People like to throw around the phrase ‘it doesn’t matter’ with all degrees of cavalier frequency. Don’t worry about your hair, it doesn’t matter... Forget about the run in your stocking, it doesn’t matter... No one’s going to care if we’re late, it doesn’t matter…Forget about it, it’s just a stupid animal, it doesn’t matter…Oh, but it does. It matters to me.

Now typically I am a very shy person. I’m thin bordering on scrawny and I always have been. I don’t seek out the spotlight or the soapbox and I seldom voice my opinion on a given topic but when it comes to animals well, like I said, it matters and it has always.

When I was in the fourth grade my grandfather took me and my sister and my brother to the park to feed the ducks. There was a boy there, older, bigger, throwing pebbles at the swans. I walked over in my crisp pink pinafore and white dress and asked him to stop. He shoved me in my shoulder and I kicked him hard in his shin with my white patent leather shoe and then I chased after him up the hill.

I was punished for kicking him and made to sit on the bench and not allowed to feed the ducks. I tried explaining but my grandfather said it didn’t matter…I shouldn’t have kicked him. He was probably right but I wasn’t big enough to push the kid into the pond.

I spend my days now on the metaphoric soapbox working to cultivate the viral spotlight for Irving House. I’m not shy about it and admit openly that I am outright shameless in my efforts for garnering support. I’m much like a poodle who’s gotten hold of your pant leg. Relentless some would say and I’m not above chasing after you up the proverbial hill.  www.irvinghouse.org because it matters.