Tripping Over Death

            People are horribly selfish.  Especially when it concerns their own children.  They do it in the name of making their children better.  From an outsider’s perspective it would appear that they are doing exactly the opposite.  It’s a shame what parents teach their children.  Today I had a woman come in to return a cat she adopted several months ago.  His name was Teddy, an orange tabby.  Very sweet and loving.  On the paperwork she wrote, “It’s not fair to my son to keep this cat.”  When I inquired upon this further she said, “My son keeps pulling on the cat’s tail.  He rolls on top of him and even will bite his tail.  I just don’t want my son in trouble all the time. It’s not fair to him.”  I stopped.  Looked up from the form stared her straight in the face and said, “Or to the cat.”  She looked back, blinked, and uttered, “Oh.  Well that too.  I just don’t want to keep punishing him.”  Is it too much for parents to teach their kids to be kind?  To be gentle?  As I looked at her, I couldn’t help but think with sorrow, “I can only imagine what he will do to his future wife.”

            To make matters worse, half way through the surrender she told me she thinks the cat has ringworm.  Ringworm in a shelter environment is not treatable.  It is an airborne disease and as such in a shelter can spread rapidly.  We can’t control it so even though people can easily treat their pets in their homes, in a shelter these animals are euthanized.  When I heard that the cat had ringworm, I told her if our vets confirmed the cat had ringworm he would be euthed.  “That’s fine.”  She said.  I looked at her in almost wonderment.  In what universe is that fine?  In her mind she made the decision that it is better to kill this cat than punish her child.  The selfish gene at its best.

            Hearing her words doom this cat, I let one of my coworkers finish the paperwork.  Wrapping myself in PPE I picked up the cat out of the visitation room and carried him back.  I waited in the hallway for the vet.  Just waiting is unbearably.  When she finally came she determined we would black light him in the euth room.  (Using a black light is a quick test for ringworm).  Carrying the cat into the euth room I almost tripped over a dead dog.  I was shocked to enter upon them doing the list.  Such an ugly word in a shelter: list.  To be listed means to be put to death.  The list is all the animals that have to be euthanized in one day.  With the summer coming it has gotten very long.  There is no more room.  I hate the list.

            Stepping around the dead dog, I sighed.  Betty. A pit bull.  Sweet when she first got here but being here over three weeks has caused her to become aggressive with other dogs.  She was no longer safe.  I handed over the cat telling the euth team the situation.  I left Teddy there waiting.  He rubbed up against the kennel bars purring wanting out.  Wanting affection.  There just doesn’t seem to be enough love in the world on some days.   This cat was offering his heart.  But no one was listening.  I walked back up to the front to plaster a big sign on the visitation room that read, “DO NOT USE.”  The woman still finishing the paperwork stared at me.  I cursed her with my eyes. 

             “I just can’t deal with this.  Seeing my son suffer.” Those were her words.  She never stopped to think how the cat felt.  How it might want to live.  Even in today’s modern world animals do not feel to many people.  They are just controlled by instinct.  We insist that we are “higher.”  That we are not flesh and meat, not animals, something greater.  We have purpose.  Not them.  What instinct is we cannot define.  Yet it is there controlling their minds.  Somehow feelings got magically put into us, but not other creatures.

            To treat animals as we do, they must not feel.   Jeffrey Masson and Susan McCarthy said it best, “How can we be gods if animals are like us?”  They are the others.  The others who are distinct and separate from us.  They live in the wild.  Not in civilization.  They live below us.  They are not of us.  God didn’t make them in his image.  They will always take a back set because we insist that we are mighty gods.  If I may say so, I think God would be truly pissed at this conclusion. 

            If you learned in the eyes of God you were no different than a mouse would you be hurt?  Many people would be outraged at such a humiliating question.  For others they would be proud, believing the mouse to have more virtue.  Free of sins.  But mice eat their children, fight for territory, rape each other, and all-in-all play out all the same dramas of life as we do.  How devastating would it be for this child if he every learned he was just meat?  For any of us to learn that?  

