Ageism at HSUS: My Story

Like just about everyone in the animal welfare world, I’ve followed the news coverage involving the recent allegations of sexual misconduct against—and subsequent resignation by—Wayne Pacelle, CEO of the Humane Society of the United States (HSUS). On one hand, I'm stunned and disappointed; on the other hand, maybe I’m not surprised.

Recent media coverage of HSUS suggests that the organization, as led by Pacelle, supports a “sexualized culture” that values women more for their looks than their intellect or their abilities. That’s not hard to believe based on my own HSUS experience—one that suggests a corresponding culture of ageism.

About 12 years ago, I was in a university communications job that paid well and was close to home. I had a private office and was allowed to bring a parade of foster puppies to work with me. However, my heart was no longer in the work I did; I was in my forties and was becoming bored.

So when I learned of a communications position at HSUS (an organization to which I’d donated), I jumped at the opportunity to apply. It seemed a natural, logical step. I loved animals, especially dogs. I’d been volunteering with the SPCA/Humane Society of Prince George’s County (PGSPCA) for a number of years and was at that time serving as vice president and writer/editor of the organization’s newsletter.

My application was well received; I must have made a good impression on paper. HSUS asked me to take two writing tests and to interview with several people, including the head of communications, who had been hired by and reported directly to Pacelle. The process went well. I was impressed with the HSUS employees I met and excited about the prospect of doing work I really cared about, although there were a couple of downsides. I’d have to take a significant salary cut and give up my private office. I wouldn’t be able to bring foster dogs to work, and—worst of all—I’d have a long, miserable commute. I asked about telecommuting two days a week and the communications director told me that wouldn’t be a problem.

So when I received a call from an HR staffer with a job offer, I said I was thrilled—and asked if I could have that agreement in writing. She said the communications director hadn’t mentioned that and she would have to consult with him. She called back later to tell me that he said that wasn't possible because he wanted me onsite to "mentor" younger writers. (Oddly, the topic of mentoring had never come up in my conversation with him. I was very confused.)

After much soul searching, I decided that the negatives of the HSUS job offer—lower salary, increased transportation costs, significantly longer commute, and, most importantly, less time at home with my husband, our dogs, and any foster dogs—were too significant. I declined the offer.

And that was that…until about a year later. I was volunteering at a PGSPCA adoption event when the HR staffer from HSUS (the one who extended the job offer) walked up to greet me and said, “I have a story to tell you and it’s not a pretty one.”  My curiosity piqued,I took a break and we chatted.

The staffer told me that the communications director hadn’t wanted to hire me (despite my outperforming other applicants on the writing tests and being the first choice of other staffers) because I was "too old" and he wanted a "young" staff. (I wasn’t yet 50!) She said he'd even expressed this in email correspondence and that he became annoyed when she told him that he couldn't make a hiring decision based on age. Her conclusion was that he reneged on the telecommuting issue in the hope that I wouldn’t accept the job offer. Looking back, it all made sense.

The woman had since left HSUS but assured me that if I decided to pursue legal action, the HSUS staffers familiar with the situation—and the communication director’s comments—were good people who would not lie under oath.

After serious thought, I decided not to take legal action. I was shocked and felt wronged, but a year had passed and I’d moved on. I didn’t want to weigh down my life with the negativity such legal action would bring. More importantly, I worried that a legal battle with HSUS would hinder my chances of finding other jobs in animal welfare.

They say things happen for the best, and in my case that’s been true. I eventually took a job at the Washington Animal Rescue League (which in 2016 merged with the Washington Humane Society to form the Humane Rescue Alliance). It was closer to home than HSUS and offered flexible hours. Best of all, that job afforded me daily interaction with the homeless animals I helped through my writing and photography. I even got to share my office with shelter residents as part of their socialization process. And I still had plenty of time at home so it was a near-perfect job, one I gave up somewhat reluctantly last December when I decided it was time to focus on freelance work.

So…all’s well that ends well. But when I read that Wayne Pacelle’s HSUS promotes a sexist workplace unfriendly to women, I’m inclined to believe.

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Just a few pics of me having fun with some of the dogs—and other animals—I've encountered in the past several years. Obviously "past it." ;-)

It Matters

The shelter where I work recently took in several dogs from Korea. They were rescued by Humane Society International from a dog meat farm, where canines are raised as agricultural animals for human consumption.

