C'est trop beau...

[Squirrel1 0]

Pour ceux qui savent lire l'anglais, c'est vraiment touchant...


The author has granted permission to crosspost this in its original form seen
below, with her credit at the end.

Interview at the Dog Pound

As a journalist, I decided to go to the dog pound, and interview some of the
"inmates". I wanted to know what it was like in there from their perspective.
What follows is not for the faint of heart.

I entered the building, and one of the workers accompanied me to the holding
area. This is where dogs are kept before they are allowed up for adoption.IF
they are allowed up for adoption. If the dogs are found to be aggressive in any
way, euthanasia is employed. Fortunately, if "fortunately" is the word to be
used here.this is a Canadian establishment, and they use lethal injection, not a
gas chamber.

The pound worker led me past a big steel door that says "Employees Only". "What
is in there?" I asked. From the look he gave me, I knew that this is where dogs
go in, and never return.
We moved on to a row of kennels. The dogs were barking loudly, there was the
acrid smell of urine and feces, and a feeling of despair seemed to permeate the
room.
"Go ahead," the worker said. "They're all yours."

PETEY

I looked into the first kennel, and saw only the back of a medium sized dog who
was curled up in the corner of his kennel, shivering. He was mostly white, with
some black spots. "Hello?" I said. "May I come in?" He lifted his head, as
though it weighed more than he could bear. When he looked at me, I could see he
was a Pitbull. His eyes were gentle, but filled with grief. "Enter," was all he
said.
I stepped in, closing the gate behind me. He put his head back down, facing away
from me. I crouched down a few feet away.
"My name is Pete. Petey my Master called me," he said, still not looking at me.
"Why are you here Pete?" I asked.
"I am here because Master cannot afford to move to another province. I am here
because someone with power said I am vicious, and a killer. Someone who never
met me. Master took me for a walk one day, and some lady started to scream when
she saw me. I got frightened, and barked at her. The dog police came, and they
took me away. I have been with Master for 10 years. The last time I saw him, he
just held me and cried. He kept telling me he was sorry. I worry for him.
Whatever will he do without me?" Pete shivered even more. A tear slid down my
face. I am supposed to remain objective, but this was wrong.so wrong.
"Thank you Pete." I said. He said nothing as I got up and left his kennel.

Popper

The kennel next to Pete's held a very young looking dog. Pure Border Collie by
my guess. He stood on his hind legs, looking at me through the gate.
"Hello. My name's Popper. He tilted his head. "Are you here to take me home?"
"No, I'm sorry," I replied. "But I would like to talk with you."
"Sure. What would you like to talk about?"
"Popper, how did you come to be in this place?" I asked.
Popper dropped down from the gate, with a perplexed look on his face. He walked
to the back of the kennel, then back to the front. I noticed he had one blue
eye, and one brown. He was quite beautiful. His black and white coat was shiny
and thick.
"I am not certain WHY I am here. I think maybe my family will come back for me.
They bought me when I was only 6 weeks old. I remember they said how smart
Border Collies are, and how it would be so easy to train me. They were very
excited at first. The little ones played with me all the time. But the trouble
with little Masters is, they refuse to stay in a group. I constantly had to nip
their heels to keep them together." He looked confused. "Why won't they stay in
a group?" he sighed. "So I did what I thought I should do. I am not quite sure
why the little ones screamed when I did my job, but they did, and the Masters
got very angry at me. They also got angry when I had to relieve myself, and did
so in the house. I am not sure where they expected me to go. All they said was
that I was the smartest breed in the world, and I should just KNOW better. Then
they left me in the yard for a month or so. I got bored a lot, and I dug holes
in the grass. The next thing I knew, the
Masters brought me here."
Popper jumped back up on the gate, his white paws protruding through the links.
He looked at me with his lovely eyes, and asked "Will you please let them know I
want to come home? Please tell them I promise I will be good?"
"I will Popper," I said.

