He's being put down in the morning.
You brought him to the shelter because you couldn't afford vet care for him. That's obvious; he has an eye infection, skin infection, sores and hairloss over most of his body. You probably just didn't know how much care a Sharpei required when you got him from the breeder. Or maybe you did, and do, but just couldn't afford it anymore.
He's obviously miserable. He's scared and he's in pain.
You almost did the right thing. Had you stayed, we could have talked about his options and then euthanized him that day. We could have taken him peacefully to the rainbow bridge, and your mind would be at ease as well as his.
But you didn't stay. You lost courage at the last moment and tied him out front, his surrender form being his only advocate. You condemned him to 72 hours of limbo, waiting for an owner who would not return.
We'll take care of him. He'll be scared because you're not there, but we'll do our best to make it as easy as possible. Tonight he got a treat and some kind words, and he stopped growling for a moment.
You almost did the right thing.
Monday, November 21, 2016
Saturday, November 5, 2016
Can't make this stuff up
I'm way behind. I'll start with the two most ridiculous ones from today, then an absurd one from about ten days ago, then on back. We'll see how it goes.
---
I guess the first one actually started yesterday. A Korean lady who looked very familiar came in. She was dressed very boldly and her English wasn't stellar, but it was definitely adequate. She placed a deposit on a chihuahua, and kept asking about his neuter, and how she didn't want him neutered and she wanted to take him to her vet, but she kept saying "noodled," and it was really throwing me off. She also kept asking about his teeth ("tea") and looking at us suspiciously.
Today, the dog she placed a deposit on was reclaimed. The owner showed a photo as proof, and happily paid the reclaim and the citation, totaling over $200. He was just glad his dog was okay and his kids could stop crying.
New guy, who had processed the deposit and the reclaim, had to call noodle lady to tell her the dog had been reclaimed. After a few minutes of him getting yelled at, I took over the phone conversation. She demanded to know what proof he showed, then demanded that we show her the proof, then accused us of just giving the dog to someone we liked better when I told her we would do neither of those things for her. All I needed to know was if she wanted a refund or wanted it kept on file for another adoption. She refused to answer the question, and kept making her demands that I had already refused. Rather than go through the whole ordeal again, I said, Okay, ma'am, I'll get started on your refund. It should arrive in a few weeks. Well, she didn't like that answer, and said that she would have her great nephew review the contract and then come in with him to see if we had any other small dogs.
Awesome.
---
Well. This one also started yesterday. Around 5:50 PM, ten minutes before closing, two dogs were still in surgery. I called the first adopter: no answer. I called the second adopter: I just pulled in! Traffic was hell!
After close, the deposit tag on the first dog was pulled and the deposit was canceled as a no call/no show, which means no refund.
Today, the adopter showed up and wanted to put the deposit back on. After yelling at the new guy for a few minutes, I explained to her that the deposit could not be put back on. Per the deposit agreement, the deposit was canceled at close of business because the dog was not picked up. As of right now, the dog was on the adoption floor and not eligible for a deposit because she was altered and not on stray hold, ready to go now. She then asked if she could just pay the remainder and come get the dog later; I said, no, that's the same as a deposit. She is not eligible for a deposit. Please refer back to section one of our discussion.
After yelling a little bit more and realizing that she wasn't going to get anywhere (God, I'm so good at dealing with difficult people), she left in a huff. She came back later and luckily the dog was still there, so she finalized the adoption. I found out that she was so upset because it was actually her dog, and she was gaming the system, which looked like it was going to bite her in the ass. (Owners are not generally allowed to adopt their own dog. They must reclaim, which incurs higher fees and possible citation from Animal Control). She almost lost her dog because, instead of notifying us and telling us she couldn't make it, she just didn't show up. Then, she did come in but couldn't take the dog, which makes no sense... Anyway, dog's back home, hopefully she stays there.
--
That story actually reminds me of another one from today. Guy comes in to reclaim his dog. I talked to his sister (this is a grown man) yesterday, and she said that she was paying for the reclaim only because she made him promise to have the dog spayed (this was her second time in in less than two weeks; she's in heat). He told me that she's pretty strict and won't just give him money; she'll pay for things, but there's always a catch. She's kind of awesome; you don't get to choose your family.
Anyway, he comes in today and he is thrilled because he's getting his baby girl back. I pull up the dog and realize it's a second reclaim ($150) and a second Running at Large citation ($150), which sets sister up to pay $300 right out the gate. It makes me sick to my stomach, and my face squinches up while I try to think of a way to help these folks...
Baby girl has a deposit and will go home on Monday. She will be spayed and microchipped, and hopefully never end up at the shelter again.
---
And the one you've been waiting for. It's so overdue.
Guy comes in, says he needs to surrender two cats. He filled out the surrender forms online (or maybe his wife did), so he waits while I review them. I see pretty much immediately that he lists a local rescue as the place where he got the cats. I told him that I'm sure it's part of the adoption contract that the cats return to the rescue. I ask if he's contacted the rescue. He says no. I say, again, trying to rephrase, that I'm sure that the rescue would prefer to get their cats back rather than have them surrendered to a kill shelter and be in danger (yes, I will say Kill Shelter if it suits me). For most humans, that argument works. Most humans, you know, with souls, would be willing to make one phone call to save their pets' lives.
Not this guy. In fact, he gets... snarky? I can't think of the word right now, but it's defiant in a way that only entitled white men can be. He says that he will not contact the rescue and that he is leaving the cats there.
I finally realize that I have not seen any cats, and ask where the cats are. He says they are in the car, and I ask him to go ahead and get the cats while I finish up the paperwork. In a couple minutes, he's standing in front of me again and I still see no cats. No cats, but this box in the lobby, by the door, like someone decided to donate a bin full of blankets or dog food or something. Upon further inspection, it turns out to be a Rubbermaid Action Packer, which is touted to be weather-resistant and lightweight-yet-durable.
I immediately start to panic and ask if there are any air holes. He looks at me like I'm an alien and says, no. I tell him we need to hurry this up so I can get the cats out of there, and he says, with the most condescending, oh-you-poor-simple-idiot tone that, again, only white men can manage, "There's plenty of air in there." I look at him in disbelief and he continues, "Cats don't need a lot of air. They have very small lungs."
Y'all, I almost died. I went into crisis mode because I could not just slap him in the face and tell him what a horrible monster he was, so I just worked as quickly as possible to get those poor girls out of there. Of course, I asked if he needed the container back, and he said, "Oh, can you guys use it?" And I said, "Oh, yes, that would be great!" And he very graciously agreed to let me keep the container, which meant that I could take these quick pictures.
One cat was adopted almost immediately, and the other was not so thrilled but was reclaimed by the rescue soon after. The rescue was livid, as I was, and knew that he didn't contact them because they had the freedom to tell him how stupid he was. Being a government worker, I couldn't tell him that he was stupid and frivolous, and that the reason for surrender, that his children had tired of the cats, was one of the dumbest excuses he could have given me. He signed the life-long adoption contract, not the children. And he is the one teaching his children that living things and commitment have no value, which I can only hope will come back to haunt him in his old age. Actually, I hope that his children grow up to be better people than he is, despite him.
---
And that brings me to the backlog. Some of them are just too good to pass up:
Guy comes in and surrenders the cat that he found as a stray and then adopted. Why? Her standards were too high. Not kidding. He and his cat bro had lived as bachelors for years; the litterbox was dumped once a week. "I don't scoop litterboxes." It was like a source of pride for him, and his cat was fine with it.
This bitch, though. She comes in and is all like, "You not gonna clean the litterbox? Fine. Don't. I'll take my lady mess elsewhere."
He didn't blame her, though. He just realized that their lives were incompatible and returned her to the adoption center to find a better home. I really don't blame the guy. The cat won.
---
Lady comes in with a cat in a carrier and is just fed up. "He won't leave," she says. "I have company coming over next week and my son is deathly allergic to cats and he won't get off the porch!" ... Ma'am, are you feeding the cat? "Well, yes, but..." But nothing. This is your fault. You feed the cat, the cat will continue to come back. You did this, dummy. You told this poor animal that you would take care of him, you lying bitch. Fail.
---
Lady brings in a cat dying of a UTI. For those who may not know, UTIs are very treatable and very painful, speaking from experience. This cat had been peeing blood for 6 months. 6 months! I had one for 24 hours and wanted to kill someone. I honestly don't remember what happened to the cat; I was just so enraged that she knew because he'd had issues in the past and chose not to treat him. And we see it all the time, where people just let the pet's illness go until it cannot be fixed and we have no choice but to humanely euthanize. There is no reason to allow an animal to suffer. If you cannot treat the animal, give it to someone who can or have it put down. There is no excuse.
---
Guy walks in with newborn kittens. Guy looks a bit confused and frazzled. "He says, these belong to the stray cat I brought in a couple days ago, during the storm. I didn't realize that they were in my closet until I heard them crying this morning." ... It was a dark and stormy night, and a stray cat ran into his house when he opened the door. In the morning, he took her to the shelter. A couple days later, he's getting ready for work, and finds hungry newborns in his closet.