Surprisingly, the adult dogs seem remarkably friendly and social. Sadly, the puppies are a different story. They cower, growl…and threaten to bite, requiring the use of thick blankets to pick them up and handle them. It’s impossible to ignore the emotional, psychological pain in their eyes.

Still, where there’s life, there’s hope. And we all hope that, at 2 to 3 months old (we’re guesstimating since a thorough physical exam was made impossible by their fear aggression), that they are young enough to overcome their mistreatment and lack of human socialization. Only time will tell.

On a larger scale, will the rescue of a couple dozen dogs from Korea do anything to curb the dog meat trade in Korea or other countries? Unlikely. But as expressed so well by the late naturalist, poet, scientist, and humanist Loren Eisley in The Star Thrower*, that doesn’t mean that this rescue didn’t matter.

In fact, for these few dogs, nothing in their lives will ever matter more.

*Once, on ancient Earth, there was a human boy walking along a beach. There had just been a storm, and starfish had been scattered along the sands. The boy knew the fish would die, so he began to fling the fish to the sea. But every time he threw a starfish, another would wash ashore. "An old Earth man happened along and saw what the child was doing. He called out, “Boy, what are you doing?”  “Saving the starfish!” replied the boy. “But your attempts are useless, child! Every time you save one, another one returns, often the same one! You can't save them all, so why bother trying? Why does it matter, anyway?” called the old man. The boy thought about this for a while, a starfish in his hand; he answered, “Well, it matters to this one.”

The Faces of Fostering

As a writer and photographer, I employ both words and images to communicate. For this post—in honor, appropriately, of the dog days of summer—I’ve chosen to rely primarily on images…of some of the wonderful dogs my husband and I have fostered over the years while they waited for their forever homes.

Most of these temporary canine companions arrived in good health; others had health or medical issues, such as demodectic mange or injured limbs that required surgery or even amputation. Some were outgoing; others, more cautious. Some shared our home for mere weeks, others several months. But no matter how short or long their time with us, each and every one of these dogs—from Lab mix pup Cooper, our very first foster, to rat terrier mix Taz to Plott hound mix Darla—found their way into our hearts and left us with wonderful memories.

People sometimes say to me, "Oh, I could never foster a dog; I'd want to keep them all," and ask, "Don't you feel sad when they leave?"

I always explain that we take in foster pups knowing that their stay will be limited and that having our own dogs makes their departure easier. And, yes, I feel a bit sad initially. But on the advice of a wise friend who has fostered many more dogs than I have, I treat myself to a glass wine once they're safe and sound in their new home and toast them and their new families in their futures together.

At the moment, my husband and I have no foster dogs. We're still enjoying the arrival of a new permanent canine family member. But I'm sure the day will come when we decide to once again become a "way station" on the way to a new life for another homeless dog.

Because, seriously, just look at these faces. How could we not?

 

Fostering saves lives and brings great joy! I encourage you to share in this joy by contacting your local shelter or rescue organization and asking how you can become a dog or cat foster parent.

A Fair Exchange

Today is beautiful. The snow is falling, there’s a fire in the fireplace, and the Christmas tree lights are glowing. But as I wrap presents, hang “just one more” ornament on the tree, bake cookies, and listen to Mannheim Steamroller and Trans Siberian Orchestra CDs, I find myself getting a bit teary. My own pleasure and contentment remind me of the sense of loss and sadness two other people must be feeling.

Yesterday, a longtime supporter of the shelter where I work—I’ll call her Hope--brought her cat in to the medical center to be humanely euthanized. The cat had found herself at the last year for reasons I don’t recall. Miss Daisy, as we named her, was confused, cranky, and—in her middle teens—not what one might describe as “highly adoptable.” It didn’t help that she rebuffed most people’s attempts to show affection.

Miss Daisy peers suspiciously at shelter visitors.

But despite all this—or perhaps because of it—Hope stepped in to help. She agreed to foster Miss Daisy with the intention of adopting her if she and Hope’s dog got along. Perhaps Miss Daisy knew this was her best chance because while she and the dog never became what you’d call friends, they were able to coexist.

Hope knew that her time with Miss Daisy might be short, but she was committed to making the cat feel loved and cared for. When Miss Daisy’s health began to decline, Hope did everything possible to preserve her quality of life. And when the time came that Miss Daisy’s life no longer had quality, Hope made the difficult but generous decision to let her go.

