Lily Naylor

  I slammed on the brakes and veered off the interstate, going from 80 to 0 in a matter of seconds. Faced with 18-wheelers passing by, I did something even crazier: I reversed the car. No, I wasn’t evading the CIA; I had seen a puppy walking through the tall grass on the side of the road. This wasn't the first time I had put my life on pause to save an animal. In fact, it was the third dog I’d rescued in the span of a few months. 

  For every dog I save, the story is always the same. Sleepless nights spent taking the dog outside followed by countless dollars spent on crates and food. But despite putting all of my effort into the dogs, I can never keep them. My mom's severe OCD means that every time I bring a dog home, I am setting myself up for emotional agony.

  Letting the dogs go is something that I have to accept from the moment I hold them in my arms. The real mission is to find the dogs a forever home, but my goal is to not cry when giving them away. Why am I doing this if it brings me so much pain? The simple answer is that I couldn’t live with myself if I left them in a dangerous situation. The “what if’s” of their well-being would plague my mind for the rest of my life. However, a reality I still struggle with is that I can’t save every animal.

   I pour my energy into each individual that crosses my path. I’ve gotten attached to every living thing that comes into my life, from horseshoe crabs to pitbulls. I’ve wanted to be a veterinarian since I could use scissors, but the aforementioned events of this year have led me to focus less on the individual and more on the bigger picture: the result of my efforts. Sure I can save one dog, but is that enough? I’m the kind of person who invites the new kid to lunch, rolls down my window to give money to people standing on the side of the road, and makes a point to compliment people. This year, I spent my 4th of July at a human rights protest, but I can’t help but feel like another brick in the wall in these situations. Am I really making a difference?

   My friends and family called me crazy for rescuing the dogs because “I could have died on the side of the interstate” or “been bitten by a dog with rabies.” And maybe these are real possibilities, but for the first time in my life I didn’t care what they thought about me. My own father, or as my family calls him, “Safety Patrol,” was fuming that I’d risked my life for something that “wasn’t my problem.” But if everyone in the world would make everything their problem, individuals would create a greater impact. I would give up everything to save all the animals, but unfortunately the world doesn’t work like that. I often wonder how I can make the most difference: should I spend the rest of my life helping stray cats and dogs, raising awareness for marine life, or researching ways to save our climate? Obviously, I can't focus on everything at once, I need to eat and sleep. But if every time someone walked past a piece of litter, saw a stray dog, witnessed an injustice, they paused and chose to help instead of ignore, the world would be a better place. And maybe I value the minds of sea slugs too highly, maybe it's a flaw that will only lead to more heartache, but honestly I don’t care if it means that I can help.