This week I committed what is likely seen as the next best thing to an unpardonable sin in dog-loving circles.
I took a dog to the animal shelter. It was the second time I'd taken a dog to the shelter in the last year, although it was the first time that the animal was one I'd fed and called by any name other than "getaway."
Unlike a lot of animal activists, I don't believe that every dog deserves the chance to live out its life. I receive mail from one of those groups that collects funds to take care of the medical needs of chronically ill animals that do not have owners. I always wind up wondering how many perfectly healthy puppies they could have helped find permanent homes with the money they collect to warehouse and medicate sick dogs and cats that will never have a normal life. I wonder the same thing when some terribly abused animal collects a slew of donations and potential owners after being featured on the nightly news.
Unfortunately as humans, we tend to ascribe too many of our emotions to the animals we love. Just because they have the same basic needs and some of the same emotions (devotion, loneliness, anxiety, depression, and love), we forget that they aren't little four-legged people with the all the emotions and thought patterns that we possess. Animals are blessed to live in the here and now, and if the here and now isn't good, they don't think 'well, tomorrow will be better; this pain will pass; someone will love me someday.' They don't worry about living out a long full life. If they had a preference, they would want it to end. Hence, there are times when it's better to say that the limited resources a rescue group has would be better spent on a healthy animal with a chance at a good life.
But of course, that's my opinion and why these groups don't get money from me.
All that is an aside from my trips to the animal shelter.
My first trip was last year after someone deposited a young mixed breed male on our road. He hung around and eventually gravitated to my neighbor's house where the overweight lab has an all-you-can-eat pan. THe neighbor put a collar on him and I figured he had a home. When the homeowner's dad came over to mow, however, the dog disappeared. In three days he was back, sans collar. Apparently he'd been hauled off and dumped again, but returned. When there was no collar returned to his neck within a few days, I loaded him in the truck and took him to the animal shelter, feeling guilty because when I called, despite all the verbal abuse I'd used to keep him from calling my house home, he came.
The dog I took this week never did that, despite being walked and fed on a daily basis and calling my house home for about six years. Her name is Dixie, but it was her second or third name. I don't know if she bonded with a previous owner, or if she'll bond with another if adopted again, but she never bonded with me. I was a source of food and potential freedom. She was a rescue dog and I don't think she had ever been well socialized with people. Dogs, however, she loved. Cats too, unless they ran. That became part of the problem.
I tried for months to place her through other groups. No one seemed interested (altho now that she's gone I'm sure someone will call with a home). Instead, because of the numerous large dogs in my neighborhood and another neighbor's attachment to feral cats, her life had been reduced largely to confinement. Her freedom meant any potential mischief was multiplied by 10. My lab, who is on a wireless fence would break out and join the fracas and there were feline deaths. I finally decided that, like a rescue group, I'd be best utilizing my resources in caring for my other dogs and not antagonizing the neighbor.
I felt like a failure to her, because I had tried and she had become, at least when on leash, a good dog. She would listen, sit, walk properly. She didn't yank me off my feet as she had when she arrived. In another neighborhood, or with someone who had more time for her, she'd probably be a great dog. But with my business and the recent addition of two grandchildren, time is at a premium and she wasn't getting any of it. She couldn't sit around and think there would be better days. She was just unhappy.
And so we rode to the animal shelter, and she never leaned against me and wanted affection. We waited for 20 minutes at the animal shelter (they don't open until 10) and there were no tearful goodbyes. She was eager to explore the fenced yard, and when they finally took her away on a kennel lead, she was wagging her tail and happy to go. I went home with a sense of relief, but without kidding myself that she would find a new home for sure. I know the odds aren't with her and the six years I gave her may be all she gets. I also know that she'll be treated humanely and fed and cared for should she not find a new home.
I'm not making myself feel better about my decision. I made a commitment I was unable to fulfill, but life changes and it was not a decision easily made. It is, however, one that other pet owners would be better off considering than those who make the choice to dump a dog on a country road or let one go without the food, shelter and attention they need.
