It’s a real busy scene here at the shelter. All the dogs are barking more than usual, and the caretakers are excitedly talking to each other. Then a big van drives onto the shelter grounds. On the side, in big letters, it says “Happy Bus.” One by one, we dogs are loaded into the bus. From puppies to bigger dogs. At nine months old, I am the oldest and the biggest. Maybe there are almost thirty dogs in the bus!
I only know
the shelter, where I was dumped as a pup along with my sister. My sister didn’t
survive, but thanks to the care of the lovely people at the shelter, I made it.
I’ve been waiting here for a golden bed for nine months. Not that I’m really
aware of it, of course, but clearly something is about to happen now.
Now I’m in
the bus. Three days and nights long, with only the occasional pee and poop
break. The journey is long. From Romania to various places in Belgium and
finally the Netherlands. The icy and snowy roads make the trip even longer. One
by one, the dogs are dropped off at their new owners, and the bus gets emptier
and emptier.
"Don’t forget me!"
"Where have I ended up?"
Two people are waiting, a man and a woman. They are handed the adoption papers and my leash. A little later, I hear the sliding door of the bus close again. The bus drives out of the neighborhood.
The hands of that man and woman smell pretty okay, and soon I press my nose to the ground, follow that scent, and walk straight into their house without hesitation.
"Okay, first a pee on the mat and a poop on the kitchen floor! Ah, that feels better!"
After the journey, I’m tired and, without any polite introductions, I flop down on a wool blanket that just lies on the floor. Warm and soft — something I’ve never known — and it’s much better than the crate in the bus.
Maybe this really is one of those golden beds they always talk about. But what that actually means… I still have to find out.
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