Pardon

As I walk through the door of the humane society I am hit with the musty smell of confinement and fear. Cats and dogs cry out for attention from somewhere down a long hallway and my mind is instantly transported back to my own stint behind cold, iron bars. The smell in that hell hole wasn’t much different.

After a couple quick words to the lady behind the desk, I follow her out of the lobby and towards the source of the raucous sounds. Our footsteps echo as we march down the cold grey concrete hall and my stomach knots with anxiety when we reach the heavy metal door.

Once inside the room marked “DOGS” my hands begin to sweat. The row of cells on each wall throws me into a sense of déjà vu and my heart beat stutters.

I know exactly which soul I’m here for. I saw his photo online. He’s been here for a while and is near the end of his welcome. In fact, his clock is ticking. If he isn’t out of here by the end of today he’ll be handing in his ticket to cross the rainbow bridge.

We stop in front of door twenty and I peer inside. A shiny black mass huddles in the far corner. Big brown eyes look up from the floor, begging for salvation.

The employee opens the door and I kneel down on the ground, stretch my hand out in front of me, and grant him pardon.

©2014 Courtney Ann Howard