            I don’t believe that we are just dirt.  Neither the others nor us.  We are constantly fighting for our children, for our genes.  But maybe in our pursuit of godliness we can see even gods need the companion of others.  The soul is turned into greatness when we see beyond ourselves and recognize the glimmer of life in another’s eyes.  For this mother she will never go beyond seeing her child as a king.  Piety.  I guess it just goes to prove she is no better than a mouse. 

To have a pet? Or not have a pet?

            The earlier stories I wrote of pit bulls reminds me of another dilemma; how does one decide if one can afford if they can have a pet?  This week I had a girl come in to look at an extraordinarily large pit bull/mastiff mix.  She was very excited about the dog and after meeting with him had to run to borrow some money for the one hundred dollar adoption fee.  As we were going through the paperwork, I told her there would be an additional $12 license.  I told her she could put it on her credit card, but she said her cards were maxed out due to her paying some bills.  She said she would look in her car for change and when she came back in she had a very large plastic bag full of pennies.  She spilled them out over the counter and proceeded to count every one of them.  To her dismay she only had $2.06.  I sat there not knowing what to say next.  Awkward silence followed.  I cleared my throat and simply said,

            “There isn’t anything I can do. The dog must be licensed.”  She pretended to play on her phone a little while and then got up and left.  I wanted to tell her, that she probably couldn’t afford this dog if she cannot pay for the $12 license.  But this situation made me think, “How does one decide if they can afford an animal?”  For this woman, it’s hard for me to believe that she could afford food for this large dog let along vet bills.  My personal guideline has always been, good quality food (Blue Buffalo), annual vet bills, and enough money for a trip to the emergency room once per year.  But what kind of emergency?  

            This past year I was faced with this very problem.  One of my dogs ate something that could have been potentially lethal.  Taking him to the emergency room the vet quoted us, to start with, a $1,000 over night stay.  My husband and I swallowed, hard.  Not willing to take him home and just watch him die we put the charge on our credit card.  The vets the next morning informed us that he would have to stay hospitalized for at least three days for his kidneys to repair themselves.  Again, we swallowed hard.  But the vets wanted to see our little dog live.  They pooled their own money together to help us pay the cost.  With their help we didn’t take out any loans or have to sign up for care credit.  Because of compassion, our dog lived.  When we first realized he ate some pills we right away set a budget.  As much as I love my animals, I cannot go broke because of them and I think most people feel the same way.  My dog and I were extremely lucky.  We were able to pull through this emergency.  But if the bills had gone any higher, I know we just simply did not have the money to cover it.  Other people have the means to push that line even further.  They give their dogs kiMo, hip replacements or even knee surgery.  I wish I could afford this for my animals, but I know deep down, that I could not.  Does this mean I should not have my dogs?

            We all have our limits as to what we can pay for our animals.  Where is that line that states some people just simply cannot afford to have a dog?  That owning a dog or a pet is a privilege not a right.  Even as I think about this I recall very brave dogs that live with homeless people.  These dogs are these peoples’ sole protection.  Stories persist of homeless people dying and their dogs sleeping on top of their cadavers to protect them even in death.  They bite unwanted groping hands, they growl to scare strangers away, and they bark to alert their owners of danger.  They do not leave for a better life.  They don’t break away and run to find some comfy sofa to sleep on.  They stay.  The dogs didn’t choose that life.  They certainly must love their owners though.  Still, I wonder what the dogs would have to say about it.  Would they give up being a homeless dog, to live somewhere where they would have a hip replacement when they are 8 and live until they are 14?  Or to them, is the devotion and companionship they share with that one person more powerful than security?  I don’t know.  It’s hard not to imagine that the former is not what they would choose.  But love is powerful and friendships eternal.  What’s in a dog’s heart, I cannot say.  Yet, their capacity for love makes it difficult not to believe that they would do anything only to be loved in return. 

