‘What’s your occupation?’
‘I work in a rescue centre’
‘Awww wow! You must love your job!?!’
If it has fur, feathers, scales, 8 legs, no legs, a million legs… I’m interested… always have been, always will be. Which is funny because my family arn’t particularly ‘animal orientated’. I’ve just always loved them and grown up interested in them.
So when people state how much I must love my job, I always have the same thought… you have absolutely NO idea do you?
Every day I roll up to work, I expect exactly the same and nothing less.
I expect to be scrubbing poop and urine puddles off the tiled floors. I expect to be picking up chewed up, smelly pieces of bedding, I expect to be soaked by a leaky hose and if not a hose, a stray bucket of disinfectant water chucked by a member of staff who’s not quite paying attention. I love my job.
I expect to bump into a variety of volunteers who, as amazing as they are, will quite happily trample muddy foot prints (as well as paw prints) onto the wonderfully clean tiled floors I’ve just spent the last 2 hours of my life scrubbing. I expect to hold 30 minute conversations with those same wonderful volunteers, despite the fact I’m miles behind. But those conversations always put some form of smile on my face. I love my job.
I expect the weather to be, well British weather. The wonderful British weather that I’m about to spend my afternoon outside in… rain or shine, one dog or 5 dogs… I love my job.
I expect to be bitten, scratched, cornered, kicked, jumped on, dragged over onto my face (or my butt) snarled at, barked at, smiled at, pee’d on, poop’d on and covered from head to toe in muddy paw prints. I love my job.
I expect to meet numerous amounts of new faces. Some friendly and inquisitive, some annoyed, and some just plain damn rude. I expect to answer the constant string of phone calls and hear the sounds of happiness, sadness, tears, stress, anger and annoyance. I expect to repeat myself several times and then explain why it is that ‘you can no longer view the dogs in their kennels anymore’ on more than one occasion. I love my job.
I expect to ‘have to drop everything’ to rush out and rescue an injured animal… even if it is on a roof 4 floors up and it’s looking like it’s going to eat your face the second you get near it. I love my job.
I expect to work a rotation of 6AM starts and 7.30PM finishes, 5 days a week, including weekends, hungover or not. I expect to work every bank holiday, school holiday, festive holiday, under the sun… because after all, animals are 24/7. I expect to bring work home with me after a farmer found a family of new-borns, abandoned by their mother. I love my job.
I expect to take the ’emergency phone’ with me on a romantic night out, just in case there’s an animal in need… even at 3am…
I love my job.
So to answer the above question, yeah, I love my job… it has its downs, but it wouldn’t be my job then would it! I chose the animal life, even if I wasn’t born and raised into it.
From an outside view, it seems like the best and easiest job in the world, but would any of you cope with all of the above?