In 1982, I was living in Laramie, Wyoming, and decided to take a class on “how to get published.” The teacher was Donald Murray, a Pulitzer-winning journalist. I was not really certain why I was taking the class other than the opportunity to be guided by someone who could write well enough to win such a prestigious award. In retrospect, I think it was my writing blood yearning for an outlet.

My assignment for the class was to choose two topics, write them up as a query to a publisher, and submit the final for publication. Having no idea what to write about, I decided to write about what I did know—animals.

Topic Number One was a story about my pet rats (which ultimately resulted in a cooking column for the University of WA student paper, a story for another time).

For Topic Number Two, I approached the local animal shelter and asked if I could research an article about the shelter and the animals they tried to save. They agreed, and I spent a week tracking the animal residents, looking for the angle that would result in a good story. I got more than I expected.

But before the final choice of story was made, there were others that did not get told. The Laramie Animal Shelter is a city shelter, and like so many others across the United States, small and underfunded. Staffed by dedicated and hardworking men and women who did their best to make the right choices and care lovingly for the many animals that came their way—an overwhelming tide of animals. At that time, over 10 million animals were euthanized in shelters every year due to a lack of enough homes. The Laramie Animal Shelter was no exception; as of 1982, an average of 25 percent of its dogs and 12 percent of its cats had to be euthanized.

Most of the 24 cages and 35 kennels at the shelter are usually filled. The animals are well taken care of, but they lack one thing—a loving owner. Everywhere you go, the paws reach out for you, and the eyes of the animals are filled with the hope that you might be the one they are looking for.

As I cruised the aisles, face after furry face stared back at me. The dogs would lunge joyfully toward me in hopes that I was the answer to their canine prayers. Number 4717, an eight-month-old puppy, was no different. For every visitor, she put on a tail-wagging exhibition guaranteed to soften the hardest heart.

My attention was caught by one large black dog who did not greet me eagerly; he huddled in the back of his cage, and his gaze spoke volumes to my heart—he wanted to trust but was no longer sure he could.

I took notes of the numbers on each cage and the occupant and asked the shelter workers what background stories they had. Most dogs had been found wandering; numbers increased dramatically during the summer. Tourists frequently left Fido behind by the side of the highway. Apparently, a dog was too much trouble to take care of while having fun on vacation. One story that stood out for its special lack of humanity was the dog surrendered because the owners had redecorated, and he did not match the new décor.

The cats were less effusive in their greetings but nonetheless hopeful. My gaze was caught by one way up top, who peered down at me and meowed. The size of his big apple head belied the information on the cage that he was female, and when I questioned a shelter worker, his sex was double-checked, and it was discovered that she was a he. My question bought him another week of life and the possibility that he might find a good, loving home.

Every week, there are animals that have to be euthanized to make room for more, an unending cycle. I spent a great deal of time interviewing the shelter workers, asking about their lives and how they handled the difficult task they had chosen to do. One worker said, “You get used to it, but you never get to the point where you can accept it.” Another stated, “Sometimes I almost cry if I have to put an animal to sleep by myself. I look at it this way: I would rather put an animal to sleep than have it be pregnant or be a puppy out in the cold, be hit by a car, come down with disease, or be neglected.”

Much as I dreaded the thought, I finally asked the workers if I could be present when the next group of animals was euthanized. I felt as though I would be letting the animals down if I were too much of an emotional coward to witness the reality of what happens when a lack of spaying, neutering, and proper education results in overpopulation. The workers were concerned as to how I might respond and were reluctant at first to agree to my presence. Ultimately, they made me promise that I would not cry—a promise that I sincerely hoped that I could keep.

When I arrived that day, I was understandably nervous, and as it turned out, I was about to get my story.

The cats were first; a paw was pulled out of the cage, and the injection was administered quickly. Next were five dogs, and puppy Number 4717 was among them. One by one, each of the four dogs was placed on the examination table and given an injection to the heart. Each dropped instantly. It was all so quick and business-like that I was able to hold strong emotionally as I had promised, although I imagined that I would pay for my current emotional distance later, in private.

And then it was Number 4717’s turn. And the injection missed the heart, as sometimes happens. She did not drop instantly; it would take more time for the injection to take effect. So, they put her down on the floor to wander freely, and everyone continued on with their morning chores.

The puppy was thrilled to be out and ran from person to person, tail wagging happily. Her movements got slower and slower. Finally, she went to the man washing up the food bowls, and with a quiet sigh, she laid her head upon his foot and died.