Is Killing in the Euth Room the Same as Eating a Chicken Sandwich?

            People who work at my humane society often get into debates about euthanasia.  It just happens.  We are exposed to death way too much.  After a meeting regarding euthanasia one of my coworkers stated, “They should just call it the death society.”  Poetic.  But depressing that she sees her job in this light.  I can almost predict when she will quit.  I have seen way too many people, good people, leave this job.  All had very good reasons.  About a month ago we had a new person start up front.  When we went to the preserve freezer and I pulled out a dead cat, I saw her face turn green.  Immediately stopping, I asked her, “How much experience have you had with death?”  When her response was none, I knew she wouldn’t make it the week.  Trying to comfort her I said, “Don’t worry if you every feel uncomfortable just grab one of us and we’ll do it.  There are many days when I can’t go back here.”  No good.  She was gone by weeks end.

            A new person who recently started working there has refused all together to be certified to do euthanasia.  I, myself, also do not wish to be certified.  I have held plenty of times, but as one of our newly certified staff members has stated, “Holding and injecting are two entirely different things.”  To refuse this certification means he could be fired.  It is in his job description that he must do it.  Yet, for whatever reason, he cannot find the cause or structure within himself to do such acts.  A different coworker of mine finds his decisions almost revolting.  She has to be certified as well.  When we were talking about it, she refused to offer him any kind of leeway.  I tried to stand up for him saying in the euth room you go beyond confronting death; you have to deal with the fact that you just killed something.  She called this hypocritical for as she sees it, killing an animal in the euth room is no different than eating a chicken sandwich. 

            But it is much different.  When I kill a chicken, (although someone else far away does my butchering) I do it because I need to eat.  Some people would argue that eating beans or peanuts could offer just as much protein but there are a lot of doctors who would argue otherwise.  And in any case, killing something because you are taking part in the natural food chain is not wrong.  There is a reason why we say grace before we eat.  Perhaps those who don’t are just disconnected to what is in front of them.  I am not blind to think that something else died for me to have a meal.  If I had the money I would live on my own farm and raise my own meat.  I would give them wonderful lives until their purpose brings them to their end.

            The euth room is completely different.  The people doing the injection often times are not the people who made the decision to put the animal down.  The euthanasias are not unjustified, but killing a cat or dog in American culture often seems very unnatural.  Sometimes otherwise fantastic dogs that are just scared and need time are put down because of space.  We simply do not have the resources to train dogs to not be aggressive.  Cats that are good but just aren’t adjusted to people are killed because we don’t want them spreading diseases to our own pets or over populating.  We don’t want dogs that attack people or other animals.  Still, when these animals die, even though we know it had to be done, there seemingly is no larger purpose at play.  We don’t use their bodies to get nutrition.  They didn’t serve us as guardians or protectors or companions.  They are just gone.  The person who is certified has to justify that.  Has to confront that.  Sometimes they feel okay about it and can see they were making our community better, safer.  But other times, it feels so far removed that they can no longer understand the reason. 

            Animal lovers come to work at this job.  It is extremely difficult when we are faced with the idea that not all animals should live.  Many people quit and leave and someday I will too.  In the mean time though, we offer what we can to the living.  We hug them, name them, offer them treats.  We will always argue about the euth room.  It is good that we do this.  Debates challenge our assumptions.  For my own part though, I very much intend on to continue eating chicken sandwiches.  

Mercy, Please

            I really do not understand why some people treat animals as if they are replaceable. Their mentality is simple.  There is a dog; that dog there.  Sitting right in front of me.  And if he goes, there is another dog sitting right by him that can trade places with him.  He has no personality.  No mind of his own.  No quirks and no certainly no self.  He is a thing.  Such as a table or chair.  Objects that are to be moved around to fit one’s lifestyle as it changes.  Never considering how the chair or table might feel about the change.  They just merely go about their lives figuring that if that dog goes it wouldn’t mind much.  It doesn’t care if it lives or dies.  Certainly it cannot feel pain and has no concept of it being alive.  It is just there staring back at you.  No more of a soul than a rock.

