The Animal Shelter
Something I haven’t written much about from my childhood is the animal shelter that was located about three kilometers from where I lived in Denmark. I had a classmate who owned a schnauzer with a talent for escaping from home. One day she had to pick him up from the shelter after the police had taken him in. She thought the situation was a bit embarrassing and asked if I would come along. To me it just sounded exciting – it wasn’t my dog who had misbehaved – so I happily joined her.
In front of the shelter stood high walls and a huge iron door you had to pass through. You rang a bell to announce your arrival, and as soon as it rang all the dogs inside started barking. Arriving unannounced was simply not an option. Either a trainee came to open the door, or Jönsson himself appeared.
Jönsson was a large and rather heavy man who seemed enormous the first time you saw him. He had only a few teeth left, and between them he always held a half-chewed cigar stump. He often had stubble on his chin, and sometimes a bit of drool when he tried to speak while keeping the cigar in place. We were only 13 or 14 at the time, so seeing him for the first time was a little intimidating. But he was kind to us, and since I’ve always been curious, I immediately began asking questions. I had loved animals my whole life, so a place like that felt like a dream to me.
At that time the shelter had about 20 kennels for homeless dogs, around 30 cats, chickens, rabbits, and above all two horses: a Shetland pony named Claus and a pinto pony of about 140 cm named Prins. Behind the building there was a small riding arena next to two large dog runs, one housing a Saint Bernard and the other a Newfoundland.
Of course I couldn’t resist asking if I could come and help. I was happy to work for free just to be allowed to spend time there – and I was given permission. I walked the dogs, comforted the newly arrived ones, cuddled with the cats, and was even allowed to care for and ride the horses.
According to himself, Jönsson had once been a professional rider. He had certainly ridden a lot, something he had photographic proof of from his younger days. He entertained himself by teaching us girls to ride. As I grew older, I began to question some of his methods. We rode bareback, which in itself is fine, but he insisted that we should grip with our knees to stay on. We held a riding crop under each knee and were expected to keep them in place for the entire lesson. We definitely developed strong thigh muscles! It took me many years to unlearn that habit. However, he was extremely strict about our posture. We had to keep our backs straight and walk with a book on our heads so we would sit “proudly” in the saddle. That part taught me a lot.
What shaped the atmosphere at the shelter most was the principle that you should always be kind to the animals. No one knew what kind of background they came from, and I’ve carried that insight with me all my life. Everyone did their best, and the animals were given real food – not dry kibble. The shelter had agreements with a bakery, a fishmonger, and a butcher, so all their leftovers were sent straight there. The cats got freshly cooked fish, and the dogs were fed rye bread, potatoes, and meat mixed together, with the broth poured over the top. The dogs absolutely loved it. I enjoyed chopping the potatoes. They were boiled in a giant pot and mashed with a long pole fitted with a cutting blade.
In the kitchen where the animal food was prepared, there were also tables and chairs where we drank tea in the afternoons. In the mornings the entire room was filled with thick steam from all the pots boiling at once. The smell of fish and meat wasn’t exactly delightful, but we got used to it. By the afternoon the air had cleared, and we’d sit down with our tea and eat pastries. Jönsson almost always bought Danish pastries, and after a long day helping out we were always hungry. Sometimes I wonder if all his money went to pastries – there were often many of us girls there. When he went shopping, he drove an old moped with a wooden box on the back where he stored everything he bought.
I went there several times a week, cycling back and forth. I must have had incredible stamina – cycling, riding, walking several dogs every day, and helping out in the kitchen.
A year or so after I started there, Prins died of colic, leaving Claus alone. One day Jönsson called me and told me to hurry out to the shelter. He never called normally, so I knew something good had happened. I “borrowed” my brother’s Velo moped and drove out there, even though I was only 14. I was turning 15 in a few weeks, so it didn’t feel too serious – and it was important to get there quickly.
Sure enough, Jönsson had bought a new horse: a chestnut gelding with a blaze. He became “mine” while I was at the shelter, as Jönsson put it. I couldn’t take him home, but I was the one who decided everything about him. I named him Ali Baba, and he became my whole world. He had never been ridden, so I broke him in, trained him to drive, and taught him a lot of tricks. I could make him rear and buck on command.
Two years later Jönsson passed away, and I was terrified of what would happen to Ali. His brother inherited everything, including the horse, who had been Jönsson’s private property. Luckily he had heard that the horse was considered “mine,” so he gave him to me. It was hard to hold back the tears. I was allowed to keep him at the shelter for a while until I found a new place for him.
My time at the shelter ended when the new manager, Mrs. Sørensen, took over. She didn’t like girls hanging around, and one by one we were all thrown out. I found a place for Ali, and the shelter continued on, it 54 years ago – it actually still exists today, though it’s run in a completely different way.
On the picture you´ll see Jönsson and Prins:
