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 Below are a some poems that
you should read...they will move you.
BYE BABY
No more lonely cold nights or
hearing that I'm bad
No more growling belly from the
meals I never had
No more scorching sunshine with a
water bowl that's dry
No more complaining neighbors
about the noise when I cry
No more hearing "shut up", "get
down" or " get out of here!"
No more feeling disliked, only
peace is in the air
Euthanaisa is a blessing, though
some still can't see
why I was ever born if I weren't
meant to be
My last day of living was the best
I ever had
Someone held me very close, I
could see she was very sad
I kissed the lady's face, and she
hugged me as she cried
I wagged my tail to thank her,
then I closed my eyes and died
Written by an Animal shelter
volunteer in Massena, NY
HOW COULD YOU?
Copyright Jim Willis 2001
When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you
laugh. 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 belly rub.
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 have 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 goodbye 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 dog speak, 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.
The End
A note from the author:
If "How Could You?" brought tears to your eyes as you read it,
as it did to mine as I wrote it, it is because it is the composite story
of the millions of formerly owned pets who die each year in America's
shelters. Anyone is welcome to distribute the essay for a non-commercial
purpose, as long as it is properly attributed with the copyright notice.
Please use it to help educate, on your websites, in newsletters, on animal
shelter and vet office bulletin boards. I appreciate receiving copies of
newsletters which reprint "How Could You?" or "The Animals' Savior," sent
to me at the last postal address below. Tell the public that the decision
to add a pet to the family is an important one for life, that animals
deserve our love and sensible care, that finding another appropriate home
for your animal is your responsibility and any local humane society or
animal welfare league can offer you good advice, and that all life is
precious. Please do your part to stop the killing, and encourage all spay
& neuter campaigns in order to prevent unwanted animals.
Thank you, Jim Willis Director, The Tiergarten Sanctuary Trust,
accredited member of The American Sanctuary Association, and Program
Coordinator, International Society for Animal Rights. email: jwillis@bellatlantic.net
The Longest Walk
A Day In The Life Of A Humane Society Employee
by Teri Campbell - Reprinted with express written permission
It is Wednesday afternoon. I make my weekly walk through our shelter and
contemplate the number of animals we'll be able to bring into here
tomorrow. Four cages in the dog's kennel area, two in the isolation room
and three empty cat cages are available. Depending on the size of the
available dogs, it appears as though we'll have nine to thirteen openings
this week. We've had several adoptions in the last few days and are lucky
to have this much space available. It's never enough though...if every
single cage were open it would still not be enough. There are always more
unwanted animals than we can hours
It's Thursday morning now. A morning like every other morning except for
the weekly task that looms before me every Thursday. You see, part of my
job is to go to the Harrison County Animal Control Center and "choose"
animals there to take to our Humane Society Shelter...animals scheduled to
die on Friday morning...more animals than we have room for.
There is a full house of animals at the Animal Control Center this week.
As I walk down the gravel road that separates our facilities I can hear
them barking and see some of them in their outside cages. Every single
cage is filled to capacity with several animals in each one. Animals that
never asked to be on this earth or in this place.
When I open the door to the kennel area, I am greeted by a chorus of
excited doggy voices. They each seem to beckon me to "look at me, choose
me, love me....."
In run one is a large litter (9) of chow mix puppies, each one equally
adorable. Run two holds a very old Golden Retriever, two small briar
scarred Beagles and a shy German Shepherd. Run three holds four dogs held
for biting and four has two Terrier mix puppies, five shepherd crosses and
a small puppy so mixed in breed no recognizable one can be named.
Run five holds several dogs unavailable for adoption at this time and six
holds twelve different puppies varying in size, shape and breed. Each one
competes for my attention, providing antics to convince me to pay
attention to just them.
As I start down the second side of the shelter, my heart drops. Run seven
holds four confiscated dogs whose owner is being charged with cruelty to
animals. These particular ones have been starved. Two large, withered
Coonhounds and an old shrunken Beagle lay together in the corner of the
cage and a pregnant female Coonhound lies on the outside. The female is so
thin each rib is apparent. Her hair is dull and lifeless as is her eyes.
She barely has the confidence to look me in the eyes and I am glad. I'm
glad because I don't want to see the pain that lives inside of them...glad
because I am ashamed that one of "my kind" did this to her.