            I see this mindset when people come in looking for their pet after it has been missing for several weeks.  Of course there are those people who never come looking for their animal and people who come crying because they are distraught that their beloved pet has gone missing.  Yet there is a particular breed of person who not only looks for their old possession, but for a new one.  A new hat to be tried on, a new pair of shoes to go with their outfit.   I take them to look through our dog strays and they look through the kennels at each one.  Not really hopeful, but more in a browsing fashion.  Then the question emerges. 

            “I don’t think my dog is here, can’t I just take that one home?”  No concern that their dog got hit by a car or froze in the cold.  I look at them puzzled.  Waiting for a smile that surely means they are kidding, trying to break the somewhat awkward and guilty feeling rising within them.

           

            “Uh, well. No.”  I mumble out.

            “It’s just that our dog has been gone for a week and I don’t have any hope for him.  That lab there, he looks pretty cool.  We’ll just take him.”  I sigh, knowing they are serious this time.

            “No.  You cannot just take one of these dogs.  These are dogs waiting for their owners.  Waiting out their stray periods.”  I know what the company would like me to say next.  They would like me to say, “But you can see our adoptable dogs.”  We are full and even bad owners have to be better than the euth room, right?  But instead letting my emotions take the better of me I say,

            “No.  If your dog is not here then we have no dogs for you.  I can escort you out or file a lost report but that is really all I can do.”  They don’t want to file a lost report.  I lead them out holding the door open, glade to seem them gone.  Did I do the right thing?  Other people came in and our adoptable dogs went out, as they should.  Space was made available by some good people and others that will have to do. 

            I would love to say that I exaggerated this conversation.  But I didn’t.  True story.  Dogs and cats even though they are amazing life that once lost cannot be substituted, are as it turns out, to many people replaceable.  Somehow all I can imagine when people now walk through our dog stray room or the adoption floor are the dogs quietly whispering, “Mercy, please.  I am not a pair of shoes.” 

“I hope today is kind.”

          This above statement is so simple.  It is filled with such innocence.  “I hope today is kind.”  The first words out of one of my coworker’s mouth this morning.  Tragedy surrounds us.  It absorbs us.  The people who walk in don’t always see it.  Almost every day we have someone come in to reclaim his or her dog.  There are fees that go along with getting your animal back healthy and safe.  It can get very expensive.  People don’t seem to think it cost money to pay people to feed their animals, clean up after them, and make sure they are medically okay.  A majority of people get irate when they have to pay.  They make a scene, cry out, and yell at us for the injustice.  But about once a week there is an unfortunate person who doesn’t get the chance to yell at us because they are in shock that their pet died.  Cars hit cats and dogs too.  This is a very simple sentence that no one thinks about.  It is not pretty.  Their faces fall off.  Their guts drop out.  People come in to find their missing property that they loved so much.  It’s not just a marketing gimmick when humane societies say they save lives.  If dogs weren’t brought in, many of them would not make it. 

            That unfortunate person has a terrible experience in front of them.  I take them to look through all the dogs we have in the building.  No matches.  I go up front to look in the computer at the deceased.  There in front of my face is a match.  I ask about sex, breed, color, location, anything to distinguish this animal.  Everything lines up.  I get the death book.  Lifting the pages I show them a picture of their once beloved pet.

            I have seen strong people, grown men break down and cry.  The same man who on the phone was upset when I told him if the dog was here there would be fees to get his dog out is now crying in front of me.  Not to be snarky, but we both wish he was yelling at me instead.

            “I hope today is kind.” We mumble.  I hope today someone realizes that their life is not the only one worth living.  I hope today people come to see how precious life is; how short it can be.  Yet I know when I go into work tomorrow there will be someone peeved at me because they have to pay to get their animal out.  To receive a healthy happy animal cost money.  Some jackass who says, “Hey dude should I pay $80 to get my cat?”  If you have to ask that question because you’d rather spend the money on something else, then the answer should be no.  But animals in society are property.  Property that they have the right to destroy.

