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Forum Index -> Galleries (Public) -> Ferrets: Nature's Gift (Public)
 Topic: A Day in the Life of a Shelter Mom  
Author Original Topic Post
Barbara Carlson

an unpublished author

About Barbara Carlson
Joined: 07 Aug 2007
Posts: 16
Location: Pittsburgh, PA
Occupation: Secretary, Shelter operator
Subject:  A Day in the Life of a Shelter Mom
Date:  Sep 26, 2007 3:21:00 pm

My name is Barb and I run a ferret shelter out of my home. I am also president of a ferret club. The ferret club has a number of members, some of which are willing to help with the shelter and various events. The shelter was invited to participate in something called "Houndapalooza" at a small local community park: A collection of rescue groups with a carnival theme (each group would have some kind of carnival-style game). I have never found these "mixed bag" events to be very lucrative for the shelter, but it's always worth it to get shelter info out to other rescue groups. Once in a while you might even find someone interested in adopting.

This event fell just one week after the club's big yearly picnic. I didn't know it at the time of the picnic, but I was getting sick. I had a full-blown nasty cold/flu the Monday after the picnic, and spent the rest of the week concentrating on trying to get better. This was not overly conducive to finding volunteers to help at the Houndapalooza event, but I did get two. Unfortunately, these two volunteers don't always get along with each other, and I personally find them, well, just a wee bit shy of a full load. Nice enough, but just a bit tiring.

So there you have the setting. I spent what little energy I could muster the preceding week (between sneezing, coughing and blowing my nose), making the beanbag game -- "Toss the Beanbag in the Ferret's Mouth." I'd done it before a few years ago, and I still had a large number of cheap prizes left from the last time and was reasonably well-received. So I took a photo of a ferret with its mouth open, blew it up real big, lightened it a lot and printed it out. Then I colored it in with colored pencils, and the result was rather striking, if I do say so myself.

I'd bought an "EZ-Up Tent" a month or two ago (That's another whole story ... let's just say, if I ever buy one again, I won't let them "upgrade" me to steel. Ooof!). I had intended to take it to the picnic and practice setting it up, but that didn't happen. (I forgot.) (That forgetting thing is a recurring theme lately.)

So we loaded up the van with the 67 lb canopy (oof, indeed!), the beanbag face, the beanbags (I remembered them!), ferrets, bedding, food/water dishes, toys, zip ties and cutter (Woohoo! I remembered those, too!), the contraption to hold the beanbag face in place (really a couple of rather heavy woodworking clamps), prizes, literature, donation can, stuff to sell (ferret stickers, ear cleaner, bumperstickers, etc.), folding table, a chair (not the lightweight folding chair, oh no, hubby decided I should be *comfortable* in the Z-style upholstered spring chair), 4 rolls of quarters, a bunch of dollar bills, and a couple 5's in a green vinyl bag, my grooming kit, my office kit, the dryer tube toy, paper towels, duct tape, shelter banner, my purse, and my cell phone.

I was just about halfway down 18th Street (congratulating myself for not having to circle the block to go back to the house for my cell phone like I do way too often) when it hit me ... I'd forgotten the playpens! Damn! I couldn't have ferrets just running amok in the park! So I called hubby, asked him to pull a couple of the pens up from the basement, and I made a much bigger circle than usual. Grump.

I took the shortest way back home that I knew of -- straight up Michael Street up to Mt. Washington, then over to my area of Mt. Oliver. I did have a rather exciting moment going up Michael Street -- it's a one-lane road that is used in both directions. This is rather common in Pittsburgh, but most common around Mt. Washington, which was apparently where the Indians sat and laughed at the settlers while they built their city at the point where two rivers combine into a third--a natural flood plane. As a result of it being up on a "mount," the streets are narrow, winding, and steep. It's a little-known fact that most of the streets around Pittsburgh were originally deer trails. Some streets retain their "roots" more than others. Halfway up the hill, I suddenly met a fellow traveler coming down the hill ... at twice the speed limit and smack in the middle of the road! But apparently we both were veteran Pittsburghers -- we just hit the brakes, swerved to the right and passed within inches of each other at 35 MPH. The side mirrors didn't even click against each other!

I got back home, loaded the playpens into the van (Honey? Why did you try to put them in the BACK, when you loaded the van and knew you'd left no room?), and was then reminded by hubby that the Parkway was shut down yet again. *sigh* So my husband, who was born with a compass inside his head, gave me directions on how to get where I was going without sitting in traffic. He didn't mention that it added 45 minutes to the drive (and that was at rather high speeds, too). I suppose it was better than sitting in traffic.

