Thanks.
jerry elmore layne
Kittens, Puppies, Dogs, Cats and oh, so many more.
A complete, inexcusable wasted loss of love, loyalty
and friendship.
A loss to terrible fear.
A loss to shivers, to loud noise, to the banging of cages and ... yes, a loss
to hopelessness.
Adoption is so isolated. Life, in itself, is misery and lonliness.
The eyes, the eyes tell all. The watery, downhearted and surrendered
eyes tell all.
A dog biscuit is passed-over for the simple act of a friendly pat on the
head and a happy, loving voice.
Hot. Very hot and humid. Cold, Very cold and windy.
No grass, No sun. Concrete and Strangers of All Kinds.
Now, very afraid.
Now. It is the time for death. There is NO adoption.
And, please, do not say, 'putting to sleep,' for it is the
last, few remaining moments on earth.
A kiss from me and a "I love you," and the injection begins.
...The surrendered eyes are .... forever closed and each and every,
single one of these wonderful creatures breaks your heart."
sponsored by
Kindred of the Wild Animal Sanctuary.
By Jim Willis, 2001
You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple
of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was "bad,"
you'd shake your finger at me and ask "How could you?" -- but then you'd
relent and roll me over for a bellyrub. My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs" you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.
Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more
time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you
through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love. She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" -- still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy.
Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was
fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them,
too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my
time banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love
them, but I became a "prisoner of love." As they began to grow, I became their friend.
They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers
in my eyes, investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved
everything about them and their touch -- because your touch was now so infrequent -- and I would've defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway.
There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf. Now, you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family. I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with "papers."
You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar as he screamed "No,
Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You gave me a good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too.
After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked "How could you?" They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you that you had changed your mind -- that this was all a bad dream... or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited.
I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I padded
along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured "How could you?"
Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said "I'm so sorry." She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself -- a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. And with my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not directed at her. It was you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of. I will think of you and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.
I am writing to request that you immediately stop using a carbon monoxide gas chamber at the [name of facility].
It is known that animals killed in gas chambers often scream in panic, struggling for air, as the gas irritates their eyes and noses. It is an extremely cruel and inhumane method of euthanasia.
The use of carbon monoxide chambers for killing animals is an outdated and far less humane method of euthanasia than lethal injection of sodium pentobarbital. Euthanasia by carbon monoxide is slower than lethal injection, and the machines have been known to malfunction. If the carbon monoxide chamber malfunctions or is improperly used, death can take up to twenty minutes while death by injection is almost instantaneous. Carbon monoxide can be hazardous to shelter staff. Repeated exposure to the gas, even at low levels, can result in a variety of long-term human health problems, including cancer, infertility, and heart disease. Cost analysis of the two methods has shown that the cost of lethal injection is slightly less per animal than carbon monoxide.
Virtually every major animal protection organization in the country, as well as the American Veterinary Medical Association, advocates intravenous injection of sodium pentobarbital as the euthanasia method of choice.
Please insist on euthanasia by sodium pentobarbital at the [name of facility]. As an agency that is responsible for the care and safeguarding of the animals of the community, I would expect that it would have the utmost concern for the humane treatment of animals.
Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to hearing your decision.
Sincerely,
Anonymous
the four-legged creature occupying the cramped cage was neither noble,
fearless, majestic, nor proud. He was a layer of skin draped over a skeletal
frame. He hadn't even the strength to lift his head. The offer of a meat
tidbit was ignored, the will to continue existence in a human world had
vanished.
Although he had been placed in a row of cages marked "for adoption,"
officials hadn't bothered with inoculations. A dog that no longer wanted
anybody, was insensitive to the flies that feasted upon his dirty body, could
hardly be expected to appeal to visitors seeking dogs to adopt. He no longer
cared. He had no desire to be anyone's friend. He wasn't waiting to be
claimed by anyone except death. And it seemed as if death wasn't in much of
a hurry either.
I couldn't help wondering how this dog came into this world. Was he the
result of someone who owned a female and felt she was "entitled" to have at
least one litter? Was he the by-product of a family educational object
lesson? "We felt the kids should see the miracle of birth."
Was he once someone's cute Christmas puppy that was discarded along with the
tinsel and tree? Or was he a training aid, acquired to teach a child
"responsibility"? Perhaps he was once a status symbol, his usefulness
outmoded by changing fads.
Is he nature's result of a dog allowed to run the streets because of the
mistaken philosophy that "dogs should be free and not confined"?
The person who felt his female was entitled to have at least one litter
should be advised that at least one of the dogs he felt she was entitled to
have, has laid down on the floor of a cement cage to die -- unwanting and
unwanted. The parents who gave their children the benefit of seeing the
miracle of birth didn't complete the lesson. Their children didn't get to
see the miracle of death and how it is slowly putting an end to this creature
they caused to be brought into this world.
The parents who hoped a new puppy would teach responsibility to their child
should know that the living, breathing being that they gave to their child
has almost breathed his last. Yes, they should have waited until their child
demonstrated his ability to assume responsibility before placing a life in
his hands.
And to the limp body on that cold cement floor -- what can I say to you, old
fellow? What excuses can I offer for the suffering you have endured? How
can I justify your existence? But it really doesn't matter to you anymore,
does it? You don't even feel the ticks sucking the last vestiges of life
from your veins. We don't deserve to be your best friend, do we boy?