“I hope today is kind.”  We utter under our breaths.

            I once refused an owner request for euthanasia because the animal was perfectly healthy.  I told the customer that they could surrender the animal but we do not do euthanasia for healthy animals.  A lie.  We are supposed to do euthanasia for anyone who requests it.  The logic being we are preventing over population and dumping of animals.   Still, my conscience would not allow it.   The person left.  When I was discussing it with a coworker I told her, “What a shitty situation.”  Her response was, “Is it?!!?”  Her point being the people we adopt out to, a lot of the time, suck.  They don’t care.  The animal really isn’t in any better circumstances.  They have just changed hands to be neglected once again.  My reaction at first was complete horror.  Yet she raises a good question: Is death better than a shitty owner?  I don’t know.  I don’t like to think so.  With bad owners there is always a chance that you may in the future get a better one.   With death there is no hope.  

            I hate it when people glorify death.  The problem with religion is that we are waiting and praising the end.  Why?  Why do we exalt something that we have no proof of?  The problem with believing in an afterlife (especially in the case of animals) is that it gives you less cause to fight for the living.  The present.  The life that is in front of you now.  It gives you an excuse to say, “It’s okay.  His soul is living on.”  I am not saying I don’t believe in any kind of thereafter, I am just stating the problem it can have on peoples’ mentality.

“I hope today is kind.”  We pray silently.

            Many of my coworkers are not ready to give animals the status of people in society.  For the most part I agree with them.  Yet, I simply do not understand why animals have to be given the status of “humans” by society for us to protect them.  It has gotten a lot better as the years have gone by.  In many cites you now have Animal Protection and Control Units.  In large part, it is the way we think that has to change.  Many people believe they have a right to own and control an animal’s fate.  Even if people have control, I do not think God intended us to have absolute power to do as we wish.  Perhaps animals are not humans.  Maybe we are “higher.”  But that does not mean God has forgotten his other creatures and has forsaken them of His love.  It’s odd how people use religion to pardon their blame in death and use it to make themselves feel better but do not use it as a rally cry to protect God’s most absolute gift: life. 

What is in a Name?

          Scholars have debated if a name dictates who a person becomes.  If you give your daughter the name Candy does that mean she will become a stripper?   If you give your son the name Richard, does it mean he will be brave?  Many parents take great time in selecting a name.  A name that will suit their child.  But how do you go about picking a name for an infant that for all intents and purposes has no personality yet?  Parents pick names that they believe are unique and fit the vision they have for that child.  Is the same true for animals?  I see a lot of bad names come through the shelter.  Dogs who don’t come from the best circumstances often carry names like Demon, Beast, Trouble, Naughty, Mistake, Dog, or Lucifer.  Can a name dictate a dog’s behavior?  No.  But the people believing that their dog is just a “Dog” or is the devil certainly do.  Dogs, just like people, have a tendency to reflect their names because of the conditions they come out of. 

            When I first started shelter work someone told me when stray animals would come in, “Give it a name.  It adds something to their spirit.”  A name gives a creature that merely is “just a dog” a persona.   A chance at being referred to in conversation as a self not a thing.  Personalization causes attachment and I think makes shelter workers fight that much harder for the cats and dogs that come in.   Where I work now we don’t give names to the strays.  We don’t name them until after they have been evaluated.  At first I thought this was depriving the animal of something; one thing that was missing from their essence.  Yet after working there several months, I now realize it is to protect the workers.  When you fall in love with a dog and then later in the evaluations he shows to be aggressive towards other dogs, it is very hard to put down Teddy.  However, it’s not so hard to put down that husky who is aggressive with other dogs. 

