Being that we're all dog-lovers here, I thought it would be important that I share this story. Make sure you have Kleenex nearby:
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>"My Name is Sam"
>
>After I was discharged from the Navy, Jim and I moved back to Detroit to
use
>our GI bill benefits to get some schooling. Jim was going for a degree in
>Electronics and I, after much debating, decided to get mine in Computer
>Science. One of the classes that was a requirement was Speech.
>
>Like many people, I had no fondness for getting up in front of people for
>any reason, let alone to be the center of attention as I stuttered my way
>through some unfamiliar subject. But I couldn't get out of the
requirement,
>and so I found myself in my last semester before graduation with Speech as
>one of my classes.
>
>On the first day of class our professor explained to us that he was going
to
>leave the subject manner of our talks up to us, but he was going to provide
>the motivation of the speech. We would be responsible for six speeches,
each
>with a different motivation. For instance our first speech's purpose was to
>inform. He advised us to pick subjects that we were interested in and
>knowledgeable about. I decided to center my six speeches around animals,
>especially dogs.
>
>For my first speech to inform, I talked about the equestrian art of
>dressage. For my speech to demonstrate, I brought my German Shepherd,
>Bodger, to class and demonstrated obedience commands. 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 twenty.
>
>As we stood there I heard snatches of conversation: "I can't keep him, he
>digs holes in my garden." "They 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
>throw-away attitude did to the living, breathing animal. It was over
>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. "Euthanization 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. It was opened immediately by a middle aged
woman
>in a white lab coat. "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
>euthanization 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 laid
>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 to give my speech. I walked up to the front the class with 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 class room. "I want you to know that I
>adopted the puppy you brought to class," she said. "His name is Sam."
>
>________
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-Joe |