They were reunited and mama cat was thrilled.
---
Fat white guy in a stupid suit walks in with a little black dachshund. He claims to have found the little guy running in the road and was the only one who would stop and save him. He was on his way to work, and just wanted to bring in this stray dog. I said, "Great! I just need your ID to intake the dog as a stray." He immediately loses his shit and starts yelling at me, saying that he's just trying to do a good thing and he's not giving his ID and he should have just let the dog get hit by a car and on and on and on. I tell him that I cannot take the dog from him without getting his ID, and he says he'll just dump the dog. I said, well, I'll have to call the police for abandonment. He smirks at me and walks out with the dog, and I follow him. I watch him get into his car and drop the dog out the door before closing it.
As he's turning on his car and putting it into reverse, I get a photo of his license plate and let him know that I will call the police. Meanwhile, the little dog is running around the parking lot, and the only people around are me, asshole, and two or three dog walkers, all with dogs. I had a slip-lead with me because I knew what was going to happen, but the dog is not friendly, which reinforces the idea that this is definitely not a stray, but is his dog. No one can get near it but him. He does get out and get the dog, and pulls away with the dog in his lap, yelling, "Whatever happens to this dog is your fault!" Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night, Asshole.
---
Heavily tattooed guy walks in with a box of kittens. He said he saw a guy on the side of the road on his way to work, and noticed that the guy was putting kittens in a box on the side of the road. He stopped, confronted the guy, and took the kittens. He was actually really pissed, and had hit the guy a few times, and was still visibly shaken up by the encounter. His knuckles were skinned. He said, "That's just not okay. You don't do things like that."
I really wish he'd been there when Asshole had come in. Sometimes I need back-up. Oh, and the kittens were horribly skinny, flea-infested and had terrible URIs. They made it, though, and should be adoptable any day now.
---
I guess the first one actually started yesterday. A Korean lady who looked very familiar came in. She was dressed very boldly and her English wasn't stellar, but it was definitely adequate. She placed a deposit on a chihuahua, and kept asking about his neuter, and how she didn't want him neutered and she wanted to take him to her vet, but she kept saying "noodled," and it was really throwing me off. She also kept asking about his teeth ("tea") and looking at us suspiciously.
Today, the dog she placed a deposit on was reclaimed. The owner showed a photo as proof, and happily paid the reclaim and the citation, totaling over $200. He was just glad his dog was okay and his kids could stop crying.
New guy, who had processed the deposit and the reclaim, had to call noodle lady to tell her the dog had been reclaimed. After a few minutes of him getting yelled at, I took over the phone conversation. She demanded to know what proof he showed, then demanded that we show her the proof, then accused us of just giving the dog to someone we liked better when I told her we would do neither of those things for her. All I needed to know was if she wanted a refund or wanted it kept on file for another adoption. She refused to answer the question, and kept making her demands that I had already refused. Rather than go through the whole ordeal again, I said, Okay, ma'am, I'll get started on your refund. It should arrive in a few weeks. Well, she didn't like that answer, and said that she would have her great nephew review the contract and then come in with him to see if we had any other small dogs.
Awesome.
---
Well. This one also started yesterday. Around 5:50 PM, ten minutes before closing, two dogs were still in surgery. I called the first adopter: no answer. I called the second adopter: I just pulled in! Traffic was hell!
After close, the deposit tag on the first dog was pulled and the deposit was canceled as a no call/no show, which means no refund.
Today, the adopter showed up and wanted to put the deposit back on. After yelling at the new guy for a few minutes, I explained to her that the deposit could not be put back on. Per the deposit agreement, the deposit was canceled at close of business because the dog was not picked up. As of right now, the dog was on the adoption floor and not eligible for a deposit because she was altered and not on stray hold, ready to go now. She then asked if she could just pay the remainder and come get the dog later; I said, no, that's the same as a deposit. She is not eligible for a deposit. Please refer back to section one of our discussion.
After yelling a little bit more and realizing that she wasn't going to get anywhere (God, I'm so good at dealing with difficult people), she left in a huff. She came back later and luckily the dog was still there, so she finalized the adoption. I found out that she was so upset because it was actually her dog, and she was gaming the system, which looked like it was going to bite her in the ass. (Owners are not generally allowed to adopt their own dog. They must reclaim, which incurs higher fees and possible citation from Animal Control). She almost lost her dog because, instead of notifying us and telling us she couldn't make it, she just didn't show up. Then, she did come in but couldn't take the dog, which makes no sense... Anyway, dog's back home, hopefully she stays there.
--
That story actually reminds me of another one from today. Guy comes in to reclaim his dog. I talked to his sister (this is a grown man) yesterday, and she said that she was paying for the reclaim only because she made him promise to have the dog spayed (this was her second time in in less than two weeks; she's in heat). He told me that she's pretty strict and won't just give him money; she'll pay for things, but there's always a catch. She's kind of awesome; you don't get to choose your family.
Anyway, he comes in today and he is thrilled because he's getting his baby girl back. I pull up the dog and realize it's a second reclaim ($150) and a second Running at Large citation ($150), which sets sister up to pay $300 right out the gate. It makes me sick to my stomach, and my face squinches up while I try to think of a way to help these folks...
Baby girl has a deposit and will go home on Monday. She will be spayed and microchipped, and hopefully never end up at the shelter again.
---
And the one you've been waiting for. It's so overdue.
Guy comes in, says he needs to surrender two cats. He filled out the surrender forms online (or maybe his wife did), so he waits while I review them. I see pretty much immediately that he lists a local rescue as the place where he got the cats. I told him that I'm sure it's part of the adoption contract that the cats return to the rescue. I ask if he's contacted the rescue. He says no. I say, again, trying to rephrase, that I'm sure that the rescue would prefer to get their cats back rather than have them surrendered to a kill shelter and be in danger (yes, I will say Kill Shelter if it suits me). For most humans, that argument works. Most humans, you know, with souls, would be willing to make one phone call to save their pets' lives.
Not this guy. In fact, he gets... snarky? I can't think of the word right now, but it's defiant in a way that only entitled white men can be. He says that he will not contact the rescue and that he is leaving the cats there.
I finally realize that I have not seen any cats, and ask where the cats are. He says they are in the car, and I ask him to go ahead and get the cats while I finish up the paperwork. In a couple minutes, he's standing in front of me again and I still see no cats. No cats, but this box in the lobby, by the door, like someone decided to donate a bin full of blankets or dog food or something. Upon further inspection, it turns out to be a Rubbermaid Action Packer, which is touted to be weather-resistant and lightweight-yet-durable.
I immediately start to panic and ask if there are any air holes. He looks at me like I'm an alien and says, no. I tell him we need to hurry this up so I can get the cats out of there, and he says, with the most condescending, oh-you-poor-simple-idiot tone that, again, only white men can manage, "There's plenty of air in there." I look at him in disbelief and he continues, "Cats don't need a lot of air. They have very small lungs."
Y'all, I almost died. I went into crisis mode because I could not just slap him in the face and tell him what a horrible monster he was, so I just worked as quickly as possible to get those poor girls out of there. Of course, I asked if he needed the container back, and he said, "Oh, can you guys use it?" And I said, "Oh, yes, that would be great!" And he very graciously agreed to let me keep the container, which meant that I could take these quick pictures.
One cat was adopted almost immediately, and the other was not so thrilled but was reclaimed by the rescue soon after. The rescue was livid, as I was, and knew that he didn't contact them because they had the freedom to tell him how stupid he was. Being a government worker, I couldn't tell him that he was stupid and frivolous, and that the reason for surrender, that his children had tired of the cats, was one of the dumbest excuses he could have given me. He signed the life-long adoption contract, not the children. And he is the one teaching his children that living things and commitment have no value, which I can only hope will come back to haunt him in his old age. Actually, I hope that his children grow up to be better people than he is, despite him.
---
And that brings me to the backlog. Some of them are just too good to pass up:
Guy comes in and surrenders the cat that he found as a stray and then adopted. Why? Her standards were too high. Not kidding. He and his cat bro had lived as bachelors for years; the litterbox was dumped once a week. "I don't scoop litterboxes." It was like a source of pride for him, and his cat was fine with it.
This bitch, though. She comes in and is all like, "You not gonna clean the litterbox? Fine. Don't. I'll take my lady mess elsewhere."
He didn't blame her, though. He just realized that their lives were incompatible and returned her to the adoption center to find a better home. I really don't blame the guy. The cat won.
---
Lady comes in with a cat in a carrier and is just fed up. "He won't leave," she says. "I have company coming over next week and my son is deathly allergic to cats and he won't get off the porch!" ... Ma'am, are you feeding the cat? "Well, yes, but..." But nothing. This is your fault. You feed the cat, the cat will continue to come back. You did this, dummy. You told this poor animal that you would take care of him, you lying bitch. Fail.
