FriendBurst Blog

I came across a powerful posting at the Facebook page for Don’t Shop…ADOPT!
today. Anymore, there are few things that I read that bring me to
tears. But I still have a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes from
these words.

I think that everyone should read this and I am lucky because I am
blessed with the opportunity to share the things that are dear to my
heart.

I am not re-writing this posting. It is long, but worth reading, and definitely worth sharing. The words speak volumes and they carry a profound impact.

This was written by someone that I do not know – the person was
discharged from the Navy and went to school for a new degree. One of the
required classes was speech and what follows came from this
individual’s final persuasive speech requirement.

Finally the semester was almost over and I had but one more speech to
give. This speech was to take the place of a written final exam and was
to count for fifty per cent of our grade. The speeches motivation was
to persuade. After agonizing over a subject matter, and keeping with my
animal theme, I decided on the topic of spaying and neutering pets. My
goal was to try to persuade my classmates to neuter their pets. So I
started researching the topic. There was plenty of material, articles
that told of the millions of dogs and cats that were euthanized every
year, of supposedly beloved pets that were turned in to various animal
control facilities for the lamest of reasons, or worse, dropped off far
from home, bewildered and scared. Death was usually a blessing.

The final speech was looming closer, but I felt well prepared. My
notes were full of facts and statistics that I felt sure would motivate
even the most naive of pet owners to succumb to my plea. A couple of
days before our speeches were due, I had the bright idea of going to the
local branch of the Humane Society and borrowing a puppy to use as a
sort of a visual aid. I called the Humane Society and explained what I
wanted. They were very happy to accommodate me. I made arrangements to
pick up a puppy the day before my speech. The day before my speech, I
went to pick up the puppy. I was feeling very confident. I could quote
all the statistics and numbers without ever looking at my notes. The
puppy, I felt, would add the final emotional touch.

When I arrived at the Humane Society I was met by a young guy named
Ron. He explained that he was the public relations person for the Humane
Society. He was very excited about my speech and asked if I would like a
tour of the facilities before I picked up the puppy. I enthusiastically
agreed. We started out in the reception area, which was the general
public’s initial encounter with the Humane Society.

The lobby was full, mostly with people dropping off various animals
that they no longer wanted. Ron explained to me that this branch of the
Humane Society took in about fifty animals a day and adopted out only
about twenty. As we stood there I heard snatches of conversation:

“I can’t keep him, he digs holes in my garden.”

“They are such cute puppies, I know you will have no trouble finding
homes for them.” “She is wild, I can’t control her.” I heard one of
Humane Society’s volunteer explain to the lady with the litter of
puppies that the Society was filled with puppies and that these puppies,
being black, would immediately be put to sleep.Black puppies, she
explained, had little chance of being adopted.

The woman who brought the puppies in just shrugged, “I can’t help
it,” she whined. “They are getting too big. I don’t have room for them.”
We left the reception area. Ron led me into the staging area where all
the incoming animals were evaluated for adoptability. Over half never
even made it to the adoption center. There were just too many. Not only
were people bringing in their own animals, but strays were also dropped
off. By law the Humane Society had to hold a stray for three days. If
the animal was not claimed by then, it was euthanized, since there was
no background information on the animal. There were already too many
animals that had a known history eagerly provided by their soon to be
ex-owners.

As we went through the different areas, I felt more and more
depressed. No amount of statistics, could take the place of seeing the
reality of what this throwaway attitude did to the living, breathing
animal. It was overwhelming. Finally Ron stopped in front of a closed
door. “That’s it,” he said, “except for this.” I read the sign on the
door. “Euthanasia Area.” “Do you want to see one?” he asked. Before I
could decline, he interjected, “You really should. You can’t tell the
whole story unless you experience the end.” I reluctantly agreed.
“Good.” He said, “I already cleared it and Peggy is expecting you.” He
knocked firmly on the door. A middle-aged woman in a white lab coat
opened it immediately. “Here’s the girl I was telling you about,” Ron
explained. Peggy looked me over. “Well, I’ll leave you here with Peggy
and meet you in the reception area in about fifteen minutes. I’ll have
the puppy ready.”