I followed my husband's directions, managed to get off at the right exit, but missed the blasted turn and ended up back ON the Parkway going towards Pittsburgh! I didn't WANT to be going towards Pittsburgh! I needed to be going the other way! (I think the definition of a highway in Pittsburgh is "that road where you drive real fast and can't get off or turn around for miles and miles." )

So after taking a 10-minute detour, saying a lot of bad words and ranting at my stupidity (good thing ferrets can't talk), I *finally* got to the point in my travels where I needed to follow the directions to the park. Luckily, I'd looked over the directions my volunter (let's call her Jane to protect her identity) had given me. I couldn't make heads nor tails of them. This is the lady who tends to tell stories like skipping stones ... she hits certain points, but unless you already know what she's talking about, it's difficult to follow. So not really trusting Jane's directions, I printed out a few MapQuest maps. (Note: Any time you get directions from MapQuest, you need to look at the MAPS ... more than once MapQuest has sent me in circles.)

I managed to find the place with no further wrong turns (Woohoo!) and pulled into the area. I had initially thought I would set up at the top of a hill where it was flat, but when I arrived, I realized it wasn't nearly as crowded as they'd said it would be, so I chose a shady spot in front of the pavilion, instead. Remember that description ... in front of the pavilion. I left my other volunteer, let's call her "Linda" to protect her family name, holding my spot while I went to get the van.

In the meantime, someone else had driven up the walkway (we were not allowed to drive the cars on the grass, and were negotiating asphalt walkways normally reserved for people). Only problem was, he'd chosen to center his car on the little "road" and no one could pass him. He was busy unloading his SUV, slowly and methodically, while I sat and waited. And waited. And waited. When he started unpacking his canopy and began to set it up, I became impatient and left my van where it was and walked to my area. I've discovered that walking does a lot to dispel frustration and prevent my head from blowing up. I did a lot of walking that day ...

When I got to my area, Linda started ranting and swearing, in a rather loud voice, complaining about the guy blocking the road. I noticed his wife saying something to him, and he said, "Well, I have some things to DO before ...." I lost the rest of his sentence but caught the wife gesturing towards us and the van. I guess my friend Linda looked a bit frightening, between the language, her tone of voice, etc. So the woman convinced hubby to unload the rest of his SUV and move it before setting everything else up. (I wondered if the woman thought ferret owners were as vicious as ferrets are reputed to be.)

He got back in his little SUV, and moved forward. A ... little ... bit ... at ... a ... time. I'm following in my van, wondering if he was trying to avoid running over ants, because there sure wasn't anything ELSE in the way! I gritted my teeth, plastered a stiff grin on my face, and let the van's idle pull me along behind Mr. Careful Senior Driver. Finally, I was able to pull over and park (amazingly enough, still off the grass but with plenty of room to pass). I stood there and just watched as the guy took 5 tries to do a 3-point turnaround.

Okay. I took a deep breath, said a little prayer of thanks that I wasn't married to the guy, and started unpacking the canopy. Linda had been there a while and had gotten a little experience helping other people set up their EZ-Up canopies, so as I removed it from the case, she said she knew exactly what to do.

"You just grab the sides and pull," she announced, yanking on it before the thing was even out of the bag.

"Wait until I get it out of the bag, Linda!" I said, re-compressing the scissors-like mesh of metal so I could free it from the sack.

We stood it upright and Linda started to pull. It occurred to me that it would be a lot easier to put the canvas top on the thing before it was fully extended, so I said, "I think I need to put the top on first."

"It's on there," Linda stated, as she yanked on her side.

"No it isn't," I said. "It's in the bag. I think I need to put the top on before we open it up."

"Oh, no, it's already on," Linda insisted. "I've done these before and I know what I'm doing. Just pull."

"Wait!" I said, "The top is not on, it's in the bag with the sides!"

"No it isn't," Linda said, "It's on there, c'mon! Just pull!"

I stood there a second, wondering which one of us was nuts. The bright blue canvas top was still on the ground. "So," I said carefully, "where is the canvas roof?" trying to get her brain engaged.

"Just pull, you'll see," she said.