---
Lady brings in a cat dying of a UTI. For those who may not know, UTIs are very treatable and very painful, speaking from experience. This cat had been peeing blood for 6 months. 6 months! I had one for 24 hours and wanted to kill someone. I honestly don't remember what happened to the cat; I was just so enraged that she knew because he'd had issues in the past and chose not to treat him. And we see it all the time, where people just let the pet's illness go until it cannot be fixed and we have no choice but to humanely euthanize. There is no reason to allow an animal to suffer. If you cannot treat the animal, give it to someone who can or have it put down. There is no excuse.
---
Guy walks in with newborn kittens. Guy looks a bit confused and frazzled. "He says, these belong to the stray cat I brought in a couple days ago, during the storm. I didn't realize that they were in my closet until I heard them crying this morning." ... It was a dark and stormy night, and a stray cat ran into his house when he opened the door. In the morning, he took her to the shelter. A couple days later, he's getting ready for work, and finds hungry newborns in his closet.
They were reunited and mama cat was thrilled.
---
Fat white guy in a stupid suit walks in with a little black dachshund. He claims to have found the little guy running in the road and was the only one who would stop and save him. He was on his way to work, and just wanted to bring in this stray dog. I said, "Great! I just need your ID to intake the dog as a stray." He immediately loses his shit and starts yelling at me, saying that he's just trying to do a good thing and he's not giving his ID and he should have just let the dog get hit by a car and on and on and on. I tell him that I cannot take the dog from him without getting his ID, and he says he'll just dump the dog. I said, well, I'll have to call the police for abandonment. He smirks at me and walks out with the dog, and I follow him. I watch him get into his car and drop the dog out the door before closing it.
As he's turning on his car and putting it into reverse, I get a photo of his license plate and let him know that I will call the police. Meanwhile, the little dog is running around the parking lot, and the only people around are me, asshole, and two or three dog walkers, all with dogs. I had a slip-lead with me because I knew what was going to happen, but the dog is not friendly, which reinforces the idea that this is definitely not a stray, but is his dog. No one can get near it but him. He does get out and get the dog, and pulls away with the dog in his lap, yelling, "Whatever happens to this dog is your fault!" Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night, Asshole.
---
Heavily tattooed guy walks in with a box of kittens. He said he saw a guy on the side of the road on his way to work, and noticed that the guy was putting kittens in a box on the side of the road. He stopped, confronted the guy, and took the kittens. He was actually really pissed, and had hit the guy a few times, and was still visibly shaken up by the encounter. His knuckles were skinned. He said, "That's just not okay. You don't do things like that."
I really wish he'd been there when Asshole had come in. Sometimes I need back-up. Oh, and the kittens were horribly skinny, flea-infested and had terrible URIs. They made it, though, and should be adoptable any day now.
Sunday, October 9, 2016
STOP DECLAWING YOUR CATS
I know I can say this until I'm blue in the face, but the people that need to hear this won't. It'll only serve to enrage and sadden those who already know. All I can do is continue to share these stories and hope that it makes a difference.
Declawing causes aggression and litterbox issues. No, every cat won't have either one of those issues. But it happens enough that it's just not worth it! Not to mention the life-long pain and suffering it causes the cats.
1. Aggression
Guy walks in the front door, says, "This cat is aggressive and we're expecting a baby. We can't keep him." He plops the carrier on the ground.
"We can't rehome a cat that is aggressive. He will be euthanized Has he bitten anybody?"
"Yes, my pregnant wife."
"Did the bite break skin?"
"Yes."
"When was the last bite that broke skin?"
"This morning."
"He'll be placed on a ten day rabies quarantine and then euthanized at the end of the quarantine if not reclaimed. I need your ID."
During this conversation, the owner has grown increasingly upset and is now visibly red and tearing up. He says, "I need five minutes." and storms out, leaving the cat in the lobby. Since I already have his information from his Drivers License, I wait to see if he comes back.
A few minutes later, he storms back in, says, "You guys should be ashamed of yourselves." grabs the cat and storms back out.
Because there was a bite involved, I called the ACO on call. He called the owner, who told him that the cat was NOT aggressive and the bite did NOT break skin. He did not want the cat euthanized. He was advised by the ACO to keep the cat on a ten day quarantine at home, since he was up-to-date on rabies and bit a family member.
Less than an hour later, the owner comes back in to surrender the cat, again. He again says that the cat is not aggressive, and was just playing with his wife. Finally, we find out that the cat is declawed. He was adopted as a tiny kitten 4 years ago and is now back as a declawed bite cat.
He is absolutely aggressive. He's likely been in pain for four years. He cannot be safely removed from his carrier. He tries to scratch and bite. Now he gets to sit in a room, surrounded by other cats, for ten days. Then he will be euthanized, long forgotten and abandoned by his owner.
2. Litterbox issues
Lady brings a cat in, says that he's spraying everywhere. I ask if there are other cats, she says yes. I ask how long he's been doing it, and she says he's been doing it for years, and she can't take it anymore. I ask if he's declawed, and she says yes.
Declawing makes a cat's toes more sensitive. In this case, he approaches the litterbox because he knows he's supposed to use it, but then he goes right next to it because the litter hurts his feet. Or he'll find a different spot, maybe some plastic bags, because it seems like a pretty good litterbox substitute.
Well, she says, here's the reason I had him declawed: He was so friendly with people and dogs, and would stretch his arms up to greet anybody he met. I was afraid that he would claw out my dog's eyes because he's so friendly.
....
I can't make this stuff up.
The whole time she's talking, I'm screaming in my head, "CUT HIS NAILS! CUT HIS F*ING NAILS! DON'T MUTILATE YOUR CAT BECAUSE YOU'RE A MORON!"
But of course it's too late. Too late for the cat, anyway. He IS such a friendly boy. Such a nice cat. He's waiting for the vets to look at him and make sure he doesn't have any underlying medical issues causing him not to use the litterbox. But we all know what the issue is.
For the love of cats, STOP DECLAWING.
Declawing causes aggression and litterbox issues. No, every cat won't have either one of those issues. But it happens enough that it's just not worth it! Not to mention the life-long pain and suffering it causes the cats.
1. Aggression
Guy walks in the front door, says, "This cat is aggressive and we're expecting a baby. We can't keep him." He plops the carrier on the ground.
"We can't rehome a cat that is aggressive. He will be euthanized Has he bitten anybody?"
"Yes, my pregnant wife."
"Did the bite break skin?"
"Yes."
"When was the last bite that broke skin?"
"This morning."
"He'll be placed on a ten day rabies quarantine and then euthanized at the end of the quarantine if not reclaimed. I need your ID."
During this conversation, the owner has grown increasingly upset and is now visibly red and tearing up. He says, "I need five minutes." and storms out, leaving the cat in the lobby. Since I already have his information from his Drivers License, I wait to see if he comes back.
A few minutes later, he storms back in, says, "You guys should be ashamed of yourselves." grabs the cat and storms back out.
Because there was a bite involved, I called the ACO on call. He called the owner, who told him that the cat was NOT aggressive and the bite did NOT break skin. He did not want the cat euthanized. He was advised by the ACO to keep the cat on a ten day quarantine at home, since he was up-to-date on rabies and bit a family member.
Less than an hour later, the owner comes back in to surrender the cat, again. He again says that the cat is not aggressive, and was just playing with his wife. Finally, we find out that the cat is declawed. He was adopted as a tiny kitten 4 years ago and is now back as a declawed bite cat.
He is absolutely aggressive. He's likely been in pain for four years. He cannot be safely removed from his carrier. He tries to scratch and bite. Now he gets to sit in a room, surrounded by other cats, for ten days. Then he will be euthanized, long forgotten and abandoned by his owner.
2. Litterbox issues
Lady brings a cat in, says that he's spraying everywhere. I ask if there are other cats, she says yes. I ask how long he's been doing it, and she says he's been doing it for years, and she can't take it anymore. I ask if he's declawed, and she says yes.
Declawing makes a cat's toes more sensitive. In this case, he approaches the litterbox because he knows he's supposed to use it, but then he goes right next to it because the litter hurts his feet. Or he'll find a different spot, maybe some plastic bags, because it seems like a pretty good litterbox substitute.
Well, she says, here's the reason I had him declawed: He was so friendly with people and dogs, and would stretch his arms up to greet anybody he met. I was afraid that he would claw out my dog's eyes because he's so friendly.
....
I can't make this stuff up.
The whole time she's talking, I'm screaming in my head, "CUT HIS NAILS! CUT HIS F*ING NAILS! DON'T MUTILATE YOUR CAT BECAUSE YOU'RE A MORON!"
But of course it's too late. Too late for the cat, anyway. He IS such a friendly boy. Such a nice cat. He's waiting for the vets to look at him and make sure he doesn't have any underlying medical issues causing him not to use the litterbox. But we all know what the issue is.
For the love of cats, STOP DECLAWING.
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
Updates: Gimlet & Sophie
The cat that I brought home back in July made it. He came home, he gained weight, he made some friends. We decided to pursue treatment, and lo-and-behold, all of his bloodwork came back normal! No hyperthyroid! So, he kept packing on the pounds, was made available for adoption, and was adopted in record time. He now has parents who love his quirks, a brother who is an old fart but they're still besties, and another cat sister with a couple of old dogs in the mix.