With that Ron departed, leaving me standing in front of the
stern-looking Peggy. Peggy motioned me in. As I walked into the room, I
gave an audible gasp. The room was small and spartan. There were a
couple of cages on the wall and a cabinet with syringes and vials of a
clear liquid. In the middle of the room was an examining table with a
rubber mat on top. There were two doors other than the one I had
entered. Both were closed. One said to incinerator room, and the other
had no sign, but I could hear various animals’ noises coming from behind
the closed door. In the back of the room, near the door that was marked
incinerator were the objects that caused my distress: two wheelbarrows,
filled with the bodies of dead kittens and puppies. I stared in horror.
Nothing had prepared me for this. I felt my legs grow weak and my
breathing become rapid and shallow. I wanted to run from that room,
screaming. Peggy seemed not to notice my state of shock. She started
talking about the euthanasia process, but I wasn’t hearing her. I could
not tear my gaze away from the wheelbarrows and those dozens of pathetic
little bodies.

Finally, Peggy seemed to notice that I was not paying attention to
her. “Are you listening?” she asked irritably. “I’m only going to go
through this once.” I tore my gaze from the back of the room and looked
at her. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing would come out,
so I nodded. She told me that behind the unmarked door were the animals
that were scheduled for euthanasia that day. She picked up a chart that
was hanging from the wall. “One fifty-three is next,” she said as she
looked at the chart. “I’ll go get him.” She laid down the chart on the
examining table and started for the unmarked door. Before she got to the
door she stopped and turned around. “You aren’t going to get
hysterical, are you?” she asked, “Because that will only upset the
animals.” I shook my head. I had not said a word since I walked into
that room. I still felt unsure if I would be able to without breaking
down into tears. As Peggy opened the unmarked door I peered into the
room beyond. It was a small room, but the walls were lined and stacked
with cages. It looked like they were all occupied. Peggy opened the door
of one of the lower cages and removed the occupant. From what I could
see it looked like a medium-sized dog. She attached a leash and ushered
the dog into the room in which I stood. As Peggy brought the dog into
the room I could see that the dog was no more than a puppy, maybe five
or six months old. The pup looked to be a cross between a Lab and a
German shepherd. He was mostly black, with a small amount of tan above
his eyes and on his feet. He was very excited and bouncing up and down,
trying to sniff everything in this new environment. Peggy lifted the pup
onto the table. She had a card in her hand, which she laid on the table
next to me.

I read the card. It said that number one fifty-three was a mixed
Shepherd, six months old. He was surrendered two days ago by a family.
Reason of surrender was given as “jumps on children.” At the bottom was a
note that said “Name: Sam.” Peggy was quick and efficient, from lots of
practice, I guessed. She lay one fifty-three down on his side and tied a
rubber tourniquet around his front leg. She turned to fill the syringe
from the vial of clear liquid.

All this time I was standing at the head of the table. I could see
the moment that one fifty-three went from a curious puppy to a terrified
puppy. He did not like being held down and he started to struggle. It
was then that I finally found my voice. I bent over the struggling puppy
and whispered, “Sam. Your name is Sam.” At the sound of his name Sam
quit struggling. He wagged his tail tentatively and his soft pink tongue
darted out and licked my hand. And that is how he spent his last
moment. I watched his eyes fade from hopefulness to nothingness. It was
over very quickly. I had never even seen Peggy give the lethal shot. The
tears could not be contained any longer. I kept my head down so as not
to embarrass myself in front of the stoic Peggy. My tears fell onto the
still body on the table. “Now you know,” Peggy said softly. Then she
turned away. “Ron will be waiting for you.”

I left the room. Although it seemed like it had been hours, only
fifteen minutes had gone by since Ron had left me at the door. I made my
way back to the reception area. True to his word, Ron had the puppy all
ready to go. After giving me some instructions about what to feed the
puppy, he handed the carrying cage over to me and wished me good luck on
my speech. That night I went home and spent many hours playing with the
orphan puppy. I went to bed that night but I could not sleep. After a
while I got up and looked at my speech notes with their numbers and
statistics. Without a second thought, I tore them up and threw them
away. I went back to bed. Sometime during the night I finally fell
asleep.

The next morning I arrived at my Speech class with Puppy Doe. When my
turn came, I held the puppy in my arms, I took a deep breath, and I
told the class about the life and death of Sam. When I finished my
speech I became aware that I was crying. I apologized to the class and
took my seat. After class the teacher handed out a critique with our
grades. I got an “A.” His comments said “Very moving and persuasive.”

Two days later, on the last day of class, one of my classmates came
up to me. She was an older lady that I had never spoken to in class. She
stopped me on our way out of the classroom. “I want you to know that I
adopted the puppy you brought to class,” she said.

“His name is Sam.”

Continue reading on Examiner.com: A dog named Sam – National Dogs | Examiner.com http://www.examiner.com/dogs-in-national/a-dog-named-sam#ixzz1FlY1TspB