I digested that statement for a moment and just shook my head. "Wait a minute. I need to get something." I put down my corner, pulled the top out of the bag, shook it open, draped it on top of the scissored mass of metal and said, "Okay, now you can pull."

Linda just stood there. I don't know if she was transfixed by the sudden appearance of a bright blue piece of canvas, if she was trying to fit it into her view of reality, or what she was doing. I blinked a few times, trying to understand.

"Linda, pull!" I commanded in my most president-like voice. She stood there. So I lifted my corner and started walking backwards. Someone else came over to help, and finally she woke up from her trance and started pulling. The canopy became gratifyingly large as it expanded, and the corners clicked into their respective places rather easily. I discovered some plastic clips hanging down in the middle of the sides, and slipped them under the scissor-point to hold things up and together. Rather nifty. It looked very official.

Next step was to extend the legs. Linda said, "Okay, you put your foot on this and pull up until it clicks." We went to our respective corners, and lifted. Mine clicked at the middle of three holes. The man who was helping us clicked his at the middle of three holes. Linda's clicked at the bottom hole.

"Make it higher," I suggested, since the canopy was obviously much too short and canted oddly. Linda looked at me like I was nuts. I tried again. "Push in the button and make it click into the next hole," I said.

"That's as high as it goes," Linda said. "It clicked."

"No, there are more holes."

"No there aren't."

Once again I was momentarily frozen by this stubborn denial of reality. While I was trying to keep my synapses from frying (Zzzzt! Zzzzt! Does not compute! Illogical! Illogical!) the man said in a kindly voice, "My side can go up." Thank you, whoever you are. He's probably married to a Linda-clone and knows that sparks flying out your ears doesn't get you anywhere.

"My side is as high as it goes," she stated.

"My side is in the middle of three holes," I countered.

"My side is in the middle of three holes," the man agreed.

"Oh. I didn't see the holes. It clicked, so I thought that was as high as it went."

Zzzzt. Zzzzt. Zzzzt. It seemed awfully hot suddenly. Maybe menopausal hot flashes aren't really from hormones, but from synapses melting due to illogical people.

We managed to get the canopy set up, and moved on to setting up the playpens for the ferrets.

"Here, Linda, use a zip tie to hold that together -- the ferrets might lift up on it and it'll come right out of the hole."

"No it won't."

"And look, the bottom one isn't even in."

"Yes it is."

I could smell burning synapses, so I just took a deep breath, pulled out a zip tie, and silently connected the playpens with it.

"Here," I said, holding out some zip ties to her, "hook that side together now."

"Oh! Is that what you meant?"

"Yes. What did you think I meant?"

"Never mind."

I never did find out what she'd thought I meant, and I'm sure I was better off for that.

We settled the ferrets, and started to set up the tables. I pulled out a tablecloth and tried to put it on the long table. I'd get one side on, and the other side would slip off. I'd go put that side on, and the first side would slip. I tried doing the "shake and drift it on" trick, but all I could manage was "shake and drift it OFF." Damn! I wasn't feeling well, especially after the physical exertion required to put up the canopy and the playpen, and stopped for a moment. Linda had been standing there silently watching me. No comment, no move to help, nothing. I'm not sure if she'd gone back into her catatonic trance state or was contemplating some huge philosophical puzzle.

"Linda," I said as calmly as I could manage, "would you help me get this tablecloth on, please? I'm apparently incapable of doing it alone." She walked over and helped put it on. She set up her smaller table next to mine, and watched as I got the beanbag game set up. I had her lay out the stuff for sale (not really listening as she bitterly bitched, "She'll just come and change everything anyway. I don't know why I even bother. Nothing is ever good enough for her. Goddamn f#$# stupid b$$ch, that's what she is..."

Eeep! I glanced around nervously, wondering who was in earshot. "I'm sure however you do it will be fine," I said, trying to calm her.

"No it isn't, at least not according to Jane, the f#$% b$$ch."

Oh God, I thought, this is going to be a long day!

Finally, Linda got the table set up and we watched the people set up in the pavilion ... just across the path from us ... with speakers pointing at us.

"I thought they said it was accoustic," I said to no one in particular.

"What?" Linda asked.

"The music. I thought they said it was accoustic."

"I don't know nothin' about that. I don't know nothin' about anything, I guess. Especially if you talk to ..."

I turned my ears off at that point, concentrating on giving the people setting up the amplifiers the evil eye. "Accoustic means no speakers," I said, again to no one in particular.

"What?" Linda said.