Spartan

My heart was breaking. I was beginning to regret coming here, but their stories
had to be told. I moved along. The next dog I saw looked to be easily 100 lbs.,
a Rottweiler. He was handsome indeed, except for the scars on his face and back.
He tilted his head, and looked me right in the eyes.
"Hello. Who are you?" he asked.
"I am a reporter," I replied. "May I speak with you for a little while?"
"Most certainly. My name is Spartan. You can come in, I won't bite," he said.
"Thank you Spartan. I will."
I entered his kennel, reached out and stroked his giant head. He made a loud
grumbling noise, and closed his eyes.
"Spartan, why are you here?"
Before he could answer my question, he was suddenly in the grip of a nasty
coughing spasm. It sounded painful.
"Please excuse me," he said when it passed. "Kennel cough. It seems all of us
who come in here get it.
"Why am I here? Well, about two years ago, I was born in the backyard of some
person I can't even recall. I had 11 brothers and sisters. I recall a day when a
big man came and gave that person some money, and took me away from my mother.
They had to chain her up, as she was very angry that he took me. They chained
her and beat her. I came to know the man by the name of Jim. I overheard him
telling his friends that I would grow up to be big and mean like my mother. But
as I grew older, all I wanted to do was play and be friends with everyone. Jim
said I needed to be taught how to be mean, so he chained me up in the yard. No
more house for me, he said, I was too spoiled. When people came by to visit, I
was so happy to see them. I wanted them to come and play. But that made Jim
angry, so he beat me with sticks and chains. When he came near, I would roll
onto my back so he would know I wasn't a bad dog. That made him beat me more."
Spartan's eyes clouded with grief. "Then he
brought me here."
I reached out and stroked Spartan's massive gentle head once more. "I am so
sorry Spartan. Some people are just plain evil." I gave him a kiss and left his
kennel. As I walked away, Spartan called out, "What will happen to me, nice
lady?"
I shook my head. "I can't say Spartan. Maybe someone kind will come and get you.
We can only hope."

Patsy

I walked a little further down. I could see a shape moving at the back of the
next kennel. "Hello?" I called out. Suddenly the shape lunged at the gate in a
fury, barking and gnashing its teeth. I stumbled backwards, and crashed into an
adjacent kennel. The other dogs began barking loudly and jumping at their gates.
"Don't go near her," a small female voice came from behind me. "She's mad."
I gathered myself back together, and saw a little Jack Russell Terrier behind
me.
"Thanks for the warning," I was still trembling. Across the way, the other dog,
apparently a Husky and German Shepherd cross, was glaring at me, lips curled
back revealing brown stained teeth. Her ribs and hips showed through her dull,
matted grey coat.
The little dog invited me into her kennel, and I gladly went in.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Patsy." The little brown and white dog held a paw up to the gate in
greeting.
"My owner surrendered me. She said she wanted a cute little dog like the one on
the TV show, Frasier. She didn't bother to look into the type of dog I am."
Patsy heaved a sigh.
"I suppose she expected me to just lie about and only need a short walk each
day, just like Eddie, but my energy was so high that I needed to run and play."
She glanced at her surroundings. "Now I am here. I suppose it could be worse. I
could be like.her." Patsy looked towards the still growling dog across the way.
"What happened to make her so vicious?" I asked.
"From what we could gather," she replied. "she was found tied in a back yard.
She only had a three foot chain. Some days there was no water. Rarely was there
any food. One day a nice neighbour came by and brought her some meat. By then it
was too late. She was already mad. She broke off her chain, and bit the poor man
badly. We know she will be going behind the steel door. I am sad to say, I think
it will be best. Perhaps then she will know some peace."
Just then, the door at the end of the building opened, and a woman stepped
inside. All the dogs began to bark wildly, then one by one, they went quiet. I
whispered to Patsy, "Who is that? Why have all the dogs gone quiet?"
Patsy breathed deeply through her little nose, and closed her eyes. "SHE is a
Rescuer. Can't you smell it?" she asked.
"Smell what?" I was confused.
"Compassion. Love. Sorrow. It emanates from her pores. She is here for one of
us, but nobody knows who just yet." Patsy looked hopeful.
The Rescuer moved from kennel to kennel, looking at each dog. I sat quietly
watching. I could see tears in her eyes as she made eye contact with each one.
She stopped at Spartan's cage and spoke quietly to him.
"No more beatings my man. No more. You are coming with me. From here on in, it's
all going to get better." The Rescuer produced a leash, opened the kennel door,
and took Spartan away. As he walked beside her, his little stubby tail wagged
with delight.
Patsy sighed again. I could see the disappointment in her eyes, and it grieved
me. They all had the same look, as they watched The Rescuer depart.
"I am so sorry Patsy," I said in a whisper. "But you are a little dog, and
everyone loves little dogs. I am convinced you will be rescued soon." Patsy's
brown eyes twinkled at me, a little bit of hope returning.

I had heard and seen enough. I needed to tell people how it was for these
unfortunate creatures. They were all here through no fault of their own. I stood
to leave. I passed by many other dogs I did not interview, looking at each one,
wishing I could take them all home with me and give them the love they deserved.
I stood by the door taking one last glance back, when it opened, and one of the
pound workers came in. His face was drawn and sad. He walked by without a word,
and stopped at Pete's kennel. I heard him take a deep breath, then he paused,
and opened the kennel door. The words were muffled, but I am sure I heard him
say "I'm sorry old boy."
He came out, with Petey in tow. The old dog's head hung down in resignation, and
they both disappeared behind the big steel door.

