I am still amazed and fascinated by the feeding process. Three hundred sixty-five days a year, in rain, snow or summer sun, a small group of staffers and volunteers performs a miracle. Feeding takes place in various locations. My assignment is usually the big dog house called Octagon Three. By 8 am, the closet-sized kitchen of Octagon Three is jammed with cases of canned dog food, shiny garbage cans full of dry food and kibble, hundreds of buckets and bowls, and bottles of assorted medications.
Classical music issuing from a boom box is lost in the tumult of a hundred lusty canine voices.
Best Friends Director Faith Maloney, resplendent in her blue apron, staffer Carrie Kelley, and I are shoehorned into the tiny space. We are not alone. The floor of the kitchen, like the ground outside, is strewn with dogs. Working at the octagon involves a bit of clambering over and around dogs. We pause to greet one dog or another, occasionally dispensing a special spoonful of food as one would give a lick of frosting to a child.