Wienergal
11-10-2000, 05:55 PM
Get out your hankies, folks. This was posted on the DRNA message board. Guess dogs other than dachshunds do The L@@K too....
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Killer Angel
I had just graduated from veterinary school, and I was volunteering at the local shelter in Twin Falls, Idaho. As I looked down at the dog napping in her run, I knew I was going to have to wake her up to put her "to sleep." What a cruel euphemism.
She was a Heinz-57 mixed-breed with no name, no home, no hope. She was horrifically malnourished, and her coat was a mass of mats and burrs.
In a way, she was lucky to be here. Found on the side of the road - like living garbage - she'd been left to die in a remote area of our county.
The kind rancher who found her brought her to the local shelter where she joined dozens of other cuties and uglies pressing against the front of the cages hoping to catch the eye of someone who had a heart and home big enough to give them another chance.
Problem was there were too many homeless pets and not enough homes. Day after day for a week the dog waited and waited, her still-wagging tail marking the time.
But on this day, her time was up. No one had adopted her; like many in the shelter, the animals were too big, too small, too hairy, too young, too old. Without enough cages to hold all that came through our doors, we were prepared to end her life quickly and without suffering. "Better than starving to death in the country," I said, finding little solace in the words.
I was inspired to enter this profession
because of a deep love of animals. I had
been highly trained and entrusted to save
lives and prevent pain and suffering. Yet
here I was about to end the life of this
innocent creature. I hated this part of the
job, but I had to do it. Choking back my
emotions, I readied myself to perform the
procedure for which I'd been trained.
I set her on the table, and she wiggled her
gaunt frame with delight as I spoke some
soothing words and patted her head. The
tempo of her tail quickened as she looked up
at my face. Looking into her eyes, I saw
total trust, unconditional love and absolute
loyalty. I felt the cruel irony of what was
taking place. God's precious creatures,
embodying the kindest virtues on the planet,
being killed for the crime of not being
wanted. She held out her leg for me to
inject and licked my hand. She was ready.
I wasn't.
I collapsed onto the dog and held her tight
as I bathed her with tears. Never, ever
would I do a convenience euthanasia again.
I'd euthanize a pet if it was suffering
terribly, or had an incurable disease, but
never again because of an uncaring owner's
mere request.
I took the dog back to my veterinary
practice and named her G.H. - short for
Good Home. I'd observed over the years
that people who raised litters of puppies
or kittens always said, "I just want to
find them a 'good home.'"
I soon entrusted G.H. to a loving client
who had a heart and home big enough to
welcome yet another four-legged family
member.
Saving G.H. set me on a new path as a
veterinarian. Although my hands still
held the power of death, my heart didn't.
Now, whenever I look into the dancing
liquid eyes of a pet, brimming with love,
I realize that looks can save. They did
me.
By: Marty Becker, DVM
From Chicken Soup for the Pet Lover's Soul
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Killer Angel
I had just graduated from veterinary school, and I was volunteering at the local shelter in Twin Falls, Idaho. As I looked down at the dog napping in her run, I knew I was going to have to wake her up to put her "to sleep." What a cruel euphemism.
She was a Heinz-57 mixed-breed with no name, no home, no hope. She was horrifically malnourished, and her coat was a mass of mats and burrs.
In a way, she was lucky to be here. Found on the side of the road - like living garbage - she'd been left to die in a remote area of our county.
The kind rancher who found her brought her to the local shelter where she joined dozens of other cuties and uglies pressing against the front of the cages hoping to catch the eye of someone who had a heart and home big enough to give them another chance.
Problem was there were too many homeless pets and not enough homes. Day after day for a week the dog waited and waited, her still-wagging tail marking the time.
But on this day, her time was up. No one had adopted her; like many in the shelter, the animals were too big, too small, too hairy, too young, too old. Without enough cages to hold all that came through our doors, we were prepared to end her life quickly and without suffering. "Better than starving to death in the country," I said, finding little solace in the words.
I was inspired to enter this profession
because of a deep love of animals. I had
been highly trained and entrusted to save
lives and prevent pain and suffering. Yet
here I was about to end the life of this
innocent creature. I hated this part of the
job, but I had to do it. Choking back my
emotions, I readied myself to perform the
procedure for which I'd been trained.
I set her on the table, and she wiggled her
gaunt frame with delight as I spoke some
soothing words and patted her head. The
tempo of her tail quickened as she looked up
at my face. Looking into her eyes, I saw
total trust, unconditional love and absolute
loyalty. I felt the cruel irony of what was
taking place. God's precious creatures,
embodying the kindest virtues on the planet,
being killed for the crime of not being
wanted. She held out her leg for me to
inject and licked my hand. She was ready.
I wasn't.
I collapsed onto the dog and held her tight
as I bathed her with tears. Never, ever
would I do a convenience euthanasia again.
I'd euthanize a pet if it was suffering
terribly, or had an incurable disease, but
never again because of an uncaring owner's
mere request.
I took the dog back to my veterinary
practice and named her G.H. - short for
Good Home. I'd observed over the years
that people who raised litters of puppies
or kittens always said, "I just want to
find them a 'good home.'"
I soon entrusted G.H. to a loving client
who had a heart and home big enough to
welcome yet another four-legged family
member.
Saving G.H. set me on a new path as a
veterinarian. Although my hands still
held the power of death, my heart didn't.
Now, whenever I look into the dancing
liquid eyes of a pet, brimming with love,
I realize that looks can save. They did
me.
By: Marty Becker, DVM
From Chicken Soup for the Pet Lover's Soul