Dances with Mickee

I found a six-foot leash to use this afternoon, which I thought would be better for my back, but all the bending over I did still made it hurt. But I'm not stuck in a six-foot cage all day (mine's about thirty feet), so the time spent stooping and petting and walking was worth it. Brooke and Roy were adopted this week, and Mr. Keaton and Dagwood found owners this afternoon, so things were looking good. As usual, I asked the staff who they needed me to walk, who said pretty much anyone, but that Mickee wouldn't let me walk her ("She has Man issues.").
Zane was a happy little hound,
little Erma the terrier (as in Max &) was an adorable loaf of bread-sized lick machine, and Tiger the rott/chow mix with nary a tail was bouncy and licky (despite her mug shot).

I walked Bailey again, and Chester the lab gave me a nice pull around the grounds. Later, Puddin' the puppy lab mix chewed a small hole in the top of my ear. I pet some kitties. But then it was on to the gauntlet unintentionally thrown down at the start of my shift.
Every time I walked by Mickee, she'd bark like crazy, looking at me sideways. I said hello and always moved on to other kennels. After an hour and a half of walking back and forth in front of her with other dogs, I opened her door and knelt down. Tail between her legs, up against the back wall. I offered her a biscuit, and she inched towards me, but stepped back again. I slid the treat over to her on the floor, closed her door, and walked a couple other dogs.
One last try, I knelt down and opened her door again, not making eye contact, waiting. She tiptoed over the lower bar and put her chin in my hand, letting me clip the leash onto her collar. Ever so timidly, she slinked next to me out to the front, where I said to the girls, "Look who came out to see me." "MICKEEEEE!!!"
Very skittish, very jumpy around the tall guy following close behind her, I just let her dictate where she wanted to go or stand. Of course, this is when the big train crossing across the street decides to sound his horn. I took her to a less-noisy spot and just scratched her head and neck and shoulders, stopping to see what she'd do when I did. She would just look back at me, and, if only a barely noticeable millimeter at a time, stand a little closer.
I'm going to go back and see her this weekend. Try to get her out of her shell. (The website tells her story: she was adopted two years ago but ran away; was picked up this week with her original neuter sutures still in her; her microchip showed who that original owner was, but he didn't want her anymore.)
People, I think Confucius once said, suck.
I said goodbye to the kennel and apologized to the St. Bernard triplets for not getting to them, but they seemed to be enjoying themselves anyway...