Buying a pet for X-mas?

[Hard Truth]

Please don't, adopt from a shelter instead.

 

truncated for space

 

BY TY PHILLIPS

BEE STAFF WRITER

Last Updated: June 11, 2006, 05:30:22 AM PDT

 

It is early morning at the Stanislaus County Animal Shelter. And for you, the animal care specialist, the day opens in minor chords.

 

You walk to the computer and print out the list of dogs that fill dozens of the agency's kennels. You sit there with your coffee, highlighting in yellow marker the ones that have been here for five days. They've all got a story.

 

Someone stopped loving him. No one ever loved her. He got too big. She started chewing on sprinklers. He bit a child. Her owner is out of town, and the house sitter noticed the dog got out but didn't bother to call the shelter. Whatever happened, it doesn't matter now: Their time is up.

 

You move to the first noisy cage. As you open the door, a few dogs try to escape, while others cram themselves into the far corners to avoid you. Everyone on the outside says the animals have no idea what's coming, but you've seen too much proof to the contrary. Yes, on some sad level, they know.

 

You squeeze into the cage and slip your leash, your noose, around the neck of one. You lead him back to the gate and open it just enough for you to squeeze through. You pull his head closer to the gate, and get ready. Then you jerk him out quickly and slam the door so the others don't get out. He's scared and whimpering, looking around frantically, but he does what he's told and follows you, faithfully, to the end of the line.

 

The killing room is a large, cold place with a small row of metal cages along one of the concrete walls. There's a large, stainless-steel table in one corner, holding syringes, needles and bottles of tranquilizer and Fatal Plus, a solution of sodium pentobarbital that usually kills within seconds.

 

As a co-worker readies the syringe, you're kneeling, holding the dog still, cuffing one leg with your hand. Sometimes you have to fight them. Sometimes the battle is so fierce, you resort to forcing them between a gate hinged on a wall, immobilizing them long enough so you can get the needle in.

 

But not this time. This one's calm. He trusts you. He even gives you his paw: He's obviously someone's pet. So you stroke his head softly as the co-worker finds a vein. Then, just like that, he melts in your arms. You grab his paw again and drag his limp body to a corner.

 

One by one, you lay them out on the cement floor. One by one. Though county records show roughly 15,000 animals are killed each year at the shelter, it's a number, like eternity, that defies comprehension. But when one considers the solitary act of each animal death, and the people who do the dirty work, the number 15,000 comes into better focus. One death is a tragedy; anything more than that is just a statistic.

 

On this morning, and every morning, there will be about 15 to 20 of these canine executions, not counting the ones that come in throughout the day that are injured or unadoptable. As you walk to the cages to retrieve another, the anger swells inside you. Because you know most of this daily ritual easily could be avoided. Spay and neuter, people, you say to yourself.

 

Spay and neuter!

 

(edited for space)

One by one. One after another. You stack the singles into piles. You load the piles into 55-gallon barrels. You push the barrels into the walk-in freezer, where rows and rows of barrels fill completely about twice a week. The barrels are emptied into trucks. It's like a factory here. And they call this a shelter?

 

The stench of death permanently haunts the air: It's a dull fragrance you won't forget the rest of your life. Someday years from now, you'll be served food at a restaurant, and something will trigger the memory of that awful smell. Just like that, the meal will be over. You wash your hands incessantly; trouble is, what you're trying to clean doesn't go away with soap and water. That would take a psychologist, better than the one you have.

 

An hour into it, you're nearing the last of the morning's kill. Next up is an adorable pop-eyed Chihuahua you had thought someone might claim. Or adopt. You start for her, but then you make a grave mistake: You look into her eyes. In a flash, your mind acknowledges that this is a living, breathing thing. Damn dog, now she's under your skin.

 

Suddenly, you can't bring yourself to do it. Not this one. Your back yard already brims with the dogs and cats you've personally spared over the years, and there's simply no more room. So, you sneak her off the list and move her to another kennel. Your day off is tomorrow, and you just put it out of your mind. That's all you can do.

 

Now, through the bars, you spot the big mongrel. You squeeze into the cage, and he moves away. He's scared and hungry; he's not the alpha male in this lot, so he hasn't eaten in five days. And who knows what he went through before he ended up here? So you kneel and call to him in a pleasant voice. Now he's wagging his tail because he thinks you're going to rescue him from this awful place.

