Graveyard of the Heart

In this photo:

Andy : Great Pyranees

Andy the Great Pyrenees is a bit uneasy because I am looming over him and grabbing him to pose him for a photograph. Dogs’ eyebrow movements usually express similar emotions to that of a human’s eyebrow movements. Please note that it is a very bad idea to stand over an unfamiliar dog like this!!! Also of note – the double dewclaws on his back legs.

After a little reassurance and lots of petting Andy the Great Pyrenees is looking much happier then in the previous photo.

That’s one ugly cat.

Sarah came to the shelter on a day like any other. A middle aged woman turned her in, saying that her daughter had moved on to college and had tired of the guinea pig. Sadly, small animals such as guinea pigs are viewed as disposable or somehow less important then a cat or dog. My manager did the intake while I watched, quietly listening to the interchange and waiting for the woman to finish filling out the animal information sheet that we asked all people surrendering a pet to fill out. It was always fun to read over the sheets. The information on them would often be in direct contradiction to what the pet owner told us about the animal, or it would reveal the poor care that the animal had endured. Considering that the guinea pig was in a small dirty cage with half a rotten orange as her only food, I didn’t need to read the sheet to know that her care up to this point had been less then stellar.

At this point in my life I had seven guinea pigs in two large “cube and coroplast” style cages that took up half the floor space in my office. I did not want to add any more guinea pigs to my family, but I peeked into the dirty cage anyway. A guinea pig that looked very much like the first guinea pig I’d ever owned peered back at me. “I don’t need any more guinea pigs,” I told myself firmly.

Finally, the woman turning in the guinea pig left and I was able to go over the information sheet. The guinea pig’s name was Sarah. My name. “I don’t need any more guinea pigs,” I told myself firmly. I read on.

The guinea pig was five years old – the average lifespan of a guinea pig is five to eight years. “I don’t need any more guinea pigs,” I told myself firmly, but my resolve was crumbling. The guinea pig was taken back to the cat room, where the small animals were kept, and I did my best not to think about it. I’d just lost the first guinea pig I’d ever owned, a guinea pig that strongly resembled Sarah, to old age. What kind of person would abandon an animal at the close of it’s natural lifespan? I sat sadly at my desk and contemplated the injustice of the world.

It didn’t take long for my compassion to get the better of my common sense. I quickly did the paperwork and adopted her, avoiding the eyes of my coworkers who already considered me a little batty for being so fond of guinea pigs and keeping so many. How could they understand? It was a such a small thing to take her in so she could live out the rest of her days in peace. As I tucked Sarah into a little box lined with paper towels, I immediately felt better. She would live out her days in love.

After a short while, I noticed little smears of what appeared to be diluted blood on the paper lining her box. I couldn’t immediately find the source of the injury, so I returned her to her box and kept watch. As minutes ticked by, the pale drips of blood turned into huge smears and finally into clots. Blood smears covered her vulva and rump. Careful inspection revealed that she was bleeding heavily from her vagina. She was also very tender around her stomach area, and careful prodding revealed lumps. My heart sank. Although I was able to take Sarah into my home and provide food and care for her, I was not able to afford very expensive small animal surgery that she may or may not survive.  How had Sarah’s former owner not noticed this? I had her for less then an hour, and I’d noticed almost immediately! Taking the box to my manager, I asked if I could return Sarah so she could be humanely euthanized. My manager took one look in the box and looked away quickly. I had my answer – Sarah would not have to suffer any more.

To be honest, I wasn’t particularly impressed with Daisy at first – she was just another pit bull being surrendered by an owner using one of the same old shitty excuses : “I’m moving and can’t take the dogs.”
The dogs in question were two rowdy pit bulls, and the owner in question was an old woman. I helped her get the two dogs out of the car, and while I was walking them into the shelter with her she idly commented, “Daisy here had a litter of pups, but they all died when it snowed last week.”

She added, “I don’t really know anything about dogs.”

Sadly, this is not the most disgusting thing I’ve heard a person say when surrendering a pet. I hurried her through the paperwork, and gave her an envelope to send in payment because she was not able to afford the intake fee.  Daisy’s owner walked out the door without looking back at the dogs she had abandoned to their fate.

She was a beautiful black and tan marked pit bull with lots of splashes of white. I didn’t have much hope that Daisy would be put up for adoption – her brother had to be put down almost immediately due to aggression.  The woman surrendering her was elderly and unable to handle two active terriers, and had left Daisy and her brother out in the yard with little human contact and less socialization. They had been allowed to breed freely together, and Daisy had the large, swaying nipples of a bitch who’d had back-to-back litters with no breaks between them.  Unsocialized, untrained, unloved.

I didn’t think about Daisy all that much until a week or so later, when I noticed that she had been put up for adoption. Unlike her brother/mate, Daisy was a very nice dog. Being thrown into the backyard and being all but ignored hadn’t damaged her – she was sweet and eager for human contact. Her loving temperament did not go unnoticed by the kennel staff. Daisy definitely got special treatment, such as soft blankets and beds for her cage, toys, and extra tasty treats. The kennel staff was generally too busy to bathe the dogs, but someone there always made sure Daisy was clean and comfortable.

Unfortunately the public failed to see what was plain to the shelter staff. Perhaps it was because of her breed, or perhaps it was because of her puppy-ravaged body, but no one gave Daisy a second look.  Unfortunately, pit bull terriers are one of the most common dogs to find in shelters and some of the hardest to rehome. She sat at the shelter for weeks patiently waiting for someone to pick her out, but no one ever did.

The day she was euthanized I didn’t need to be told – I was able to see it in the eyes of my coworkers. That was the first night I went home and cried for an animal at the shelter.  I cried for Daisy and for my coworkers who had loved her. I cried for Daisy’s puppies who had frozen to death while her owner stayed warm in the house. Most of all, I cried at the injustice of a world where there are no happy endings.