Two had come in together. It wasn’t clear whether they’d been made to fight or had just gotten into a scrap somewhere along the way. One has the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen–and a golf ball sized tumor on his hind leg.
Not far down the run is another pair who arrived attached at the hip. One’s ears are clipped, but neither looked malnourished – nor like they’d been forced to fight, thankfully.
And in the next run over, I play “find it” and “stretch” with an orange pup in a pink collar. Clearly she’d had a home. By the looks of her, she’d been at least adequately cared for. So where is her owner?
By the time I reach the Pit Bull/Shar Pei mix on the far end of the runs, it is nearly the end of my shift. We go for a quick session in the park, off leash, and it does us both good to play chase in the sun. I leave her in her kennel with a tennis ball and a peanut butter Kong. It makes shutting the door only slightly less heart-wrenching.