Sophie's rescue came for her. I haven't heard anything since then, but I'm hoping that she has found a new forever-this-time home.
Douchebags.
Sorry.
Not sorry.
Sophie's rescue came for her. I haven't heard anything since then, but I'm hoping that she has found a new forever-this-time home.
Douchebags.
Sorry.
Not sorry.
Thursday, September 8, 2016
A never-ending stream of excuses
People are full of shit. When they bring in animals to surrender, we have to ask them why. In fact, we have to get more specific than, "I don't feel like it anymore" or "He gets on my nerves" or "I can't take care of him." A lot of the time, when asked for more information, people lie.
"I'm allergic" to the pet I've had for 5 years, really means, "I've had this cat since it was a kitten and I'm getting married and my husband doesn't like my cat, so I'm getting rid of it because I need another person to validate my self-worth."
"He's got too much energy" because I'm too lazy to take him for walks, and for some reason letting him loose in the backyard only gets him more amped up.
"My kids aren't taking care of the pet" and I'm going to set a great example and get rid of it for them, because responsibility is not a thing I'm teaching my children, and certainly not the value of another life. Mommy and Daddy are going to solve all your problems, you can just live in the basement until you're 35.
Not only that, but many people simply do not care about their pets. Newsflash, but most of the people who work at animal shelters (in my experience) are there because they care about animals. Definitely not people. So, consider yourself judged if you surrender a pet for some crap reason. We've had people with cancer going into treatment centers try their damnedest to rehome their pets, and use the shelter as a last resort. That's why we're here. When your brother-in-law dies and you can't take his dog because you already have 3 kids, 2 cats and a dog, we understand. We'll do our best to find their pet a home. We try for every pet, no matter the folly of their previous owner.
But you, guy who said he'd rather his dog be dead than be crated while he was at work, are a dick. I don't think you understand the difference between death and boredom. Yeah, we'll probably find a better home for your dog and your dog will thank us later, but that doesn't make it right and that doesn't make you a good pet owner. You are the problem, you are the reason I have a job. Your dog being adopted means that the other good dogs, the ones who were really in need, are still waiting. And after a few months, when they lose their minds, they'll be put down.
All because you didn't want to crate your dog.
"I'm allergic" to the pet I've had for 5 years, really means, "I've had this cat since it was a kitten and I'm getting married and my husband doesn't like my cat, so I'm getting rid of it because I need another person to validate my self-worth."
"He's got too much energy" because I'm too lazy to take him for walks, and for some reason letting him loose in the backyard only gets him more amped up.
"My kids aren't taking care of the pet" and I'm going to set a great example and get rid of it for them, because responsibility is not a thing I'm teaching my children, and certainly not the value of another life. Mommy and Daddy are going to solve all your problems, you can just live in the basement until you're 35.
Not only that, but many people simply do not care about their pets. Newsflash, but most of the people who work at animal shelters (in my experience) are there because they care about animals. Definitely not people. So, consider yourself judged if you surrender a pet for some crap reason. We've had people with cancer going into treatment centers try their damnedest to rehome their pets, and use the shelter as a last resort. That's why we're here. When your brother-in-law dies and you can't take his dog because you already have 3 kids, 2 cats and a dog, we understand. We'll do our best to find their pet a home. We try for every pet, no matter the folly of their previous owner.
But you, guy who said he'd rather his dog be dead than be crated while he was at work, are a dick. I don't think you understand the difference between death and boredom. Yeah, we'll probably find a better home for your dog and your dog will thank us later, but that doesn't make it right and that doesn't make you a good pet owner. You are the problem, you are the reason I have a job. Your dog being adopted means that the other good dogs, the ones who were really in need, are still waiting. And after a few months, when they lose their minds, they'll be put down.
All because you didn't want to crate your dog.
Wednesday, August 17, 2016
Not hospice
This is an update for Hospice, a post from July.
After living with him for a couple weeks and seeing his high quality of life, we decided to look into treatment. Radioactive Iodine injection is really the only viable treatment, and it is a cure. The Iodine attacks any abnormal thyroid tissue but leaves everything else alone, so it's a relatively low-risk treatment. Depending on his other medical issues and the cost, we were pretty optimistic.
After calling the two clinics in the area, treatment was estimated to be $1200. Assuming there were no other issues, treatment could optimistically give him another 3 years or so. At this point, he was running around like crazy, constantly demanding play and food, though not necessarily in that order. I could just see his thyroid burning him up. A 15 year old cat is just not supposed to act like that.
When I requested lab work for treatment, I was told by the shelter vet that I would need to get any needed lab work on my own, at my own vet. They were unwilling to help, presumably because he had originally been deemed hospice (though he was officially changed to seeking rescue) and they were too busy to worry about his treatment. I could consult them later in the month when things slowed down.
I was already prepared to pay out-of-pocket for treatment, so getting the lab work wasn't a huge blow. I did request the aid of a volunteer non-profit to help fund-raise and then hopefully help find a rescue or permanent home.
He went to a local vet that is one of few in this area that do not declaw, which is amazing in itself, but she also does a lot of work with shelter pets. She was skeptical of the diagnosis, given his significant weight gain (6 to 10 lbs in less than one month). She also believed him to be about half the age estimated by the shelter.
When the lab work came in, the news was better than we could imagine. Not only did he have no evidence of hyperthyroid, but all signs pointed to him being perfectly healthy! In the meantime, the group raised $400 for him, so they can use that money for the next needy cat.
He's now adoptable and still in foster care. He loves playing with our 9 week old foster kittens. If interested in adopting, please comment.
After living with him for a couple weeks and seeing his high quality of life, we decided to look into treatment. Radioactive Iodine injection is really the only viable treatment, and it is a cure. The Iodine attacks any abnormal thyroid tissue but leaves everything else alone, so it's a relatively low-risk treatment. Depending on his other medical issues and the cost, we were pretty optimistic.
After calling the two clinics in the area, treatment was estimated to be $1200. Assuming there were no other issues, treatment could optimistically give him another 3 years or so. At this point, he was running around like crazy, constantly demanding play and food, though not necessarily in that order. I could just see his thyroid burning him up. A 15 year old cat is just not supposed to act like that.
When I requested lab work for treatment, I was told by the shelter vet that I would need to get any needed lab work on my own, at my own vet. They were unwilling to help, presumably because he had originally been deemed hospice (though he was officially changed to seeking rescue) and they were too busy to worry about his treatment. I could consult them later in the month when things slowed down.
I was already prepared to pay out-of-pocket for treatment, so getting the lab work wasn't a huge blow. I did request the aid of a volunteer non-profit to help fund-raise and then hopefully help find a rescue or permanent home.
He went to a local vet that is one of few in this area that do not declaw, which is amazing in itself, but she also does a lot of work with shelter pets. She was skeptical of the diagnosis, given his significant weight gain (6 to 10 lbs in less than one month). She also believed him to be about half the age estimated by the shelter.
When the lab work came in, the news was better than we could imagine. Not only did he have no evidence of hyperthyroid, but all signs pointed to him being perfectly healthy! In the meantime, the group raised $400 for him, so they can use that money for the next needy cat.
He's now adoptable and still in foster care. He loves playing with our 9 week old foster kittens. If interested in adopting, please comment.
Monday, August 15, 2016
Sophie
This is Sophie:
Sophie's father of 14 years took her to the shelter on Saturday because the family had moved and was only allowed to have one pet, and Sophie wasn't it. Maybe they liked the cat more, maybe the cat was younger and didn't have accidents, maybe they didn't like her bad breath or cloudy eyes. Maybe it was a very hard decision, and they decided that Sophie had already lived a long, full life. I don't know.
But I met Sophie on Saturday.
I told her father that there was no room in our back room, where old dogs wait to see the vet alongside bite dogs, court dogs, and dogs with other medical/social issues. There was no room in there, so Sophie would be euthanized. Through no fault of her own, just because there was nowhere to put her.
He said, "That's fine. My wife and I already discussed it and we're fine with it."
I've known Sophie for five seconds and I'm not fine with it.
I don't know what's going on in their lives. I'm sure there is some circumstance that would make leaving your 14 year old dog at the shelter to die okay. I just don't know what it is. Whatever the reason, I'm sorry for them. Whether it's economic hardship or just cold, dead hearts, I'm sorry for them.
I asked Sophie's dad if he tried contacting the rescue that he got her from. He said, "No, we don't live there anymore." I said, "Yes, but they may be able to arrange transport for you if you can just hold on to her for a couple more days. Many rescues would rather get their dog back than have their dog left at a shelter to be put down." "We can't do that."
Needless to say, I contacted the rescue. They said they want her back. Their records don't even go back that far, but they took it on faith. Had he called just a few days earlier, Sophie could already be looking for another home. But I'm sure there was a reason he didn't call. I'm sure there's a reason he waited until the last possible minute to take care of Sophie.