"Speakers. They have speakers. That means it will be loud," I said, not really talking to Linda but staring straight ahead at the band.

"Well, maybe they won't turn them on," Linda said.

Zzzt, zzzt, zzzt. "I'm going for a walk," I said, trying not to think about Linda's apparent view of the world.

I wandered around a little bit, watching people set up their tables, petting the rescue dogs, and generally feeling like hell. I'm glad I couldn't make the dogs sick -- at least I could get a little emotional lift from the dogs.

I got back to the table just as the blues band fired up. It was loud, but not unbearable. Note to self: If we do this again, do NOT put your canopy up directly in front of the pavilion.

Jane arrived, rearranged something on the table, Linda got her back up, and they started yelling at each other. Oh my God! How embarrassing. I glanced over at the group of little old ladies next to us. Maybe they're too deaf to hear, I thought.

"Well, then I'll LEAVE!" I heard Jane say.

Uh-oh. "No!!" I yelled. "You're not leaving!"

"Then I'll leave," Linda said.

I just sighed deeply, picked up a ferret and took another walk. When I got back, Jane was sitting in the chair, staring stonily ahead, and Linda was pulling out prizes for the game.

Realization hit me. "Oh no! I forgot the temporary tattoos! There were supposed to be the consolation prize!" (Getting old sucks.)

Linda held up a tiger sticker with those 3-d "google eyes," and said, "Here's one!"

I took the sticker, looked at her closely to see if she was really serious, and said, "No, this is a sticker, not a temporary tattoo."

"Oh." Linda continued to root around in the prizes.

"Maybe I should go get them," I said. "What do you think, Jane?" I was also thinking of the peace and quiet of an air-conditioned van while sitting in traffic. The traffic was looking better every minute.

"No, that would take you forever! You're not leaving us alone that long! You probably won't even come back!" Jane said, only half joking.

I stared off into the distance. "Yeah ... not come back," I said longingly. Sounded pretty good, actually.

"Here's one!" Linda announced. "Here's one of those temporary tattoos!"

She handed me an identical tiger sticker with googly eyes. I blinked a couple times, wondering if she had forgotten she'd given me one just like that only a minute ago, or if she was trying to make me crazy. Maybe she was after my job. No ... no one wanted to be president.

I put on my most patient and kind voice, "No, this is the same as the last one. See the googly eyes? Tattoos don't have 3-d things like googly eyes." I got this mental picture of a tattoo of Mona Lisa with googly eyes then suddenly came back to reality. Apparently, I had failed in my efforts to sound patient and kind.

"Well! Excuse the F$$K out of me for not knowing!" Linda yelled.

Oh God, I groaned inwardly. Can I go home now? I took another walk.

The day was hot, but there was a nice breeze. We attached the back canopy wall to keep the ferrets in the shade. It cut down the breeze a lot, and I wasn't sure if warding off the sun but losing the breeze was a fair tradeoff.

"Well, we'll give it a try and see how it works," I offered. "If it gets too hot without the air movement, we can take it down." Ferrets don't sweat, so as far as they're concerned, a breeze isn't all that useful. I was a little concerned, though, about the canopy's aerodynamics should the wind get stronger.

There was a break in the music, and I sucked up the silence with gratitude. Jane chose this moment to tell the baby bunny story. Again. I'd read the email she'd sent to the mailing list, and had came to the conclusion that she either was an idiot or she was hitting the apple juice too hard. I wondered if she would tell it the same or if what I thought was an error would be corrected.

"My dog, Rocky, found a nest of baby bunnies," she said. "Feasle (her ferret that eats a whole prey diet) wanted to eat it, but we wouldn't let him. I called the nature center and the guy said that the mother bunny wouldn't reject them if we handled them, so we rubbed grass and dirt on them and put them back."

"Did you mean to say the mamma bunny would reject them if you handled them?"

"No," she said. "He said the mother bunny WOULD NOT reject them. So we rubbed grass and dirt on them and put them back. The mother bunny moved them the next day."

Eh? Yes, that's exactly what she'd said in the email. Huh? I was getting that "Zzzt" sound in my brain again, and the smell of ozone was strong, but I pressed on. "Jane, if the mother bunny would NOT reject them if you handled them, why did you rub dirt and grass on them?" I kept to myself the mental picture of dirty baby bunnies with grass stains, covered with human scent because she'd rubbed handfuls of dirt and grass on them with her, well, hands.

