White Dog dashed to the window barking an alarm. From every corner of the house White Dogs of every shade galloped to the living room to jostle for position and make their presence known. I was working in the office but when the barking did not stop sighed and went out to check the situation.
All were still on high alert and closed ranks around me as I shuffled through floof to get to the door. There was no one there by that time...not even a car speeding away. The street was deserted.
I looked down at the wall next to the door. Someone had left us a foundling child in the form of a white plastic trash bag tied shut at the top. The WDA was on top of it in an instant checking to make sure it was safe to bring in. When they were done, WD gave the word and the Army allowed me to grab the bag. It was too heavy for me to budge.
When Candace came into the main house I asked if she could bring the bag inside. She asked what it was and I shrugged. When she returned to the office she was laghing.
"It is your worst nightmare come true," she said which sent every pup in the office out to the porch to see what was in the bag.
It was a bag of used shoes. Shoes like the FIVE THOUSAND TWO HUNDRED FORTY SIX PAIRS we had collected as part of a fundraiser for Paws To People. Shoes of the type I still envisioned taking up an entire storage unit...all neatly banded in pairs and bagged in 25s. Shoes that some kind soul had delivered to my doorstep unaware of the fact that the shoe collection ended in May.
"Oh no!" I howled. "What are we going to do with a bag of shoes?" "Start another campaign?" Candace suggested, then ducked knowing that while the drive was a success it took nearly 2 years and LOTS of maintenance time to achieve our goal. "We can't even tell if they are god enough to donate without opening the bag and examining the shoes," I sighed. "The collection advertised any shoes, any condition, so we can't just dump the bag in somebody else's donate box."
I just could not bring myself to open the bag and dump out the shoes, to pair them, or to examine each for its future usability. I could not.
Zsofia volunteered to drag the bag into the yard and "take care of the problem" but only on the conditions that I not ask any questions or watch; I didn't think that was a good plan.
So there the bag sits, haunting me; taunting me through the doorway to the sun porch. White Dog has tried to block my view by sitting on the arm of the chair, but I know they are there.
I hope the shoes are in good shape so they can have new homes; it would pain me to toss the bag into my trash bin...after 5,246 pairs (not to mention the more than 100 unmatched ones that DID meet that fate) I have developed an unnatural compassion for their fate.