 

You get him outside and pet him to try to keep him calm. But he's excited, jumping up and down, because you helped him out of the chaos. You're his friend now; he'll follow you anywhere. So you lead him toward the room and he trots along happily.

 

But halfway there, something shifts in him. You figure he's starting to smell that stench coming from the freezer. Yes, on some level, they know. He starts jerking his neck back, using his front legs to try to pull you back. The more you fight him, the more he realizes he should fight. So you drag him the rest of the way.

 

Once you get him into the room, he's still fighting pretty hard. Your arms are getting tired. To get him to the table, you both trip over piles of dead dogs that now cover the floor. Finally, you get him stopped. The soft talk helps a little, and you're able to hold him still enough for the co-worker to find a vein. Once it's in, you let go. He moves away, woozy. They don't always die immediately. He wanders over to the corpse of another dog, and sniffs it a little before collapsing onto the floor.

 

Spay and neuter, people!

 

Leaving the room, you remember something you wanted to tell a co-worker. She's working alone in the cat room, putting down several dozen to start her day. You open the door, but the scene makes you forget what you wanted to say. There she is, sitting in a corner, crying, surrounded by dozens of dead cats that litter the floor. You make eye contact and get ready to say something, but she waves you off. It's a quick shake of the head that says, "I'm fine; just leave me alone." So you do. For those who do this for a living, it's mostly business as usual, life goes on. But there are occasional meltdowns. Not to mention divorce, denial, alcoholism, nightmares, antidepressants and all sorts of other ugly side effects.

 

Walking away from the cat room, a simple question forms in your head, one that plagues you often throughout your days here: Does anybody care about animals? Anyone at all?

 

Inside, you know there are thousands of people, just like you, who cherish their pets and treat them like family. Or even royalty. Working here, you rarely see those folks. They take care of their animals.

(edited)

 

Or you get the people who pull up in a moving van to drop off their family pet, saying that they can't take the dog with them and that they were unable to find the animal a home. They drive away, conscious clear, leaving the dirty work for you. Like you're some kind of sin-eater.

 

And to think, you took this job because you wanted to save animals. Standing there at the kennels, lost in the flashbacks, you ask yourself again: Does anybody care?

 

Anyone at all?

 

A friendly face pops into your mind. Yes, there is one, you finally remember, trying to cheer yourself up. That poor young woman from the west side, the one who's been coming by twice a week for the last six months, looking for her beloved red Doberman pinscher. She keeps asking you, "How long should I keep looking?" And you keep telling her, "As long as your heart needs to." Who are you to take away hope?

 

And now, come to think of it, you did notice a nice-looking Doberman in the back kennels this morning. Nah, couldn't be, you think. He disappeared six months ago. But, needing a miracle, you go and check anyway. You look him over for a while. There is some red in his coat, but you're not certain.

 

Cautiously, you have someone call the woman. Be sure to tell her we're not sure, you say, but let her know we might have her dog. An hour later, the woman is scurrying through the hall toward the back kennels. You can barely keep up with her.

 

 

 

Just like that, this huge dog plasters itself against the chain-link fence, licking the fingers of a woman who's pressing herself against the fence, too. The scene is reminiscent of lovers on a beach. It's him, it's him, she keeps saying. All the while, this enormous dog is emitting the strangest high-pitched yipping you've ever heard, almost like a puppy.

 

Overcome with emotion, the woman sinks to the cement gutter and starts sobbing into her hands. You sit next to her to offer some comfort. Then, before you know it, you're right beside her, bawling uncontrollably. She's crying because her life is complete again. And you're crying because, after working this job, your life never will be the same. Because for every animal that leaves with its owner, half a dozen are hauled off in garbage trucks.

 

No, you think, wiping away the tears, this is no place for an animal lover.

 

Bee staff writer Ty Phillips can be reached at tphillips@modbee.com or 874-5716.

 

http://www.modbee.com/local/story/12305456p-13039272c.html

[blue2blue]

I'm a big believer in adoption/rescue.

 

And extremely antipathetic to those who breed for appearance.

 

 

Unlike my previous cats, who were either rescues or the kittens of my first adopted rescue, my current kitty was adopted from a friend of my mom's who was no longer in a position to keep her.