Her stomach protrudes awkwardly from her thin body...almost pulling her to
the ground because of her weakened state. Food bowls are filled to
capacity but these animals no longer have the desire to eat and are so ill
the food goes untouched. As I turn to go, the pregnant females tail slaps
ever so slightly against the concrete floor. As cruel and horrific as
mankind has been to her, she still longs for the kind word or soft pet she
knows must be in them.
Runs eight through twelve hold more of the same. Relinquished pets who
aren't "cute" anymore or who ate little Jimmy's favorite toy. The St.
Bernard mix who "got bigger than we expected (?)" and puppy after puppy
whose owners thought they could find a home for them but couldn't. Puppies
who have never known love or a real master and who for the majority of
them, never will. Older dogs ready to die whose owners either didn't have
or wouldn't spend the money it would take to put them to sleep at a
private veterinarians office. I see dogs who are frightened, depressed and
unable to understand why they are here and where their master has
gone...dogs who because they are so withdrawn, will not find a new master
in time.
Now I must "choose". I walk into run one and bend down to examine the chow
mix puppies. When I get to floor level, my lap is filled with the
wiggling, licking puppies. Each lick says thank you...each glance one of
pure adoration. I choose four, two boys and two girls, choosing simply by
sex as each one is equally wonderful.
Many of the animals I am looking at are too sick to be adopted out and
therefore must be passed over by me as well. Their illnesses are caused
oftentimes by the negligent way they were treated before they came here.
Many die of parasites and controllable diseases that could have been
prevented had they only received a little care...a worming or a
vaccination.
In run three I take the two terrier mixes and the small unrecognizable
breed. From run five I take a lab mix puppy, a half grown German Shepherd
and two cocker crosses. I only have two spots left and I've just finished
side one! I retrieve a Boxer mix from run nine and in twelve a Beagle
puppy. I've reached my limit but there are so many more left. The animals
look at me hopefully, wagging their tails and bouncing against the cage
fronts. "Don't leave," they seem to say, "I'll be a good friend to you if
you'll only let me try." I try to avoid their eyes and actions and remain
focused on the fact that I was able to save the thirteen dogs in tow. I
try not to hear their cries...try to pretend they're not back there...the
way so many do when they leave them here.
I enter the cat area expecting the worst and I am not disappointed. Every
cage is filled with every color and age assortment imaginable. I only have
three available cages and there are at least thirty five animals in these
cages. I pick three tiny kittens (I can put them in one cage and still
have two choices left), a large white female about one year old and a
large black and white neutered male whose owners "suddenly developed
allergies."
My two kennel technicians walk over to help bring our pets to the shelter.
Eighteen animals will be taken out of here by us this week (an unusually
large amount) and we are still leaving over fifty animals behind that are
available for adoption. Why can't we make people realize there is
absolutely no reason to let their animals breed indiscriminately? I only
wish they could see what we see every week of every year.
We take our charges to the shelter and settle them in their new temporary
homes. Each one is given a raised platform or a soft carpet to lie on, a
full food dish and fresh water, a chew and a toy or two. Shots and worm
medicine are administered and baths are given. It's been a long day for us
all. The animals settle into their new surroundings and we go home.
It's Friday now. If possible this day is often worse than the last. This
is the day of the week that the animals we left behind are killed. We
drive our cars by the closed facility and try not to imagine what is
happening inside. Before long, we can hear the doors open and a thudding
sound...a sound we know all too well. You see, this is the sound of their
now lifeless bodies hitting the bottom of the truck that will take them to
their final stop. The sound of the many creatures who only yesterday
looked to me for comfort...who asked me to choose them...who only wanted
one last chance.
I try very hard to focus on the good we do. I don't want to downplay the
tremendous effort it takes to save and place the many animals we have, but
I cannot forget the ones I didn't save...the occupants of the truck that
leaves the Animal Control Center every week.
I walk back to the dog runs and view our newest arrivals. Everyone has had
their cage cleaned, eaten breakfast and are now napping or pulling on
their littermate's tail. I bend down to the little Beagle I just brought
in. She gratefully licks my hand and then my cheek. Her eyes are so full
of adoration and gratefulness. I try to look past the tears in my own and
for one moment forget that I'll have to do this again next week.
I
Found Your Dog Today...
(author unknown)
I found your dog today. No, he has not been adopted by anyone.
Most of us who live out here own as many dogs as we want,
those who do not own dogs do so because they choose not to.
I know you hoped he would find a good home when you left him out here,
but he did not. When I first saw him he was miles from the nearest house
and he was alone, thirsty, thin and limping from a burr in his paw.