When this is all said and done, when Sophie is safely back where she started, I'll post where she went so everyone can thank them for following through for Sophie. Fourteen years later and the next state over. Hopefully they meant it and Sophie will be going soon.
I brought Sophie home. There's no space in that room but I couldn't let her go down for her owner's mistake. Not this time. I think she's worth it. I think she's worth a few days. I think she's worth the space. I think her life is worth living.
Here's what I've learned about Sophie:
Sophie's father of 14 years took her to the shelter on Saturday because the family had moved and was only allowed to have one pet, and Sophie wasn't it. Maybe they liked the cat more, maybe the cat was younger and didn't have accidents, maybe they didn't like her bad breath or cloudy eyes. Maybe it was a very hard decision, and they decided that Sophie had already lived a long, full life. I don't know.
But I met Sophie on Saturday.
I told her father that there was no room in our back room, where old dogs wait to see the vet alongside bite dogs, court dogs, and dogs with other medical/social issues. There was no room in there, so Sophie would be euthanized. Through no fault of her own, just because there was nowhere to put her.
He said, "That's fine. My wife and I already discussed it and we're fine with it."
I've known Sophie for five seconds and I'm not fine with it.
I don't know what's going on in their lives. I'm sure there is some circumstance that would make leaving your 14 year old dog at the shelter to die okay. I just don't know what it is. Whatever the reason, I'm sorry for them. Whether it's economic hardship or just cold, dead hearts, I'm sorry for them.
I asked Sophie's dad if he tried contacting the rescue that he got her from. He said, "No, we don't live there anymore." I said, "Yes, but they may be able to arrange transport for you if you can just hold on to her for a couple more days. Many rescues would rather get their dog back than have their dog left at a shelter to be put down." "We can't do that."
Needless to say, I contacted the rescue. They said they want her back. Their records don't even go back that far, but they took it on faith. Had he called just a few days earlier, Sophie could already be looking for another home. But I'm sure there was a reason he didn't call. I'm sure there's a reason he waited until the last possible minute to take care of Sophie.
When this is all said and done, when Sophie is safely back where she started, I'll post where she went so everyone can thank them for following through for Sophie. Fourteen years later and the next state over. Hopefully they meant it and Sophie will be going soon.
I brought Sophie home. There's no space in that room but I couldn't let her go down for her owner's mistake. Not this time. I think she's worth it. I think she's worth a few days. I think she's worth the space. I think her life is worth living.
Here's what I've learned about Sophie:
- She's a chowhound. She'll do anything for food or treats, or anything she thinks is food or treats. She demands feeding promptly upon waking and first thing when I get home.
- She loves going for walks. She can barely see, so she has no idea where she's going, but she seems to be sure it'll be a good time.
- She misses her cat friend and keeps trying to make nice with my cat, who's not having it.
- She's been fine with our two dogs, despite her owner reporting to the contrary. She's a Fun Police, so she doesn't like it when it gets rowdy, but she's otherwise fine.
- She's had no accidents, despite her owner's report. Over time, I'm sure, given her age, she'll have accidents, but for the past 48 hours she's been perfect.
- She likes to play, but I'm not sure how.
Tuesday, July 12, 2016
Hospice
I did a selfish thing last week.
I saw a bright-eyed, biscuit-making old cat in Cat Quarantine and wanted to take him home. Not because I need another cat-- I don't. And not because he seemed particularly fond of me-- he didn't. I wanted to take him home because I didn't think he deserved to die. Yes, he was old. Yes, he was scrawny. Yes, he was half bald. But his eyes shone like fire and he ate like he was starved and he said he wasn't ready to die. Not yet.
So I asked to bring him home. Not to fix him up and make him better, but just to let him live. Let him decide when it was time to go. I raged with righteous indignation that this most important of decisions had been taken from him, and I asked to take him home. And they said yes, when they just as easily could have said no. And maybe they should have.
At the animal shelter, we play a numbers game. It's a constant struggle to decide who lives and who dies; who gets one more chance and who doesn't. Despite what some uninformed and unrealistic people may say, you can't, you shouldn't, save them all. You shouldn't take an old, dying animal and allow an adoptable animal to die instead.
But I did.
And I'd do it again.
Why did I choose to take him instead of a kitten that could have been cared for and then adopted? I could use the excuse that I already have a nursing queen with kittens and I don't want to risk exposing them to germs, but really-- I didn't want to take a kitten. I didn't want to take any other cat. Had I not taken him, that room would still be empty. I took him because I wanted to. And because I was allowed to.
I didn't do it for him, not really. I did it because I wanted to feel good about something. He makes sure I feel good every time I walk into his room. He greets me loudly, purrs and circles my feet. He follows me around, purring and making biscuits, waiting for his food. He got his nails cut, his toes counted (26.5!), and tonight he got a bath. He's gaining weight and I'm thinking of renaming him Mick Jagger, because he's old, scrawny, and a little gross, but still awesome and you want to hang out with him.
Don't get me wrong. He very likely is very ill, he's just not showing many symptoms yet. When he does, we'll deal with it. And when we can't deal with it (when he can't deal with it), we'll help him go. But for now, who could resist that face?
I saw a bright-eyed, biscuit-making old cat in Cat Quarantine and wanted to take him home. Not because I need another cat-- I don't. And not because he seemed particularly fond of me-- he didn't. I wanted to take him home because I didn't think he deserved to die. Yes, he was old. Yes, he was scrawny. Yes, he was half bald. But his eyes shone like fire and he ate like he was starved and he said he wasn't ready to die. Not yet.
So I asked to bring him home. Not to fix him up and make him better, but just to let him live. Let him decide when it was time to go. I raged with righteous indignation that this most important of decisions had been taken from him, and I asked to take him home. And they said yes, when they just as easily could have said no. And maybe they should have.
At the animal shelter, we play a numbers game. It's a constant struggle to decide who lives and who dies; who gets one more chance and who doesn't. Despite what some uninformed and unrealistic people may say, you can't, you shouldn't, save them all. You shouldn't take an old, dying animal and allow an adoptable animal to die instead.
But I did.
And I'd do it again.
Why did I choose to take him instead of a kitten that could have been cared for and then adopted? I could use the excuse that I already have a nursing queen with kittens and I don't want to risk exposing them to germs, but really-- I didn't want to take a kitten. I didn't want to take any other cat. Had I not taken him, that room would still be empty. I took him because I wanted to. And because I was allowed to.
I didn't do it for him, not really. I did it because I wanted to feel good about something. He makes sure I feel good every time I walk into his room. He greets me loudly, purrs and circles my feet. He follows me around, purring and making biscuits, waiting for his food. He got his nails cut, his toes counted (26.5!), and tonight he got a bath. He's gaining weight and I'm thinking of renaming him Mick Jagger, because he's old, scrawny, and a little gross, but still awesome and you want to hang out with him.
Don't get me wrong. He very likely is very ill, he's just not showing many symptoms yet. When he does, we'll deal with it. And when we can't deal with it (when he can't deal with it), we'll help him go. But for now, who could resist that face?
Friday, April 8, 2016
Don't lie to me.
"Why are you surrendering the rabbit?"
"He's shedding a lot, and I can't find a vet that will see rabbits."
"Would you like a list of vets that see rabbits? There are a few in this area."
"No. I can't afford it, anyway."
"..."
"He's shedding a lot, and I can't find a vet that will see rabbits."
"Would you like a list of vets that see rabbits? There are a few in this area."
"No. I can't afford it, anyway."
"..."
Sunday, April 3, 2016
Banfield strikes again
Young woman came in yesterday with a dog that was adopted from here a week before. He was wearing a cone. She handed me the sheet we give out for pet insurance and a quote from Banfield, showing antibiotics and pain medicine, totaling about $50. She told me that someone at Banfield told her to come to us and ask us to call them. I asked her what was going on, and she said that she had taken the dog in for a free exam, and they told her that his neuter incision was infected and he need antibiotics and pain medicine.
For some reason, I was skeptical.
I'm not supposed to, but I asked her if I could take a look at the dog. She said, "Of course," so I came around the counter and took a look at his surgery incision. It looked like a perfectly normal, deflated sack. There was no swelling, no redness; the incision wasn't even visible any longer. It was, for all intents and purposes, healed.
I looked at her and said, "You need a new vet. I'm going to call Banfield and see if they can explain this, but I'm telling you right now, find a new vet. This dog's incision site looks great."
So I called Banfield and spoke to the woman who had told the pet owner to come back to the shelter. She said that she had told the owner to see if we would pay for anything, since the insurance would only pay back some of the fees once paid, it wouldn't pay outright. I told her, "Absolutely not." and asked who had told this woman that her dog's incision site was infected. The Banfield person got indignant, and said that she was sure the vet had looked at the dog and made the assessment. I assured her that the surgery site was no infected, thanked her, and hung up.
I reiterated to the owner that she needed to find a new vet. I gave her the list of recommended vets (from volunteers and adopters, not from the shelter), and told her to make a regular appointment during the week.
It really pisses me off to see someone taken advantage of. We have so many awful pet owners who just don't give a crap, and to see someone trying so hard getting swindled is infuriating.