At that point, I lost it; to honor my promise, I went to cry in the bathroom. Even now, as I write this, I am crying—even after all these years. I will never forget that moment as long as I live, one that spoke so eloquently of all the years of devotion and love those shelter animals had to offer, lifetimes that now would never be.

When I emerged from the bathroom, somewhat under control, the bodies of all the euthanized dogs and cats had been laid out in neat rows in the garage in preparation for transport to the city dump. Their bodies would be tossed into an earthen pit alongside road-killed animals, and some dirt would be bulldozed over them.

Lest you think this heartless, the city did what they could with what budget they had. There was not enough money to cremate the animals; this method of disposal was quite common in rural areas. It was tough to stay, but I hung in there, feeling as though my presence at least bore witness to the lives of these animals, victims in a quiet war on overpopulation, and gave them some honor in their passing. They did not go unmourned; I cried for them and the countless others who had gone before and the untold numbers yet to come.

Here is the original beginning of “The Animals Are Waiting At the Shelter” and the epitaph that I wrote for the puppy:

“Number 4714 waited for her owner for five days.

“No one came.

“She waited another five days for someone to adopt her. Again, no one came. She was given a shot of Sleepaway, and at the age of eight months, the black and white puppy went permanently to sleep with her head resting on the feet of the only person who cared, an officer of the Laramie Animal Shelter.”

At the time that article was submitted to my professor, Donald Murray, he thought it was well written but suggested that there could be more emotional appeal in it. I disagreed, wanting to reach people with logic. In retrospect, I realize that deep down, I was scared to expose myself emotionally; I just was not brave enough.

Now, years later, I realize that someone else besides the shelter workers cared; I did, and I still do. I now have the emotional chops and the courage as a writer to dare to share how I felt. This new article was written in hopes that my words will inspire others to care and to take action.

I wanted to thank Professor Murray for his encouragement and let him know that his guidance made a difference. Looking him up, I discovered he had passed away in 2006 at 82, immersed in an internet project to mentor aspiring writers. Wherever you are now, Prof. Murray, I hope you are pleased that I finally took your advice to heart and put mine out there in hopes of making a difference.

We have made progress in the intervening years; now, only 4 million animals are euthanized each year due in part to aggressive spaying and neutering programs, but that is still 4 million too many. The bad guys are not the shelters but unknowing or uncaring people who add animals to an already taxed population.

It is not enough to just spay or neuter the companion you adopt. The choice you make when you adopt a pet could take a home away from a shelter animal in need.

Here are a few suggestions on how you can help:

• Check with rescue organizations before purchasing or adopting a puppy or kitten; there are too many adults needing homes.

• Want to adopt a purebred dog or cat? Do your research on the breed that fits your family lifestyle best. Never buy from backyard breeders.

• Encourage your neighbors to spay and neuter; while they may love Fluffy so much that they want kittens like her and feel educating their children in the miracle of birth is a good lesson, the harsh reality is the birth of those kittens means fewer homes for animals on death row.

• Share this article with as many people as possible, whether they have pets or not. They may be in a position to help educate someone else.

• Got feral cats in your neighborhood? There are Trap Neuter Release (TNR) organizations that can help you get them spayed or neutered.

Dare to care and show that you care—you can make a difference!

Postscript: After he ran out of time for the second time, I adopted the male cat initially mistakenly identified as a female. He was a big, loving mush-bucket of a tiger cat, and we named him O’Malley. Goes to show you the power of a single glance!

>>>>>>

Learn how to connect more deeply with animals, restore balance to your life, increase intuitive skills, and help heal the Earth with live Reiki and shamanic teleclasses, available worldwide.

>>>>>>

SHARE THIS ARTICLE
You are welcome to share this article with others by email, on your blog or to your mailing list so long as you leave it intact and do not alter it in any way. All links must remain in the article. And, you must include the copyright notice and the bio.

©2009 Rose De Dan. All Rights Reserved. www.reikishamanic.com

A WILD WAY TO HEAL
Rose De Dan, Wild Reiki and Shamanic Healing LLC, is an animal communicator, Reiki Master Teacher, shamanic energy healer, and author. Her classes, sessions and ceremonial work are inspired by wild and domestic animals who have issued a call to action for personal and global healing.

Her book Tails of a Healer: Animals, Reiki and Shamanism features heartwarming stories about animals and their role in her evolution as an energy worker and shamanic healer.

Save

Save