How I wish I could have been you as I stood before him. To see his tail
wag and his eyes brighten as he bounded into your arms, knowing you
would find him, knowing you had not forgotten him. To see the
forgiveness in his eyes for the suffering and pain he had known in his
never-ending quest to find you...but I was not you. And despite all my
persuasion, his eyes see a stranger. He did not trust. He would not
come.
He turned and continued his journey; one he was sure would bring him to
you. He does not understand you are not looking for him. He only knows
you are not there, he only knows he must find you. This is more
important than food or water or the stranger who can give him these
things.
Persuasion and pursuit seemed futile; I did not even know his name. I
drove home, filled a bucket with water and a bowl with food and returned
to where we had met. I could see no sign of him, but I left my offering
under the tree where he had sought shelter from the sun and a chance to
rest. You see, he is not of the desert. When you domesticated him, you
took away any instinct of survival out here. His purpose demands that he
travel during the day. He doesn't know that the sun and heat will claim
his life. He only knows that he has to find you.
I waited hoping he would return to the tree; hoping my gift would build
an element of trust so I might bring him home, remove the burr from his
paw, give him a cool place to lie and help him understand that the part
of his life with you is now over. He did not return that morning and at
dusk the water and food were still there untouched. And I worried. You
must
understand that many people would not attempt to help your dog.
Some would run him off, others would call the county and
the fate you thought you saved him from would be preempted
by his suffering for days without food or water.
I returned again before dark. I did not see him. I went again early the
next morning only to find the food and water still untouched. If only
you were here to call his name. Your voice is so familiar to him. I
began pursuit in the direction he had taken yesterday, doubt
overshadowing my hope of finding him. His search for you was desperate,
it could take him many miles in 24 hours.
It is hours later and a good distance from where we first met, but I
have found your dog. His thirst has stopped, it is no longer a torment
to him. His hunger has disappeared, he no longer aches. The burrs in his
paws bother him no more. Your dog has been set free from his burdens,
you see, your dog has died.
I kneel next to him and I curse you for not being here yesterday so I
could see the glow, if just for a moment, in those now vacant eyes. I pray
that his journey has taken him to that place I think you hoped he would
find. If only you knew what he went through to reach it...and I agonize,
for I know, that were he to awaken at this moment, and (if) I were to be
you, his eyes would sparkle with recognition and his tail would wag with
forgiveness
Is that too much to ask???
by Sheryl
When you wake in the
morning, Please stop and pet me! Or is that to much to ask?
When you come to the
kitchen, To get your first cup of that
smelly stuff, Please give me a drink of water! Or is that to much
to ask?
As you fry that long
strip of stuff with that wonderful smell, Could you give me some
dog chow, Or is that to much to ask?
As I bring you my ball
could you take it and toss it? Or is that to much to ask?
As you go to work and
leave me for the day,Could you pet me and tell me you will be home
soon. Or is that to much to ask?
When You come home at
night tired and sit on the sofa,Can I sit with
you? Or is that to much to ask?
When I'm not feeling good
Will you make it all better? Or is that to much to ask?
If this is to much to
ask, then please can I ask you to
find me a home where it's not to much to ask?
Author: Sheryl
"TODAY"
by
Cynethia
Reprints with permission
I
was born today. One of 10. My daddy was very famous. I have lots of half
brothers and sisters. My mother is very famous. Since she got famous,
she has only had puppies. No more loving hands, no more fun trips....just
puppies. She is always sad when they leave her.
I left home today. I didn't want to go, so I hid behind my mama and my
three litter mates that were left. I didn't like you. But one day they
said I would be famous. I wonder; is famous the same as fun and good
times? So you picked me up and carried me away, even though you were
concerned about me hiding from you. I don't think you like me.
My new home is far away. I am scared and afraid. My heart says BE BRAVE.
My ancestors were. Did they go to good homes like mine? I'm hungry
because I can't eat too much because it will be bad for my bones. I can't
bite or snap when the children are mean to me. I just run and play and
pretend I am in a big green field with butterflies and robins and frogs.
I can't understand why they kick me. I am quiet, but the man hits and
says loud things. The lady doesn't feed me good things like I had with my
mother. She just throws dry food on the ground, then goes away before I
can get too close for touching and petting. Sometimes my food smells bad
but I eat it anyway.
Today I had 10 puppies. They are so wonderful and warm. Am I famous now?
