This would be me. I cannot go to a rescue home. I wouldn't be able to walk past all of the pups sitting there looking dejected and waiting for someone to give them love. It would literally break me to leave any one of them there. It partially breaks me thinking about it and makes me want to go on a batman-like spree terrorizing people who would orphan dogs. Grrrrrrr......
The trick is to remind yourself that you are not doing the animals any favor if you take in more pets than you can handle.
This is a true statement. Unfortunately this particular impulse doesn't particularly respond to logic...
Then respond with an emotional response with your potent imagination. Imagine a hoarder's house full of sickly animals living in unsanitary conditions.
Bob kicked the puppy that had gotten in his way and continued on his way to the kitchen. A spray of fetid water, tainted with urine and pus from open wounds sprayed as the animal landed in the corner. Bob snorted to himself. Damn animals. If they weren't such good money for breeding stock he wouldn't keep them around. He winced as several levels of whining made their way through the next door. He hammered on it with his fist. "Shut your damn mouths or you'll miss out on ANOTHER day of food." He listened and nodded to himself at the silence. A firm hand was what they needed. All that whining just got on his nerves. They needed to learn that animals that behaved didn't starve. As he walked past the punishment room, he saw a small dog moving feebly in a locked cage. He smiled to himself. that would teach it to try to bite him. He chuckled slightly as he remembered kicking it, it had been- With a low whoomph the lights went out. He reached out and clicked the switch of the hallway. Gaagh. Some damn animal had probably chewed a power cord. Or stuck it's paw in a socked. Muttering to himself he took a step forwards toward the kitchen and stopped dead. A cloaked figure stood in the hallway. He squinted. He could have sworn it was empty a second ago. He bunched his large hands. Althought most of his bulk was fat, he knew just how to take care of himself especially in confined quarters. Taking a threatening step forwards, he raised his hands up and growled "Whatever you want buddy, the only thing you're going to find here is pain." A low chuckle emanated from the figure. As the figure began to speak, the hair on the back of Bob's neck rose. The voice was at once guttural, low and piercing. Like someone had smoked a pack a day for their entire life, but with a strange wild edge to it. "But I have found the pain here... Bob." grated the voice. "Or more specifically, the pain here found me." Bob realized he was shaking. He could see two gleaming eyes staring back at him from under the hood. He suddenly realized that the figure was swelling, it now filled the hallway with it's head brushing the ceiling. The figure drew back it's hood and a man's face stared at him, but with slowly growing canines that now jutted out of it's mouth. "Who.... What are you?!?" stammered Bob, backing away. "I am the downtrodden Bob. I am those who cannot avenge themselves. I am nature's final answer to cruelty." Bob backed up into the room he had just left. He realized he could hear growing noises from all around growling sounds. As he looked, dogs of all descriptions entered the room, growing just like the figure had. The smallest now was level with his waist. All staring at him. "Justice has a funny way of balancing itself Bob." The figure loomed in the doorway. At some unseen command, the crowd of dogs descended. The screams from the house continued for a long time. - Eventually the police took down the crime scene tape and left the building. Nobody came forwards to claim the place and noone probably would. The official police report (which had been jumped on by the media) claimed that Robert Buddel had been an illegal dog breeder and that due to screams from the house his neighbours had called the police. When the police entered the house, they had found hundreds of dog cages and dog supplies all surrounded by filth and decay. They had expected to find lots of dog bodies, but curiously there were none. Finally, in the main lounge, they had found Bob's body. The official report stated "the body had been torn into pieces completely, but the head had remained untouched". But the thing that had terrorized the neighbourhood was the red scrawled message across the walls. Beware the downtrodden.