Once again, don't go to Banfield. Ever.
I looked at her and said, "You need a new vet. I'm going to call Banfield and see if they can explain this, but I'm telling you right now, find a new vet. This dog's incision site looks great."
So I called Banfield and spoke to the woman who had told the pet owner to come back to the shelter. She said that she had told the owner to see if we would pay for anything, since the insurance would only pay back some of the fees once paid, it wouldn't pay outright. I told her, "Absolutely not." and asked who had told this woman that her dog's incision site was infected. The Banfield person got indignant, and said that she was sure the vet had looked at the dog and made the assessment. I assured her that the surgery site was no infected, thanked her, and hung up.
I reiterated to the owner that she needed to find a new vet. I gave her the list of recommended vets (from volunteers and adopters, not from the shelter), and told her to make a regular appointment during the week.
It really pisses me off to see someone taken advantage of. We have so many awful pet owners who just don't give a crap, and to see someone trying so hard getting swindled is infuriating.
Once again, don't go to Banfield. Ever.
Tired.
I had a rough day. I've had rough days before, and I've written about a few of them here, but today was, by far, the most draining and painful day since I started working at the animal shelter. Before I go into detail, I've been trying to figure out why today, of all days, has been so awful. We've had hoarding cases where animals were so neglected and sick that they had to be euthanized. We've had litters of kittens die, from illness, deformity, inbreeding, neglect. We've had dogs come in as skeletons, with their skin open and raw with infection.
Today, none of that happened. Today, people happened. Not the worst people in the world. Some of them actually seemed quite nice. Nice people who were just bad pet parents. Bad pet parents who had already made the awful decision to surrender their pet, and nothing I said was going to change their mind. They had already decided that their fixable problem was unfixable, even though I had many possible solutions.
Today was death by a thousand cuts. Not just today, but yesterday, and the days, weeks and months before that. I finally reached that point where I couldn't talk to anyone, I couldn't look at anyone. I felt like my head was going to explode. I had to get away. And when I had to "help" one more "customer", I couldn't hide my exhaustion. I couldn't hide the fact that I was at a breaking point, that my head was spinning. I could hear myself taking deep breaths to try and contain the madness, but it just wasn't working.
Every day is filled with a range of interactions, from pleasant ones with pleasant people, to extremely unpleasant ones with awful people. In between, you get some people who are just plain simple, and don't know what they're doing, and you get the people whose lives are falling apart and this is just one more blow. I'm used to dealing with people, idiots and douchebags alike. But I guess today I just reached my saturation point.
I honestly don't even remember my first awful interaction of the day. I had two cats surrendered for not using the litterbox. I remember the second one. Long story short, the owner refused to accept that stress or a medical condition may have caused the cat to not use the litterbox on occasion. The cat had been having accidents for about 6 months. That's about the time when they moved from Ohio. The younger of the two children was starting to walk. She had not been taken to the vet to see if she has a UTI. She had not been confined to a small space to get more comfortable and to work on her litterbox habits. She was surrendered to the shelter, after the owner doing absolutely nothing to fix the problem, while saying that he had done everything.
One cat is awaiting vet exam, one cat is on the adoption floor.
The coup de grâce was a dog. I've gotten more sensitive about older dogs as Honey has gotten older. She seems the same to me now as she was three years ago, when we first got her, but if I look real hard, I can see her muzzle getting grey. I understand that she is technically a senior now, even though she is relatively young for a senior. Older pets are always difficult, but it hits a little closer to home, the older she gets.
Anyway. Guy brings in a dog he got in 2010. He has his original paperwork, plus some vet records ranging from 2011-2013. He had the surrender form filled out, and under reason for surrender, he said "pees in the house." I say, "So, he pees in the house?" He said, "Yes, but that's not all." Please sir, enlighten me.
This dog has not been to a vet in three years. He has been drinking a lot of water and needs to pee frequently. When he's not allowed to go outside, he'll pee in the house. It's not that he's not housetrained. It's that he has to pee too frequently, his family won't let him outside when he tells them he has to go, so he pees inside. He even has the nerve to need to pee in the middle of the night. Who wants to get up in the middle of the night? I'm not even kidding, he said that to me. This asshole, standing in front of me, doesn't think to take his dog to the vet for drinking an insane amount of water and needing to pee as a result, actually tries to get me to relate to him. If my dog tells me she has to pee in the middle of the night, whose fault is it if she pees on my bed? It's my fault. I'm the human adult. You can bet your ass that if the owner was drinking that much water and having to pee more than 2-3 times a day (that's the acceptable number of times to use the bathroom, he informed me), he'd be at the doctor, trying to figure out why.
As a result of his constant urination, his yard is ruined. They simply can't do anythingwith their yard as long as the dog is there.
When he goes outside, into the yard, he sometimes tracks dirt ALL OVER THE HOUSE. I mean, can you believe it? He goes outside, and he runs around, and when he comes back in, his feet are dirty! THIS IS MADNESS!!! This dog has feet that touch the ground, and they get dirty, and the dirt comes into the house using his feet! I just don't understand why the dog doesn't take his shoes off at the front door, like a civilized person, or at the very least wipe his feet on the mat before he comes in.
And, in the summer, he sheds. Sometimes for months at a time. His fur just comes off! The weather gets warm, and his fur starts coming off, all over the house. It's crazy. (Yes, he said that. That it's crazy that the dog's fur comes off, every year, without fail.)
Now, I know what you're thinking. This guy is obviously a moron and has no idea what a dog is. He assured me that he had owned many dogs over the years (this is an older-middle-aged white guy), and this dog was just out of control. Oh, oh! Don't let me forget. He would occasionally bark at a truck going by the house. Not often, not at cars, not at every truck, but every now and then he would bark at a truck. This f*ing dog.
The longer he talked, the less I could control my face. My eyebrows went up, my jaw went down. I had to make a conscious effort to not look too shocked. To help the guy out next time, should he decide to adopt again, I made a note on his file, asking future staff members to help him find a dog that pees a reasonable amount, does not shed, does not track dirt into the house, does not bark, and whose urine does not kill grass.
After that, a woman surrendered a 13 year old pekingese because she had become incontinent. That meant she was spending more time in the crate, and she was miserable in the crate. She had arthritis, "skin sensitivity" and severe dental disease. Funny thing is, someone will take that dog. She's sweet, and she's cute, and she's a small breed. The other dog, half her age, will have a helluva time finding rescue, based on size alone. Given his back story, he may have better luck with sympathy points.
What gets me is not the audacity of each situation. It's that these things are not uncommon. These small injustices happen every day. Like Buster, like Jean-Pierre. They aren't abused, exactly. They're just... they're not given the love and consideration that they deserve. So many people refuse to take their pets to the vet. Refuse to bring them inside. Refuse to accept that mutilation can lead to behavioral issues. Refuse to see that animals feel stress, too, but they can't express it like we can. And these are the same people that claim to care about their pet. That they did everything they could. They are so delusional that they cannot see that they have done nothing. Living with a problem for months does not make you a good person. It makes you complacent. And giving up without even trying to fix the problem makes you worse. It makes you ignorant. It makes you lazy. It makes you bad. Ignorance is a choice, laziness is a choice. 99% of the time, surrendering your pet to the shelter is a choice.
I'm tired of bad.
And now, after more than an hour of writing and raving, I'm just tired. Goodnight.
Today, none of that happened. Today, people happened. Not the worst people in the world. Some of them actually seemed quite nice. Nice people who were just bad pet parents. Bad pet parents who had already made the awful decision to surrender their pet, and nothing I said was going to change their mind. They had already decided that their fixable problem was unfixable, even though I had many possible solutions.
Today was death by a thousand cuts. Not just today, but yesterday, and the days, weeks and months before that. I finally reached that point where I couldn't talk to anyone, I couldn't look at anyone. I felt like my head was going to explode. I had to get away. And when I had to "help" one more "customer", I couldn't hide my exhaustion. I couldn't hide the fact that I was at a breaking point, that my head was spinning. I could hear myself taking deep breaths to try and contain the madness, but it just wasn't working.
Every day is filled with a range of interactions, from pleasant ones with pleasant people, to extremely unpleasant ones with awful people. In between, you get some people who are just plain simple, and don't know what they're doing, and you get the people whose lives are falling apart and this is just one more blow. I'm used to dealing with people, idiots and douchebags alike. But I guess today I just reached my saturation point.
I honestly don't even remember my first awful interaction of the day. I had two cats surrendered for not using the litterbox. I remember the second one. Long story short, the owner refused to accept that stress or a medical condition may have caused the cat to not use the litterbox on occasion. The cat had been having accidents for about 6 months. That's about the time when they moved from Ohio. The younger of the two children was starting to walk. She had not been taken to the vet to see if she has a UTI. She had not been confined to a small space to get more comfortable and to work on her litterbox habits. She was surrendered to the shelter, after the owner doing absolutely nothing to fix the problem, while saying that he had done everything.
One cat is awaiting vet exam, one cat is on the adoption floor.
