescue. I just wish I could be there too.
