Oregon Humane Society Reviews

Despite all of its perks, working for the Oregon Humane Society is emotionally and physically taxing. Though hourly staff are legally required to take two 10-minute breaks during our shifts, these breaks are extremely rare. If you need to make a phone call, take medication, or get a drink of water, you’re out of luck. On busy days, basic human needs like using the rest room are denied to you until you are on the brink of tears. There simply aren’t enough staff available to complete all the tasks that must be completed in any given day, and if your work isn’t finished, then an animal may suffer for it. It can’t be said that we do everything for the well-being of pets in our community. The shelter only allows four adult pit bulls to be available for adoption at a time, and while our local shelters are overrun with pits, we continue to transfer Chihuahuas up from California by the dozens. Cats and rabbits are not given post spay or neuter pain control, and small animals are often housed in the same room as screeching birds. Most disconcerting, we’ll adopt a pet to just about anyone. Our customer care staff are pressured into adopting out as many animals as possible, and they’re not allowed to deny an adoption. Staff can make notes under a pet’s file in our computer system about the pet’s adoption. I’ve seen such notes as “Adopter seemed intoxicated during showing,” or, “Adopter did not appear to be listening during behavior consult and was in a hurry to leave.” I used to enjoy fostering kittens for the shelter, but after seeing pets placed into homes such as these, I’m no longer comfortable doing so. Having said all of this, I believe all of the aforementioned cons can be improved. What worries me is the increasingly corporate business model that OHS seems to have adopted. For example, our Operations Manager has a background in banking, and the medical team’s newly hired hospital manager joined them after working at the Hannah Society—a local company that purchases pets from backyard breeders and leases them out. These managers, along with our P.R., Marketing, and Operations directors, have little to no contact with the animals. In contrast, those of us on the front lines—the customer care, animal care, medical and behavior staff—are not able to give any input on the way the shelter operates. In most cases, these decision-makers actually work on an entirely different floor than the rest of us. The divergence between the ‘upstairs’ (upper management) and ‘downstairs’ staff is staggering. Though it’s natural for lower level staff to make less money and work in positions which are more physically taxing than those in upper management, I have worked for other shelters where there is still mutual respect between employees of all positions and departments. From the lowliest kennel cleaner to the executive director, each one of us is an invaluable cog in the machine that is OHS. If one were to break, the gears would stop turning, and our organization would stop running. Our entire body of staff should recognize that. Much of this may sound like the rantings of a low-level employee who is jealous of his or her coworkers who are allowed to wear their own clothes, work in their own office, and are paid quite a bit more money—all without ever being exposed to the most difficult tasks that shelter work entails. Sadly, the one notable example that I could use to show the delusional image our ‘upstairs’ staff have about working downstairs could give away my identity, and I am very much afraid of retribution for telling the truth. Let me say this: I did not begin a career with a non-profit, particularly one that serves animals, to make money. Truthfully, it’s difficult to survive with the wages that I earn. But I LOVE what I do, and I want to keep doing it. I still believe that OHS is the best venue for me to help animals in my community, though I fear that the shelter is becoming more and more like a retail chain. It is perfectly acceptable that our directors would want us to continue to grow, to provide more services to the public, and to help more animals. I hope that we will continue to do so. But I also hope that we will not get so caught up in the ‘numbers’—our adoption, donation, and surgery totals—that the quantity of our work becomes more important than the quality. For now, it seems, we may be headed in that direction.