The coup de grâce was a dog. I've gotten more sensitive about older dogs as Honey has gotten older. She seems the same to me now as she was three years ago, when we first got her, but if I look real hard, I can see her muzzle getting grey. I understand that she is technically a senior now, even though she is relatively young for a senior. Older pets are always difficult, but it hits a little closer to home, the older she gets.
Anyway. Guy brings in a dog he got in 2010. He has his original paperwork, plus some vet records ranging from 2011-2013. He had the surrender form filled out, and under reason for surrender, he said "pees in the house." I say, "So, he pees in the house?" He said, "Yes, but that's not all." Please sir, enlighten me.
This dog has not been to a vet in three years. He has been drinking a lot of water and needs to pee frequently. When he's not allowed to go outside, he'll pee in the house. It's not that he's not housetrained. It's that he has to pee too frequently, his family won't let him outside when he tells them he has to go, so he pees inside. He even has the nerve to need to pee in the middle of the night. Who wants to get up in the middle of the night? I'm not even kidding, he said that to me. This asshole, standing in front of me, doesn't think to take his dog to the vet for drinking an insane amount of water and needing to pee as a result, actually tries to get me to relate to him. If my dog tells me she has to pee in the middle of the night, whose fault is it if she pees on my bed? It's my fault. I'm the human adult. You can bet your ass that if the owner was drinking that much water and having to pee more than 2-3 times a day (that's the acceptable number of times to use the bathroom, he informed me), he'd be at the doctor, trying to figure out why.
As a result of his constant urination, his yard is ruined. They simply can't do anythingwith their yard as long as the dog is there.
When he goes outside, into the yard, he sometimes tracks dirt ALL OVER THE HOUSE. I mean, can you believe it? He goes outside, and he runs around, and when he comes back in, his feet are dirty! THIS IS MADNESS!!! This dog has feet that touch the ground, and they get dirty, and the dirt comes into the house using his feet! I just don't understand why the dog doesn't take his shoes off at the front door, like a civilized person, or at the very least wipe his feet on the mat before he comes in.
And, in the summer, he sheds. Sometimes for months at a time. His fur just comes off! The weather gets warm, and his fur starts coming off, all over the house. It's crazy. (Yes, he said that. That it's crazy that the dog's fur comes off, every year, without fail.)
Now, I know what you're thinking. This guy is obviously a moron and has no idea what a dog is. He assured me that he had owned many dogs over the years (this is an older-middle-aged white guy), and this dog was just out of control. Oh, oh! Don't let me forget. He would occasionally bark at a truck going by the house. Not often, not at cars, not at every truck, but every now and then he would bark at a truck. This f*ing dog.
The longer he talked, the less I could control my face. My eyebrows went up, my jaw went down. I had to make a conscious effort to not look too shocked. To help the guy out next time, should he decide to adopt again, I made a note on his file, asking future staff members to help him find a dog that pees a reasonable amount, does not shed, does not track dirt into the house, does not bark, and whose urine does not kill grass.
UPDATE (4/4): Riley was found to have a horrible UTI. How long he suffered with that, I don't know. He's being treated now, but needs a rescue to continue his recovery. He also has arthritis, needs a dental cleaning and has a possible heart murmur.
Update (4/6): Riley went to rescue today! I also spoke with the vet, who said that Riley had a history of needing urinalyses (though the last visit was three years ago), which does not guarantee that the owner knew he was prone to UTIs, but it makes it extremely likely. Couldn't be more thrilled that this guy made it out.
After that, a woman surrendered a 13 year old pekingese because she had become incontinent. That meant she was spending more time in the crate, and she was miserable in the crate. She had arthritis, "skin sensitivity" and severe dental disease. Funny thing is, someone will take that dog. She's sweet, and she's cute, and she's a small breed. The other dog, half her age, will have a helluva time finding rescue, based on size alone. Given his back story, he may have better luck with sympathy points.
UPDATE (4/4): The pekingese went to rescue today.
What gets me is not the audacity of each situation. It's that these things are not uncommon. These small injustices happen every day. Like Buster, like Jean-Pierre. They aren't abused, exactly. They're just... they're not given the love and consideration that they deserve. So many people refuse to take their pets to the vet. Refuse to bring them inside. Refuse to accept that mutilation can lead to behavioral issues. Refuse to see that animals feel stress, too, but they can't express it like we can. And these are the same people that claim to care about their pet. That they did everything they could. They are so delusional that they cannot see that they have done nothing. Living with a problem for months does not make you a good person. It makes you complacent. And giving up without even trying to fix the problem makes you worse. It makes you ignorant. It makes you lazy. It makes you bad. Ignorance is a choice, laziness is a choice. 99% of the time, surrendering your pet to the shelter is a choice.
I'm tired of bad.
And now, after more than an hour of writing and raving, I'm just tired. Goodnight.
Sunday, January 24, 2016
Lessons in how not to take care of your pets
Recently, I've been having trouble with people. Specifically, I guess, pet owners.
We currently have two great pets in our home that are not ours. Not completely, anyway. We love them like ours and we, more or less, treat them like ours, but we know that the time will come when we will have to let go.
I guess the best way to illustrate my malaise is to tell their stories.
This is Buster:
Buster is about 6 and a half years old (the same age as Honey), 70 lbs, and mostly hound. I did his intake paperwork. The owner seemed genuinely upset, which is honestly refreshing when dealing with so much... apathy. She said she was moving, and wouldn't have a yard, so she couldn't take him with her.
You see, Buster was a "yard dog." Her words. Specifically, when I asked her why his back end looked so bad (severe alopecia, crusted and stinky), she shrugged and said, "He's a yard dog." When I asked if he had been to the vet, she said no, and gave me a look as if her previous statement made her current one obvious.
I've had dogs that prefer to be outside. They would come in and then, when ready, ask to go back out. Some dogs love being outside. In fact, some dogs live outside and have perfectly happy and healthy lives.
Buster is NOT a yard dog.
Buster loves blankets, loves belly rubs, loves chewing and loves playing fetch. He prefers to be right where his family is, not in the next room or out of eye sight. His new favorite thing is to snuggle on the couch and get his belly rubbed.
Putting a dog outside and not providing proper medical attention is cruel. Putting a dog outside that has probably been a beloved "house dog" for the first three years of his life is heartless. Pretending to be upset when returning the dog to the shelter because you refuse to bring him inside is stupid. I hate lying and I hate crocodile tears. You don't neglect a dog for three years and then pretend to care when you leave him to die.
The more time I spend with this dog, as weird as he may be, the more I hate his previous owner.
Before I move on to Gatsby, I'd like to set it up by sharing a story about another cat from Thursday. His name was Marbles, and he was a gorgeous orange and white cat. His owner knew one of our foster parents, and she contacted us with an urgent request for information about euthanasia. I spoke with her, so when her acquaintance came in moments later I was somewhat prepared.
Marbles was vomiting blood. We all knew that this would be a euthanasia request, but she asked be what the chances were that the vets would try to save him rather than euthanize him. I told her that it occasionally happened, but when a pet was vomiting blood, the situation was dire. To put that question to rest, I made a few phone calls and confirmed that our vets would not be able to save him in his current condition.
Marbles had urine crystals. He had been diagnosed a few years ago (he was currently seven years old) and his condition had been controlled by prescription diet. A few months ago, however, he started showing symptoms that the food wasn't working anymore. Symptoms include blood in urine, straining during urination, painful urination, and not using the litterbox.
She knew what was wrong for months and chose to not seek treatment until he was literally dying. Again, she seemed genuinely distressed, but it is hard to be sympathetic when every fiber of my being is screaming, "YOU KILLED YOUR CAT!!!" Had he been treated when he started showing symptoms again, he would have lived. Instead, a beautiful and otherwise healthy cat was put to death because a treatable condition was consciously left untreated.
I don't get it. My cat is squinting one eye and I am losing my mind. I know it's not an emergency, but I'm calling the vet tomorrow to see if I should do anything. I just don't get it.
That brings me to Gatsby. He was brought in by a guy who said that his wife didn't trust the cat around their new baby. Here's his story, as well as I can piece it together:
Gatsby, formerly known as Max, formerly known as Starlight, was adopted from the Washington DC Humane Society when he was about 5 months old. When he was surrendered to the shelter, he was 2 and a half years old. He was loosely diagnosed with urine crystals a few months ago, but a change in diet seemed to take care of the problem. Since the new baby had arrived, other members of the family were visiting and their accompanying dogs were upsetting Gatsby. In his stress, he lashed out at one of the visitors and became agitated even around the resident dogs. They started isolating him from the rest of the family, specifically the dogs and the baby. He was obviously unhappy and distressed, so his owners consulted their vet. Their vet prescribed fluoxetine (Prozac), and after one week on fluoxetine they surrendered him to the shelter.
If I didn't know any better, I would think that the owners had "tried everything." That's a common lie that we hear at the shelter from owners who have simply had enough. It is rare when a person will admit that they just can't deal with it anymore, just as it is rare when a person has truly tried everything. If I didn't know any better, I wouldn't be so angry.