"We had to do that," she said.

"But ... you said ..." I stammered.

"That's what the guy said to do!"

Zzzzt. Zzzt. Zzzzt. "I'm taking a walk," I said. I swear I saw insects dropping from the air around me, killed by the ozone from my poor shorting synapses.

Our organizer got on the mike and after some typical announcements, he introduced the "talented solo artist." This scruffy kid with a guitar steps up to the microphone, mumbles a few words, apparently turns UP the volume and starts playing. At some point I heard him say something about "Dylan" but I couldn't make out more than a few words here or there. The words I did make out were uniformly depressing. Yeah, I thought, must be Dylan.

After a bit, he branched out into his own songs. I discovered, much to my ears' chagrin, that he thought he had more of a range than his throat did. Cringe. As he hit one sour note after the other, the next one louder than the last, I started smelling that ozone again, and feeling my synapses overheat. After an hour or so (during which time I alternated between wanting to beat my head against the brick pavilion and wanting to beat the kid's head against it), he stopped. The silence was positively delicious! It was like a lemon ice on a hot summer day. It was like a jump into a nice cool swimming pool after working all day. It was like a cold beer after mowing the lawn. It was ... temporary.

Our organizer made a few lame jokes, announced a few things, tried to get somebody, anybody interested in the trivia contest (I'm sorry, my brain's ability to do trivia had been perhaps permanently removed by the hour or so of off-key Dylan-inspired, morbidly depressing music). There was about 5 minutes of blessed silence. I was talking to Jane, saying how completely grateful I was that the kid stopped singing ... when he started again. OH NO!!!! My shoulders slumped. "I'm taking a walk." I thought maybe it wouldn't be so loud at some of the other booths.

A few minutes after I'd come back to my booth, the wind suddenly gusted, and Mr. Careful Senior Driver's canopy tried to become airborn. They grabbed it and held it down, but their signs toppled and knocked over stuff on their table, this stuff knocked down another sign, which fell onto an adjacent table, knocking photos and merchandise to the ground. Holy cow! It like watching a giant tacky-kitsch* domino cascade! I helped pick up stuff and went back to my tent to see if my own stuff was okay. Apparently that particular breeze didn't hit us. Weird.

The wind caused general consternation a few more times over the course of an hour or two, and each time I wondered why we weren't being affected. Finally, later in the afternoon, the wind apparently shifted and picked up a handful of my ferret stickers and sprinkled them across the walkway. As I jumped up to chase them (darn things would let me get within a foot, then they'd become airborn again!), my funny bone was tickled by the view of the walkway strewn with "Attack Ferrets" staring up into the sky, swaddled in their pink blankies and showing all their pointy teeth in a big ferret yawn. Looked rather vicious! LOL!

I laid the roll of duct tape across the stickers and greeting cards, wedged the bumperstickers under the edge of the t-shirt, and sat back down in a little patch of shade. Not 20 minutes later, we got another gust of wind that picked up a handful of my business cards and distributed those all over the ground. Sigh. Oh well. At least my canopy wasn't blowing away. I guess being "upgraded" to the heaviest metal available wasn't that bad after all. I hadn't staked the canopy to the ground (the little metal stakes they supplied were not only useless, but I know from experience that they are a tripping hazard). So I sat back down, trying not to listen to the godawful music, trying to think of a way to weigh the canopy down without having to lug heavy sandbags around.

By now, the Dylan-imitator was playing the harmonica along with the guitar. The nice thing about the harmonica was that he couldn't sing while he was playing it. The nice thing about the loud music was that Jane and Linda couldn't swear at each other.

Things had been calm for a bit, the depressed angst-filled late-teen soloist was apparently really done this time, the organizer was off organizing, and the next act was setting up. I was enjoying the peace, sincerely grateful that our young singer (to use the term loosely) had finally run out of time. Jean had left to go to a football game, so it was just Linda and me. I noticed Linda fussing around with the stuff on the table. She carefully removed the rubber bands from all the literature (they had been too heavy to fly away while they were rubber-banded together). I asked Linda in a deadpan voice, "Looking for some exercise?"


"Well, you must want some exercise, 'cause when those pamphlets go flying all over the place, you are chasing them." I looked back over my shoulder and grinned.

She shrugged and said, "If they start blowing away, we can always put the gum bands back on." (In Pittsburgh, "rubber bands" are "gum bands." Don't ask me why, they just are.)