 

She's a Scottish Fold, a "pure breed" that started with a single mutant in 1961 -- although the breed is only recognized by an American cat fancier's association... UK and European organizations have either refused to recognize the breed or retracted recognition because of a very serious genetically passed degenerative joint disease that often results when two Fold's are interbred. (It's apparently not life-threatening -- but it can mean a very physically restricted and potentially uncomfortable life.

 

 

My deep antipathy to pure-breeders was only increased when, trying to find out more about this genetically passed disease, I read one major cat fancier organization's website.

 

Without even mentioning the disease or that such a genetic disease existed, these f------ a------- gave detailed instructions on how to buy a Scottish Fold, carefully checking for signs of the disease -- again, without even MENTIONING that such a disease existed and that it was promulgated by greedy breeders.

 

 

Happily, I was relieved to read a different organization's site that gave full info, stating that the disease typically onset in the cat's first year of life and that "responsible" breeders avoided breeding two "full" Scottish Folds together and Folds with the disease were now fairly rare. (My kitty, Sophie, is 6 years old and apparently healthy.)

 

But if the people who "started" the breed (one of them a self-described "geneticist" ) by inbreeding the progeny of that cat had simply let nature take its course, instead of breeding siblings and first cousins (!) -- this predisposition would have likely proceeded to die out.

 

 

 

Adopt. Rescue. Spay or neuter.

 

 

Do NOT support "pure-breeding" -- it is the source of "beautiful" animals who have unmanageable dispositions because of dysgenic manipulations or, increasingly, "beautiful" animals who are doomed to drastically shortened lifespans (take a look at Great Danes and some other large dogs) or lives of discomfort due to crippling genetic predispositions like the increasingly common crippler, hip dysplasia.

 

 

[My comments apply primarily to "breeding for appearance." I've known many fine examples of "working breed" dogs... dogs bred for shepherding and the like tend to be bred for intelligence, friendliness/gentleness, and health -- unlike "show" animals bred strictly for appearance.]

[kevinnem]

I have many thoughts on what you posted, ... most of them your not going to like.

 

Dogs exist for our enjoyment, we dont use them for work (any more), or fighting ect. They are our pets. and as much as people would like to look at them as have rights like humans do, they dont. Why is it better too adopt a dog that has issues, either phisical, or mental, then it is to get a "new" dog that can be trained fro the get go.

 

The choice to spay or nuter should be made by the owner, in THE OWNERS best interests. in many cases the owner is better off spaying their dog due to attidue reasons. If they want to breed that is thier bussiness not yours.

 

you say that pure dogs are bad, I dont agree. I have a english mastiff, and of almost any dog they have the most health issues I now of. does that mean that we should not allow preeding of any more of them. No, becausethey are still great pets, and die when they die. Why do you assume that a longer life span is inheaently better. are turtles better then humans?

 

Although the use of heart renching sad storys is effectively used in your post, animals are killed every day, in a clinic in the wild they die. Do you eat steak? I do , I love it. Pork too. I am not much of a tofu guy.

 

Lastly if you feel the need to help the world, conisder the poverty in 3 rd world contries, and conisder if our time is better invested in save human lifes, rather then dogs and cats.

[blue2blue]

It was certainly not my intent to make anyone feel bad about his pet, its background or how he aquired it. It's not my intent to make anyone feel guilty about past behavior but rather for them to consider alternatives to incentivizing puppy and kitten mills and irresponsible breeders.

 

 

I'm not a dominionist myself. I don't believe the world was created for me but rather that I am part of the world. I think this marks a fundamental divide in personal philosophies.

 

But I immediately care about dogs and cats primarily in their relationship to humans. A self-centered point of view in many ways.

 

I think those who breed for physical beauty are NOT ONLY putting their own extraordinarily shallow interests over the interests of the animal but more importantly they are inflicting more suffering on animals and their human companions in the future as well as weakening or even ruining the very breeds they claim to "love."

 

Think about all the beloved breeds of the past that have been made unmanageable by breeding for appearance. If you know your breed history, it's sobering indeed.