It is normal for a cat to become stressed out around unruly dogs. It is normal for a cat that is having an adrenaline rush due to "fight or flight" to redirect aggression onto a person if that person tries to grab them while they are panicking. There is a difference between isolating a cat and giving it refuge. A cat needs to feel safe in its own home, not endangered and not excluded.
Furthermore, if you think a pet is acting aggressively, DO NOT GIVE IT PROZAC. We have spoken with vets and behaviorists about different scenarios where trying fluoxetine is appropriate, and in every case we have been told that aggression can actually be made worse by Prozac.
Also, if your pet is on Prozac, there is an adjustment period. It can take weeks for a pet to feel "better." Those first couple weeks can be especially bad (I speak from experience). The last thing you want to do is surrender your pet to the shelter after one week on fluoxetine.
That is exactly what they did. And when Gatsby was in the middle of a bad trip, in a weird place with weird people, they had to muzzle him to finish vaccinating him. When he came down, a few days later, he emerged as the loving, perfectly normal cat he is.
But he was already deemed Rescue Only, based on intake behavior and special diet. My coworker who did his intake asked for my help, and as a last-ditch effort, I called the Washington Humane Society. They said that yes, they would take him back, but they would not arrange transport. Our rescue coordinator consulted theirs, and it was agreed that they would take Gatsby back if he got up to DC.
So, here we are.
Gatsby is the biggest cat we've ever had. He loves belly rubs and he loves attention. He also loves to play, in a lazy kind of way.
Just like with Buster, the more time I spend with Gatsby, the more furious I become that his owner left him with us to die. He was informed that Gatsby would not be adoptable and would more than likely be euthanized, and he chose to walk away.
Gatsby is a wonderful, normal cat. He met our dogs, briefly, and had a very normal reaction. He was fine until the dogs started barking at him and one rushed at him, at which point he puffed up and looked for a safe exit. Instead of grabbing him and getting mauled, we allowed him to find his own way back to his safe room, where he immediately calmed down and rolled over for more belly rubs.
I fall in love with all of my fosters. Every single one. Even if they are difficult, even if they don't fit our home and we have to re-foster-home them, even if I know they're going to die. When they're strays, it's easier. But with owners come baggage, which I then take because animals don't carry baggage. They don't have thumbs. Usually I can just ignore it, but these last couple weeks have really tested my faith in humanity.
I do take solace in the fact that they're better off here and their future will hopefully be brighter, but sometimes you just gotta rant it out.
We currently have two great pets in our home that are not ours. Not completely, anyway. We love them like ours and we, more or less, treat them like ours, but we know that the time will come when we will have to let go.
I guess the best way to illustrate my malaise is to tell their stories.
This is Buster:
Buster is about 6 and a half years old (the same age as Honey), 70 lbs, and mostly hound. I did his intake paperwork. The owner seemed genuinely upset, which is honestly refreshing when dealing with so much... apathy. She said she was moving, and wouldn't have a yard, so she couldn't take him with her.
You see, Buster was a "yard dog." Her words. Specifically, when I asked her why his back end looked so bad (severe alopecia, crusted and stinky), she shrugged and said, "He's a yard dog." When I asked if he had been to the vet, she said no, and gave me a look as if her previous statement made her current one obvious.
I've had dogs that prefer to be outside. They would come in and then, when ready, ask to go back out. Some dogs love being outside. In fact, some dogs live outside and have perfectly happy and healthy lives.
Buster is NOT a yard dog.
Buster loves blankets, loves belly rubs, loves chewing and loves playing fetch. He prefers to be right where his family is, not in the next room or out of eye sight. His new favorite thing is to snuggle on the couch and get his belly rubbed.
Putting a dog outside and not providing proper medical attention is cruel. Putting a dog outside that has probably been a beloved "house dog" for the first three years of his life is heartless. Pretending to be upset when returning the dog to the shelter because you refuse to bring him inside is stupid. I hate lying and I hate crocodile tears. You don't neglect a dog for three years and then pretend to care when you leave him to die.
The more time I spend with this dog, as weird as he may be, the more I hate his previous owner.
Before I move on to Gatsby, I'd like to set it up by sharing a story about another cat from Thursday. His name was Marbles, and he was a gorgeous orange and white cat. His owner knew one of our foster parents, and she contacted us with an urgent request for information about euthanasia. I spoke with her, so when her acquaintance came in moments later I was somewhat prepared.
Marbles was vomiting blood. We all knew that this would be a euthanasia request, but she asked be what the chances were that the vets would try to save him rather than euthanize him. I told her that it occasionally happened, but when a pet was vomiting blood, the situation was dire. To put that question to rest, I made a few phone calls and confirmed that our vets would not be able to save him in his current condition.
Marbles had urine crystals. He had been diagnosed a few years ago (he was currently seven years old) and his condition had been controlled by prescription diet. A few months ago, however, he started showing symptoms that the food wasn't working anymore. Symptoms include blood in urine, straining during urination, painful urination, and not using the litterbox.
She knew what was wrong for months and chose to not seek treatment until he was literally dying. Again, she seemed genuinely distressed, but it is hard to be sympathetic when every fiber of my being is screaming, "YOU KILLED YOUR CAT!!!" Had he been treated when he started showing symptoms again, he would have lived. Instead, a beautiful and otherwise healthy cat was put to death because a treatable condition was consciously left untreated.
I don't get it. My cat is squinting one eye and I am losing my mind. I know it's not an emergency, but I'm calling the vet tomorrow to see if I should do anything. I just don't get it.
That brings me to Gatsby. He was brought in by a guy who said that his wife didn't trust the cat around their new baby. Here's his story, as well as I can piece it together:
Gatsby, formerly known as Max, formerly known as Starlight, was adopted from the Washington DC Humane Society when he was about 5 months old. When he was surrendered to the shelter, he was 2 and a half years old. He was loosely diagnosed with urine crystals a few months ago, but a change in diet seemed to take care of the problem. Since the new baby had arrived, other members of the family were visiting and their accompanying dogs were upsetting Gatsby. In his stress, he lashed out at one of the visitors and became agitated even around the resident dogs. They started isolating him from the rest of the family, specifically the dogs and the baby. He was obviously unhappy and distressed, so his owners consulted their vet. Their vet prescribed fluoxetine (Prozac), and after one week on fluoxetine they surrendered him to the shelter.
If I didn't know any better, I would think that the owners had "tried everything." That's a common lie that we hear at the shelter from owners who have simply had enough. It is rare when a person will admit that they just can't deal with it anymore, just as it is rare when a person has truly tried everything. If I didn't know any better, I wouldn't be so angry.
It is normal for a cat to become stressed out around unruly dogs. It is normal for a cat that is having an adrenaline rush due to "fight or flight" to redirect aggression onto a person if that person tries to grab them while they are panicking. There is a difference between isolating a cat and giving it refuge. A cat needs to feel safe in its own home, not endangered and not excluded.
Furthermore, if you think a pet is acting aggressively, DO NOT GIVE IT PROZAC. We have spoken with vets and behaviorists about different scenarios where trying fluoxetine is appropriate, and in every case we have been told that aggression can actually be made worse by Prozac.
Also, if your pet is on Prozac, there is an adjustment period. It can take weeks for a pet to feel "better." Those first couple weeks can be especially bad (I speak from experience). The last thing you want to do is surrender your pet to the shelter after one week on fluoxetine.
That is exactly what they did. And when Gatsby was in the middle of a bad trip, in a weird place with weird people, they had to muzzle him to finish vaccinating him. When he came down, a few days later, he emerged as the loving, perfectly normal cat he is.
But he was already deemed Rescue Only, based on intake behavior and special diet. My coworker who did his intake asked for my help, and as a last-ditch effort, I called the Washington Humane Society. They said that yes, they would take him back, but they would not arrange transport. Our rescue coordinator consulted theirs, and it was agreed that they would take Gatsby back if he got up to DC.
So, here we are.
Gatsby is the biggest cat we've ever had. He loves belly rubs and he loves attention. He also loves to play, in a lazy kind of way.
Just like with Buster, the more time I spend with Gatsby, the more furious I become that his owner left him with us to die. He was informed that Gatsby would not be adoptable and would more than likely be euthanized, and he chose to walk away.
Gatsby is a wonderful, normal cat. He met our dogs, briefly, and had a very normal reaction. He was fine until the dogs started barking at him and one rushed at him, at which point he puffed up and looked for a safe exit. Instead of grabbing him and getting mauled, we allowed him to find his own way back to his safe room, where he immediately calmed down and rolled over for more belly rubs.
I fall in love with all of my fosters. Every single one. Even if they are difficult, even if they don't fit our home and we have to re-foster-home them, even if I know they're going to die. When they're strays, it's easier. But with owners come baggage, which I then take because animals don't carry baggage. They don't have thumbs. Usually I can just ignore it, but these last couple weeks have really tested my faith in humanity.
I do take solace in the fact that they're better off here and their future will hopefully be brighter, but sometimes you just gotta rant it out.
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