Miss Daisy rests comfortably in Hope's robe.

When she arrived at the shelter, Hope mentioned that she had no photographs of Miss Daisy. I told her I had taken some when Miss Daisy arrived at the shelter and offered to print them for her. While appreciative of the offer, Hope asked if I would take one more so she could have images to remind her of both the beginning and end of Miss Daisy’s journey with her.

I feel privileged to have been able to do that for Hope…especially after all she did for Miss Daisy, but I have to admit that it wasn’t easy. Just a few short hours earlier, my good friend Sandy had said goodbye to a beloved canine companion.

I’ve known Sandy—and her dog Jocy—for more than a decade, ever since the day Sandy and I met at a volunteer orientation for a county animal welfare organization. Since then, we’ve spent countless hours together…taking foster dogs to adoption shows, veterinary appointments, and home visits; enjoying good wine and good food in bars, restaurants, and each other’s homes; and even indulging our mutual love of travel with travel both domestic and international.

Jocy explores the reeds.

 At least two of our “girls” trips included Jocy. One was a weekend on Maryland’s Eastern Shore, where Jocy indulged her love of the water along the shores of the Chesapeake Bay. The other was a visit to the Poconos, where Sandy, Jocy, my dog Ceiligh, and I enjoyed peaceful walks in the woods and even a quick dip in a cold mountain stream…the dogs, not us. Such are the experiences from which wonderful memories are made.

Enjoying a walk in the woods.

Jocy was a sweet, calm, even-tempered dog who seemed to love everybody and everything, especially her food and her “mom.” She was the benevolent leader of a three-dog pack and served as a great canine “sister” and role model to dozens of foster dogs over the past decade.

Jocy (left) shares a special moment with a new foster dog.

Last year Jocy began showing the signs of age, including a progressive weakening of her hind limbs. Sandy and her family did what they could to make Jocy’s life easier, carpeting first the stairs and then the floors of rooms Jocy frequented to give her the traction she needed. When Jocy could no longer make it up and down the stairs, Sandy and her husband took turns sleeping in the first-floor family room with her so she didn’t feel abandoned by her “pack” at night. They fitted her with a handled harness to help her walk. In short, they did everything humanly possible to make her life comfortable.

But eventually, inevitably, “everything” wasn’t enough. Deciding that existence isn’t “life,” Sandy and her family asked their veterinarian to make a special house call.

And so my pleasure in the joys of today is tempered by other, somewhat intertwined and complicated emotions. I feel sympathy for Hope’s and Sandy’s losses. I feel a sense of melancholy as I remember my own departed loved ones. And I feel admiration for and appreciation of the courage it took these women to ease their loved ones’ passage. Such a decision can be painful almost beyond bearing, but when life has become a struggle rather than a celebration, it is also, I believe, the greatest gift we can give our animal companions...and the price we pay for their extraordinary gift to us: the gift of companionship.

I’d say it’s a fair exchange.

Four Bully Boy Sweeties Searching for Homes

Another week, another dog--or two, or three, or four--running out of time in an open shelter.

When I started this blog, I didn't intend for it to be primarily an online billboard for homeless pets. But, as anyone involved in animal rescue and rehoming knows, the need is there and never ending. And as it happens, I don't have a lot of other pressing issues or earth-shattering thoughts to share at the moment, so it behooves me to use my cyberspace soapbox for the purpose of saving lives...literally.

As some of you may know, I'm currently working on a couple of photo collections--"Brindled Beauties" and "Seeing Spots"--so my friends at shelters and rescue groups are frequently notifying me about potential canine models. Yesterday I was at the Prince George's County shelter to photograph three brindled boys plus one cutie with a sprinkling of spots on his ears.

As of today, only one of these guys has a single application, and even that's not a sure thing. Shelter staff have to guard against premature jubilation; it's never a cause for celebration until the lucky one has left the building. Since I had the privilege of spending several enjoyable hours with these beautiful boys, I thought I'd use my words and images to increase their visibility...and perhaps, with a little help from my friends, find them new homes. So here goes...


Meet Apollo (ID#A309190). This brindle-and-white American bulldog mix is about two years old and as handsome as they come. For some reason, he is continually overlooked by potential adopters...a fact that shelter staff find hard to understand. He's bouncy and energetic, but, come on, he's a youngster! While spending time with him, I found him to be friendly, affectionate, and food motivated (which usually makes for easy training).


