Personal Narrative: The Labyrinth Of Cages

We began our way down the long hall lined with informational posters that told you just what type of dog you were adopting. My father has always been more of a dog person, but we’ve been restricted to cats my whole life because of my brothers allergies. Entering that concrete room full of violent fluorescent lights and howling dogs was simply overwhelming. The small beagle on our left lept three feet in the air at the sight of my dad and I bending over to pet him through the bottom portion of the cage. I left my dad to pet the smaller dog as I made my way around the labyrinth of cages. I was met with a taped off area covered in water, and two pitbulls, crying for attention. Ignoring the wet floor caution tape, I stuck my hand in the larger

part of the cage and let their wet noses brush my palm, bowing their heads into it, and wagging their tails eagerly. I heard a door slam behind me, startling both me, and the muscular dogs, causing yet another uproar of howling and yapping to fill the echoing room. A round, older woman stood just feet behind me and practically threw her arms up in outrage at my ignoring the slippery floor tape. I quickly apologized for crossing the tape and pulled my dad, whom was still playing with the beagle, into the hallway. We coated our hands in sanitizer and continued into the “L” shaped room full of foul smelling rodents and pet supplies.