I wish I could play with them, but they are so tiny. I am so young and
playful that it is hard to lay here in this hole under the house nursing
my puppies.. They are crying now. I am so hungry. I scratch and worry my
fur. I wish someone would throw me some food. I am also very thirsty. I
now have eight. Two got cold during the night and I couldn't make them
warm again. They are gone. We are all very weak. Maybe if I take them
out on the porch, we can get some food.
Today they took us away. It was too much trouble to feed us and someone
came to take us away. Someone grabbed my puppies, they were crying and
whimpering. We were put in a truck with boxes in it. Are my babies famous
now? I hope so, because I miss them. They are gone.
They place smelled of urine, fear and sickness. Why was I here? I was
beautiful, like my ancestors. Now I am hungry, dirty, in pain and
unwanted. Maybe the worst is unwanted. No one came though I tried to be
good.
Today someone came. They put a rope on my neck and led me to a room that
was very clean and had a shiny table. They put me on the table. Someone
hugged me. It felt so good!!! Then I felt tired and laid over the last
one who cared. I AM FAMOUS NOW. Today someone cared.
DO I GO HOME TODAY?
by Sandi Thompson
Reprinted with permission
My family brought me home cradled in their arms.
They cuddled me and smiled at me and said I was full of charm. They played
with me and laughed with me and showered me with toys. I sure do love my
family, especially the girls and boys. The children loved to feed me, they
gave me special treats. They even let me sleep with them - all snuggled in
the sheets.
I used to go for walks, often several times a
day.
They even fought to hold the leash, I'm very proud to say.
These are the things I'll not forget - a cherished memory,
because I now live in the shelter - without my family.
They used to laugh and praise me when I played with that old shoe. But I
didn't know the difference between the old ones and the new.
The kids and I would grab a rag, for hours we
would tug.
So I thought I did the right thing when I chewed the bedroom rug.
They said that I was out of control, and would
have to live outside. This I did not understand, although I tried and
tried.
The walks stopped, one by one; they said they hadn't time.
I wish that I could change things, I wish I knew my crime.
My life became so lonely, in the back yard, on a chain.
I barked and barked, all day long, just to keep from going insane.
So they brought me to the shelter, but were embarrassed to say why. They
said I caused an allergy, then they each kissed me goodbye.
If I'd only had some classes, when I was
just a little pup,
then I would have been a better dog when I was all grown up.
"You only have one day left." I heard the worker say.
Does that mean I have a second chance? DO I GO HOME TODAY?
Only A Dog!
by Flora & Reba
Do
you remember thinking it was time that the kids learned some
responsibility and scanning the newspaper ads for a cheap dog for sale? Do
you remember bringing home this little ball of shivering fur and putting
her out in the yard on a chain that was too heavy on a night that was too
cold? Of course you don't remember this. After all, she is only a dog.
Do you
remember this baby crying because she was afraid and alone? Do you
remember screaming at her to be quiet and finally going out there to kick
her to drive home the lesson? Of course you don't remember this. After
all, she is only a dog.
Do you
remember the many times you noticed her water bowl was empty and her food
bowl was covered with mold and thinking that it was the kids' job to take
care of her? Do you remember seeing that her coat was dull and lifeless
and, in many places, chewed away down to the skin because of the parasites
no one took the time to rid her of? Of course you don't remember this.
After all, she is only a dog.
Do you
remember her first heat and the neighbor's male visiting her night after
night? Do you remember thinking that letting her have the puppies would be
a good experience for the kids? Do you remember that every one of those
pups died because their mother was no more than a puppy herself? Of course
you don't remember this. After all, she is only a dog.
I know
you remember the animal control officer coming to the house, accusing you
of animal cruelty and taking her away because you couldn't understand what
all the fuss was about. After all, she is only a dog.
I
thought you might be interested in how this girl is doing today. You see,
once she found a home that gave her love, attention and proper care, she
blossomed into a beautiful, loyal companion. To these people, she is much
more than only a dog.
She
became a therapy dog and now goes to nursing homes and hospices where she
brightens the lives of the infirm and dying. To some of these people, she
has given hope. To others, she's given them a reason to keep living. To
even others, she's given them the will to die peacefully, with a smile on
their lips. To these people, she is much more than only a dog.
Just
last week, she helped find a little boy that was lost in the woods. She
spent a long, cold winter's night, lying over him to keep him warm and
risked her own life to protect his. To this little boy and his family, she
is much more than only a dog.
What
is the difference? Why did that filthy, flea ridden animal chained in your
backyard suddenly become so important to so many? Because she never gave
up her trust in people and she never once thought, "After all, he is only
a human."
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