            A name is something so small yet it gives people their identity.  The same may, in part, be true for animals.  It gives love and life to an otherwise disregarded beast.  Instead of being apart of the collective, it makes individuals.  Perhaps that’s why even though we all know it’s hard on our own spirits, my coworkers and I silently name each animal that comes in.  We never speak of this practice, but it’s done.  Attachments are formed.  Hearts are crushed.  Still, at least for a little while, the stray dog that comes to us is not "just a dog,” he’s someone and that is very special for person and animal alike. 

Friday is the Day We Deal with Death

            I have no statistical proof or theory as to why this is, but Friday seems to be the day we deal with death.  Maybe it has something to do with it being the end of the week.  I really don’t have an explanation.  What I do know is that on Friday we deal with more surrenders and request for euthanasia then any other day.  Last Friday in the first hour we had six surrenders going on and two requests for euthanizes at the same time.  “Society” by Eddie Vedder played in the background popping up on my coworker’s Pandora causing peoples’ tears to fall like rain. “Society you crazy breed. I hope you’re not lonely without me.” –Eddie keeps singing on.

           Even though I am often harsh on people, there are those whose hearts break like glass when they have to turn their animals over.  Those who surrender because they lost their homes, have no money, have had a death or medical illness overcome the family.  Their lives are broken and now they are forced to give up a part of their family.  There are also those who make the decision that their pet should no longer live, that living would be crueler than the alternative. 

            One girl in particular has stuck with me these past few days.  Her beloved companion, a 15-year-old Boston was suffering from cancer.  The dog’s owner, a 21-year-old girl, came with her mother to do what needed to be done.  She cradled her dog, crying, whispering into her ear saying everything would be okay.  Her mom signed over the paperwork explaining to me what was wrong with the dog.  The girl waited in one of our visitation rooms for the appointed hour.  When the paperwork was finished we give people as much time as they need to say good-bye.  While they weep over their loss, we wait outside the glass window like undertakers.  We wait silently as the people in the lobby room stare, sensing the tragedy.

            One cannot help but feel like the grim reaper.  We are the death coming.  If you are the person who leads the dog or cat back, it is as if death is using you to achieve its goal.  Of course, logic tells you that it is more merciful to put this animal down than to let it live but being a part of that process is an entirely different experience than just knowing theoretically it is a suitable action.  How does one even know what the right thing is when it comes to such a morally grey area such as death?  We don’t.  Society tells us that we are doing the proper procedure and when we stare at the animal our hearts goes out to them.  Surely this suffering must end.  But death is not quick.  It is not gentle.  It is not quiet.  The process of dying is not peaceful.  No matter how one goes about it.  Sitting in the euth room holding, watching, injecting, we cry, shudder, and laugh. 

            We offer people a viewing after their pet has been put down, one final moment to say good-bye.  We do not allow them to be present during the process.  Unlike at the vet’s office where one can pay hundreds of dollars for euthanasia, at a humane society the animals are not always put to sleep beforehand.  People come here because it is cheap.  There is a reason why it’s cheap.  We grab a leg, get a vein and inject the fatal liquid.  I suppose it’s quick.  The animal shutters, collapses and is gone.  A needle is injected into the heart.  When it stops moving, death has come. 

            When people do a viewing they usually follow an almost preset conversation.  They sit staring at their lost pet.  The girl held her Maggie and through tears she muttered, “At least you are out of pain.  You were the best dog.  I love you.”  Her mother trying to comfort her said, “It’s okay her soul is gone now. It wasn’t painful.” 

            “It was painful though!” My heart screams.  Perhaps not as painful as dying of cancer, but it wasn’t painless.  Still, these are the words we say to make ourselves feel better, because death never feels right.  These are the actions we take because we cannot stand to see pain.  Would the dog rather have died at home in her own time?  No one will ever have the correct answer to this question.  I don’t write these thoughts down to judge people who euthanize their pets or because I think this girl did what was wrong by her dog, I am merely recounting what has happened.  In the grand scheme of things, this girl did what was best.  Somehow knowing that there is no longer life in the absence of suffering offers me little solace.  Games of Thrones had it right though, Death is a God and all we can shout is “Not Today!”