The Hard Part

Tonight at the pound, I had to advocate for a dog's death.

I was going down adoption row, looking for cards with a red "R", which means the dog is no longer available for public adoption and must be rescued. I came across a large sheltie mix or small collie mix that was obviously very old, and one of her eyes was partially obscured by a red inner eyelid. I checked the card, and it told me she had been relinquished by her owner last night. Distressed, I stopped and said out loud, "Why? Who would do this to you?" A kennel tech was right next to me, and said, "I know, can you believe it?" I pointed out the injured or infected eye, then asked, "Where the hell are her ears?" I couldn't tell if they were just tiny, like a Shar-Pei, or if they had been cropped. I asked the tech to unlock the kennel for me, which she did. Both ear flaps were shrivelled, lumpy and hard; I lifted one, and found the inside was full of black gunk, the flesh underneath bright red. Just then I looked at the floor and saw fluid tinged with blood.

I said to the tech, "This dog has an eye infection, an ear infection, she's pissing blood, and she's about a hundred years old. Why the hell did she get put on the adoption line?"

Five minutes later, the kennel tech responsible for the dog's intake was being read the riot act by the kennel manager. The kennel supervisor asked if my rescue could take the dog; I told her, "Even if we could get that poor dog healthy, she would never get adopted. I wish we had a sanctuary for dogs like her, but we don't. She should have been euthanized last night." She agreed, and said they'd just have to put the poor thing down tomorrow.

I could just throttle the owners who relinquished this sweet, ancient, badly neglected dog. I would also like to slap the tech who didn't bother to LOOK at the dog before he put her up for adoption. If anyone had wanted her, the vet would have taken one look at her and cancelled the adoption. She was doomed, and putting her on the adoption line only prolonged her suffering.

My dream is to someday open a sanctuary just for dogs like this: old, sick, neglected, unadoptable, but still full of love and hope and life. I had to walk past her kennel twice more before my evening was over, and both times she rushed to the front, wagging at me eagerly, as though she'd made a new friend. I felt like I had failed her, betrayed her, even though I had done the best I could. I told her I loved her, and I was sorry.