You can't get the staffie

Some days you reach the end of your tether. Some days you fall over the edge. 

I work for a large animal charity where I can take my dog to the office. I remember being so excited when I first got the job; proud to be working for such an organisation, pleased to finally be in a position to look after a dog, excited to be working with people who put animals first.

Within a month or two I woke up to the fact that I was in some ways mistaken. Most dogs in this building are pedigree dogs, not dogs rescued from the thousands in our shelters. Some are not neutered, as we advise all pet owners to prevent further unwanted animals. Early on, someone complained about Rosie, saying they were afraid to walk past her. This in itself did not worry me: some people, even here, are afraid of dogs. But why just Rosie? Because she is a staffie? What worried me was the approach taken by management, whose first reaction was to move Rosie out of the sight and path of other staff, not to try and educate them, as we do the public, about the true soft nature of staffies.

Today I am ashamed and considering leaving. Not because this week Rosie went for another dog: she is a dog, I am open with other dog owners about her issues with other dogs, she gets possessive around food, I avoid or remove her from situations where I know there will be a problem. In this instance, I was not quick enough - my fault. But when I tried to talk to the other dog owner, apologise and explain why it had happened, she would not speak to me. Instead she emailed half of the senior management team and next thing I know I am being taken into a disciplinary meeting with my manager.

Rosie is on her last chance, it would seem. One more strike and she is out. No consideration of the circumstances, the outcomes (no damage was done) or, most shockingly, her background. As an organisation who champions animals from these backgrounds, this is epic hypocrisy.

As dog owners, we are aware of difficult areas such as food, toys, leads and confined spaces. We rely on each other to be aware not only of our own dog but of others. We work together. There is a dog here which has attacked Rosie on many occasions. Management said they did not know about this. Of course they didn't know, because I didn't tell them, I understand that this dog has his issues, and I work with his owner to avoid an 'incident'.

I always knew I wanted a dog. I never knew I wanted a staffie. Like everyone else I thought they were a little less than cute, even a little ugly. Like everyone else, I thought I wanted a black labrador puppy.

Then when the day came I could finally finally get a dog, after waiting a whole 32 years, I turned up at the animal shelter where I volunteer whereupon one of the staff presented me with a slightly fat black and white little creature announcing, "Here is your dog!"

I asked her name: Rosie. I asked her age: "how old do you want her to be?" To this I could answer honestly that I didn't mind. Rosie is six, a middle aged lady. I didn't have a lot of time to think about it, and perhaps that was a good thing. By that point I'd learned several things I'd never known about dogs:

1) Rescue homes are full of unwanted dogs. Many more than the number of people that want dogs. And yet most of those people go and buy a puppy from a breeder.

2) Puppies poo everywhere.

3) Staffies are among the most difficult to home. Even shelters won't take them in sometimes because of this.