Right about then, Jane called. It was a good thing she called during the break, otherwise I wouldn't have heard my phone ring. She informed me that she'd left her little cooler under the table, and would Linda please take it home (along with the chair Jane had brought for us to use) and bring it to her house the next time she was there.

I conveyed the message and tried not to listen to Linda's cussing and mumbling about her being a @#$# packhorse and having better @#$# things to do than to @#$#@ ... Well, you get the idea. The next band started up, and for a few minutes I was glad for the sound. Then they really got going, and I realized these guys were even louder than the Dylan-dude.

I asked our organizer if he could please turn down the volume a little. I was basically trapped at the table and my ears were feeling numb. At least these guys could sing.

After they played for a while, things started to wind down. The band left, the organizer pulled the tickets for the 50/50 and other raffles, and made some announcements. In the quiet (after the storm, so to speak) someone from another rescue group came by to say they wanted to adopt one of the shelter ferrets (who were by now completely sacked out and draped like those melting pocket watches in the Escher painting). That was great! I just hoped that they didn't expect the ferret to be this calm once he'd had a nice long nap! The lady turned out to be a Humane Officer for White Oak. At least I knew the ferret would be well taken care of!

Finally, it was time to pack up and get ready to leave. I was in no hurry by that point (good thing, because Mr. Careful Senior Driver was back in the middle of the lane again). The silence was golden, the sun was setting and there was a nice, gentle breeze. We loaded up everything at a leisurely pace and I even had a chance to talk to a vendor concerning a business arrangement. I wandered around and handed out my cards to all the other rescue groups, I got some free food (they had a lot left over and were giving it away), and just sat around and chatted, waiting for the others to clear out.

A little later, I got the van (did you know that a certain combination of illness, caffeine, stress, and loud noise combines to make a person feel tipsy? I hoped no one noticed me weaving my way to the van!) and loaded it without incident. I dropped Linda off at her car and drove home in blissful silence. I didn't even talk to myself!

I was so exhausted by the time I got home, all I wanted to do was put the ferrets away and sleep. I figured I could unload the next day. As I walked in the door, a certain aura of peace washed over me. Wow, I thought, the place sure smells good. I guess my Saturday volunteer did make it. I walked into the shelter area (what used to be my living room) and I was stunned to see such calm, order and serenity as I don't think I've ever seen in my house! My "organizationally-abled" volunteer had outdone herself this time! Every cage was spotless, every blanket folded, the crumbs were gone from the futon, the floor was spotless, and the "eau de poop" was gone, gone, gone!

Not only that, but the dining room was clean and orderly. I nearly fainted when I walked into the kitchen! Peace! Calm! Quiet! CLEAN DISHES!!! Oh my God, she did the dishes. If she had been there I would have kissed her. (Probably good that she wasn't there, because I would have made her sick!)

I put away the ferrets, let some others out to play, and settled onto the nice, soft (crumb-free) futon for a heavy evening of nothing. It was glorious!

Author Reply Post
Barbara Carlson

an unpublished author

About Barbara Carlson
Joined: 07 Aug 2007
Posts: 16
Location: Pittsburgh, PA
Occupation: Secretary, Shelter operator
Subject:  Re: A Day in the Life of a Shelter Mom
Date:  Sep 26, 2007 3:33:45 pm

This must be too long, because the people on Gather are not reading it. Any suggestions?

Author Reply Post

a published author

About WordTickler
Joined: 17 Jun 2007
Posts: 369
Location: USA
Occupation: Writer
Subject:  Re: A Day in the Life of a Shelter Mom
Date:  Sep 27, 2007 2:27:22 pm

Barbara Carlson wrote:
This must be too long, because the people on Gather are not reading it. Any suggestions?

Gather? I don't get what you're saying...

My Best,

-= WordTickler =-
Author Reply Post
Barbara Carlson

an unpublished author

About Barbara Carlson
Joined: 07 Aug 2007
Posts: 16
Location: Pittsburgh, PA
Occupation: Secretary, Shelter operator
Subject:  Re: A Day in the Life of a Shelter Mom
Date:  Sep 27, 2007 2:33:59 pm

Barbara Carlson wrote:
This must be too long, because the people on Gather are not reading it. Any suggestions?

Sorry ... on gather.com ... a place where you can post articles, etc. and get comments. I meant they seem a bit too rushed to read it and I thought people here might be more willing to read to the end.

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