Then there's Dukey (ID#A346769), an 8-month-old brindle-and-white mastiff mix. Wow! This cutie is all leg at the moment and moves like a gangly young foal. He's still underweight despite regular feeding at the shelter...probably because his body's still growing...trying to catch up with those stilts he calls legs. This sweetheart seemed a bit insecure and would benefit from some attention and confidence-building activities. But what a lover! Like Apollo, Dukey just hasn't captured the attention and imagination of any adopters, although after meeting him I can't imagine why.


Talk about darling! Okay, I probably wouldn't describe this boy as beautiful, but he sure is unique. Although he doesn't have a name, he struck me as a "Newton" (ID#A347221) kind of guy, so that's how I'm going to refer to him here. In shelter dogs, ancestry can be something of a mystery, but given his wrinkles, it's safe to say that Newton is part Shar pei. But his personality doesn't match my understanding of the breed standard; he is happy, exuberant, outgoing, and very affectionate right from the get go. In fact, he gave my face--and ears--a thorough cleaning while I was there. Being one of those people who loves kissy dogs, I was smitten!


Last but certainly not least was a precious 6-month-old American bulldog mix who I'm going to call Piper (ID#A346933), the Latin word for pepper, because of the sprinkling of black-pepper-like spots on his ears. Like Newton, this boy is a happy, confident, exuberant love bug...and another big kisser! Although we'd never met before, he bounded into the interaction room and greeted me like a long-lost friend...impossible to resist.

So now you've met this handsome canine quartet. Do you have room in your heart and home for one of them? If that's not feasible, please spread the word about them. And if you need more information, just call the shelter at (301) 780-7200.

UPDATE: "Piper" has been adopted!

SECOND UPDATE: "Newton" has left the building!

THIRD UPDATE: "Apollo has been adopted!"

In Theory

I should have known better. There's a reason I don't go to the shelter regularly to assess potential dogs for the foster program of the SPCA/Humane Society of Prince George's County. It saddens me to see all the animals that end up there--usually through no fault of their own--knowing that many won't make it out. Plus, given the dog-aggressive tendencies of our dog Tango (which means the establishment of complex schedules when there's a foster dog in the house), I'm trying to limit our fostering role. So avoiding the biggest source of temptation seems only prudent.

But a few weeks ago, I threw caution to the wind and volunteered to help choose some dogs for our program. Following a case of Parvo, a serious and highly contagious canine disease, the shelter had instituted containment measures that included limiting the number of dogs any visitor could have contact with to one. More volunteers on site meant more dogs we could evaluate "up close and personal."

Which was all well and good...in theory, at least. Armed with a list of dogs whose time at the shelter was running out, we found several that were good matches for our available foster homes. But...while there, a 6-month-old brindled puppy caught my eye. To be honest, she was hard to miss. She wiggled and wriggled and play-bowed as I paused in front of her kennel, determined to interact with me.

Although I couldn't touch her (I'd already handled my one dog), I knew she was special. Convinced that other shelter visitors would be as captivated as I was, I was certain she'd be adopted quickly. Therefore, I reasoned, there was no harm--at least in theory--in asking shelter staff to let us know if anything happened to jeopardize her future.

But fate has a way of reminding us that nothing in life is certain, and last week the SPCA/HS adoption coordinator received a call that the puppy's application had fallen through and that her holding time at the shelter was running out. Would we take her into our foster program?

Well, it's bad enough to know intellectually that nameless and faceless dogs and cats die in shelters across the country on a regular basis. But it's absolutely unbearable to know that the life of an animal you interacted with, spoke sweet nothings to, and expressed interest in might be snuffed out. I just couldn't let that happen.

So the sweet brindled puppy is now a guest in our home, where she will stay until the right "forever" family turns up. Given her four white feet, I named her Ghillie--the word for Irish dance shoes worn by women in shows such as Riverdance. My husband had suggested Boots, but even though I grew up with a dog with that name, somehow--in an era of dogs named Abby, Sandy, Phoebe, and Jocelyn--that just seemed too pedestrian for a canine of Ghillie's distinctive looks. So Ghillie she is.

And once again, I'm shuttling dogs from inside to outside and one room to another so that Tango's and Ghillie's paths don't intersect. And I'm feeding in shifts (with Ceiligh eating either with Tango or Ghillie). And my life is a bit more complicated, but also greatly enriched. And not just in theory.