"You can't save them all."
I never know what to make of this phrase. Do people think I am under the delusion that I personally will help every single dog in need? If so, then don’t worry: I am in no doubt about my lack of superpowers, and I never thought that I could help more than a few, here and there.
Maybe they mean that we should not feel bad – guilty, sad, angry – about the ones we cannot help. Thanks. I don’t feel guilty. I do feel sad and angry. But helping make life better, or possible, for even one animal adds feelings of joy and gratitude to the mix.
Maybe the people who say “You can’t save them all” think we should not make an effort for one, because there are always more out there. Or perhaps they think that this particular individual does not seem worth the time and worry. Wait for a cuter one, or a closer one, or a healthier one.
Lately I've heard "you can't save them all" more often than usual. I heard it several times in regards to a very shy black chow mix, living rough in a rural area since summer. She had been fed by neighbors who were gradually gaining her trust and hoped to bring her into their home. Before they succeeded, she was taken to the shelter.
She was too shy to make it to the adoptable section, and Animal Services would not permit the neighbors who had helped the dog to adopt her. The only way for her to leave the shelter alive was if a rescue organization would pull her. One of the neighbors offered to foster the dog indefinitely, and one small, brave rescue group took a chance.
The little black dog now has a name and a home, for as long as she needs it. She has taken beautifully to her new life and follows her foster mother around the house, with bright eyes and a wagging tail.
“You can’t save them all” also came up when several people came together to pull three pit bull mixes, two seven-month old male puppies and another who was probably their mother – from a south Florida shelter. This time the argument was that so many animals right here are in need, we should not reach out beyond our borders. It is true that we have a long way to go – about 40% of the dogs who go to the shelter, and a higher proportion of the cats, are euthanized. Some people wonder why anyone would help these three, instead of the dozens of other really nice dogs in need much closer to home.
The “think local” argument assumes we have a greater responsibility to animals, and presumably people, close to home. Hardly anyone spells out the reasons behind this assumption, however. One possibility is that if we focus on one specific area, we have a better chance of success, measured in reduced euthanasia numbers. It means something, from this perspective, to be able to say that fewer animals are killed in Alachua County now than last year or last decade.
I agree that this means something, but only if we have figured out strategies locally that can be replicated elsewhere. Are we creating innovative models for helping animals in need? Are we reaching out to people who want to improve conditions for animals in their own areas? If not, then thinking locally sounds like parochialism. (It also forgets that some of our home-grown dogs are saved because out-of-area rescues take them.)
Of course we can’t save all the dogs and cats who need help. Nor can we save all the panthers, whales, hungry people, or abused children. But we did save that little black dog. Her foster mother is going to take her for a visit to the shelter to show how she has blossomed – not to say “I told you so,” but to show that she mattered, that she was worth the risk.
We also saved those three mangy pit bulls, not by cheating any local dogs, but by making, one more time, a way out of no way. My neighbor is fostering the Clewiston female, who is one of the nicest dogs I have met. She is affectionate with every person she meets, gentle with children, playful with other dogs, smart and sensitive and altogether lovely. Every time I see her, I say, “I’m so glad you’re alive.”
What these dogs got, by a combination of good luck and hard work, is what every one deserves. But it's true: we can’t save every animal, or person, in need. The gap between their need and our ability does not let us off the hook. It is a reason to mourn and be angry, not a reason to give up. Above all, it is a reason to say “I’m so glad you’re alive” when we have the incredible good fortune to help even one.
