I Cried at Work Today I work in an animal shelter that houses between 350 and 400 animals on any given day. We are an SPCA that also has the added responsibility of animal control for our city. I work in the Community Affairs Department as the Special Events Coordinator, so I don’t have the hard job.
I don’t have to deal with the cruelty cases – they are the dogs ripped apart by other dogs in the name of sport. Man’s puny ego inflated by the violence of his dog. There is the puppy that was beaten into a coma because at eight weeks old she wasn’t housebroken. There is the cat left in the house after the owners moved, only to starve to death. Someone broke into the house when they heard the cries. It was too late. There is the dog that had acid thrown in his eyes. That poor kitten’s only mistake was trusting a boy.
I don’t have to deal with the owner surrenders either. I don’t ask the question, why are you giving him up? So I don’t have to hear their response…oh, we got new carpet and the cat’s hair doesn’t match the color; oh, the kids are in school, we don’t need her anymore; my son didn’t finish his homework, I told him I would do this! (What you taught him was a life is expendable and disposable!) "The food attracts roaches." (HA! I have five dogs and a pot-bellied pig and I don’t have roaches! Yet, I couldn’t tell them this.)
I don’t have to deal with the clinic – I didn’t see the two dogs, caught in a house fire, after they rushed through the front doors. The smell of burnt hair and flesh hung in the air for hours.
I’m not the veterinarian whose job it is to decide who will live, who will die when space for the newly unwanted is necessary.
I don’t have to deal with the kennel either – I don’t clean the diarrhea from the kennel floors every morning because the food is not what they are accustomed to. I don’t have to hold the animals that were scheduled to die the day before. I don’t have to put the needle in their leg as they look up with trusting eyes. I don’t have to push the shopping cart of corpses to the incinerator. I don’t have to throw the corpses in and I don’t have to clean it out for the next cartload.
There are some things worse than death, I believe this.
I walked through the kennel today and cried as I saw a beautiful Australian Shepherd puppy, with ice blue eyes, playing with his own tail. He did not know he was a stray. This one will get a home soon. The puppy in the cage next to him might not. He is so ordinary.
I cried when I saw the litter of five. Why did the people allow their dog to have a litter of puppies if they were just going to drop them off here? I wonder. Oh, I get it, to teach their children about the cycle of life. Life with no responsibility? Good lesson Mom and Dad.
I cried as the dog, so happy last week, just raised his head and looked. All his enthusiasm lost. At onetime he would greet those nearing his cage door, but they just walk on by. So disappointed, he stopped trying. He learned; they all learn eventually. His card reads “stray.” I cried, as I wondered why his owner has not come for him. It’s been three weeks!!!! Will they come and save him?
Then there is Penny. Her owner died. She is nine. I cried.
Then I got angry, but that doesn’t help. Anger stops the pain, that’s good. But no, it stops all feeling, that isn’t good. So I cry.
Make a difference where you can and cry for the rest.
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