 

And I can't help but feel some of these pure-breed owners kill a little part of themselves when they put their beautiful animals down at the drop of a hat "to prevent its suffering" -- when all too often it appears to onlookers that the goal of early euthanasia is to save money on treatment for congenital conditions so they can go buy a beautiful replacement pet. I'd like to think those people are few but...

 

I suspect you think that makes me some kind of touchy-feely goody-two-shoes. I can assure you that is far from the case. I'll leave it at that.

 

 

PS - I'll certainly -- and readily -- agree with you that the world of suffering humanity can easily absorb all our efforts and more. What I'm talking about is being responsible NOW so that we will have happy, healthy relationships with our pets in the future and conserve our heroic efforts for that very same suffering humanity.

 

PPS - Please do have a happy and healthy holiday season and new year!

[Hard Truth]

I do disagree with much of what Kevenem said such as "Dogs exist for our enjoyment...They are our pets. and as much as people would like to look at them as have rights like humans do, they dont. "

 

Like all creatures, dogs and cats exist to experience life and to reproduce. Dogs and domestic cats have evolved along with humans, and humans and dogs and cats have a (usually) mutually beneficial partnership. It isn't practical or necessary to grant them all of the autonomy that we should allow for all humans, but I do think we have a responsibility to protect them from unncecessary suffering. There is no question in my mind that they experience pain, both physical and emotional, as much as we do. For that reason I do not consider certain practices acceptable-the docking of tails, the breeding of dogs that have trouble breathing (such as boxers etc.) or tendencies to pain or very short lives. I also don't think it is acceptable to leave a pack animal like a dog alone outside all day and night.

 

 

"Why is it better too adopt a dog that has issues, either phisical, or mental, then it is to get a "new" dog that can be trained fro the get go."

 

From the experiences of many people I have known, I have observed that buying a young dog from a breeder is not any guarantee of a good experience. And, almost everyone I know that has acquired a rescue dog has had a good experience. It is not difficult to find a very young dog from the pound. An adavantage of an older dog is that you can thoroughly assess its personality before committing to keep it.

 

"The choice to spay or nuter should be made by the owner, in THE OWNERS best interests. in many cases the owner is better off spaying their dog due to attidue reasons. If they want to breed that is thier bussiness not yours."

 

Many people who refuse to spay their pets let them get loose and cause an accidental pregnancy. Many people who allow their dogs to get pregnant just dump the puppies off at the pound, causing a burdon for taxpayers. People who breed species with a physical defects create a world with more misery.

 

Please-anyone considering acquiring a pet, go to the pound and determine whether the animals you reject deserve to die so you can go to a pet store or breeder to get a pure bred. (BTW there are often prebreds at the pound also) Buying a purebred without doing this first is cowardly.

[Hard Truth]

BY the way, I bet Kevinnem is a conservative or (if he was from the USA a republican).

[blue2blue]

Well... a lot of people consider me kind of conservative: I'm pro-free-enterprise, pro-free trade, for small, clean government, maximum personal and economic freedom, a businessman, and I'd LOVE to vote for a Republican I could respect.

 

[That said, I'm also dead-set against incompetence and corruption, unnecessary wars, and environmental degradation. I always say: A dead planet is bad for business. So I'm pretty much a free agent, politically, in the absence of viable candidates from my own grand ol' party who I can believe in and vote for. ]

 

 

But there IS a certain kind of person -- I know the kind you mean though I don't think Kevinnem is really that way -- who are drawn to what some have called reactionism-- a sort of involuntary response in opposition to anything seen to be an attempt at charity or tolerance or an attempt to help less fortunate people -- or animals. I grew up surrounded by it in Orange County, California, in the '50s.

 

It was, in ways, a reaction to the notion that well-intentioned do-gooders usually screwed things up worse through unintended consequences and that charity merely cripples the recipient.

 

But, of course, it's INCOMPETENCE which screws things up with unintended consequences and misguided, often guilt-driven charity or what was once called the "charity of expedience" -- buying off those whose lack of ability to provide for themselves and their families might soon lead to greater potential trouble -- buying them off with a dole instead of dealing with systemic issues that perpetuated the greater social problems.

 

 

I think there's much merit to hard work and self-help but I think there is such a thing as enlightened self-interest... the ability to see that what we do to help our neighbors -- even our enemies -- often helps us in ways that might not be obvious if one approaches life as a zero sum game.