Copyright
Sally Hull
July 6th/2006

[Roxy04 0]

Est-ce que tu pourrais me dire si tu as le contact d'ou vient ce texte? Je souhaiterais demander la permission de le traduire...

[Jaelle1 0]

Tu as réussis à me faire pleurer...

Pauvres cocos!

[Squirrel1 0]

non Roxy, je n'ai pas le contact.
Ca vient de mon forum de amstaff.

[gin1 0]

C'est dur à lire mais c'est la réalité de tous les jours...

[Lily indil1 0]

je fait ca a toutes les semaines, amener des animaux deriere la porte noire...

j'ai trouvé vraiment difficile de lire ce texte. Quand je travaille, c'est comme si je me mettais une barriere mentale ou un masque (j'ai pas le choix, sinon je passerais mon temps a pleurer dans un coin), mais quand j'arrive à la maison après les jours ou j'ai travaillé derriere la porte noire, le masque tombe et je trouve de plus en plus difficile de rester stoîque.

c'est ce que j'ai fait aujourd'hui, travailler derrière la porte noire, heureusement il y en a moins qu'il y a quelques semaine, mais c'est tout de même difficile, car la quantité ne change rien aux émotions et au découragement par rapport a la société.

merci pour le texte, ca me rappelle qu,il FAUT parfois laisser tomber la barriere et laisser le trop plein sortir.

Lysanne

[Invité]

Très touchant . . .

[Squirrel1 0]

Lysanne, tu as toute ma sincère admiration

Ca doit effectivement être très difficile, je n'en serais pas capable mais je suis vraiment contente que ces chiens puissent être entre tes mains lors de la dernière marche. Ils auront eut beaucoup de compassion de ta part et je suis certaine qu'ils peuvent très bien le ressentir.

[MozNiki1 0]

Je viens de lire le texte et j'essuie mes larmes... Quand je lis ce genre de texte, ça me touche énormément car ma petite Niki a vécu ça. Elle a été 10 jours à la SPCA sans que personnes vienne la voir. Tout le monde changeait d'idée quand la préposée leur disait qu'elle était destructrice. C'est drôle, mais elle n'a JAMAIS rien détruit chez moi...!

Très beau texte. Il réflète la réalité de 3 races de chien que j'ai chez moi...

[MozNiki1 0]

Voici Part II


Interview at the Dog Pound, Part II

It had been two weeks since I visited the local dog pound and its
denizen. The story, not surprisingly, had attracted a lot of attention from
rescue groups in the area. They were pleased someone from the city paper had
taken the time to write a story on why dogs end up in the pound. It was
hoped it might raise some awareness.

I found my mind wandering back to that sad place time and again. I
wondered how feisty little Patsy was, and if she had been adopted yet. I
also worried for Popper, the young Border Collie. I was deeply troubled in
my spirit.
As I sat staring blankly at my computer screen, trying to concentrate on
another story, I felt the familiar warmth of a little chin resting on my
knee.

"Hi Sweetie." I stroked the soft fur of my own dog, Sophie. She always
knew when I was upset. They all seem to just know. There was then a gentle
nudge of my arm on the opposite side as my other dog, Banner, vied for my
affections. Border Collies, both of them.
"I have to go back," I said, looking into Sophie's intelligent eyes. "I
have to know."

Return to the Pound

Once again, I found myself in that foul smelling kennel area. No matter
how many times you clean a place like this, the stench is always there. It
must be hell for dogs, having such a keen sense of smell.

Pete's old kennel had a new tenant, some sort of Labrador mix. She was
black with small white markings on her chest and paws. There was a food dish
in the corner, the kibble untouched by the look of it. She lay on her side,
whining. I could see she had recently had pups by the swollen teats. Poor
girl.

I moved past the Lab, to Spartan's old kennel. Empty. Good. I held my
breath as I approached Popper's kennel, hoping beyond hope that he had been
adopted. I was not prepared for what I saw. This once proud, handsome young
Border Collie was now a quivering mass in the corner of his kennel. He
glanced up at me briefly, a flicker of recognition in his eyes, then he
began to cough violently. His tail was tucked tightly between his shaking
legs.

"Oh Popper!" I cried. "What has happened to you?" Popper simply cowered
into the corner, shrinking away from my voice.
"It's his breed," a familiar voice spoke from behind. "They're too
sensitive. The noise and smells drive them crazy. Intelligent fellows like
him can't take the long hours of boredom and lack of companionship." I
turned around to see my little friend Patsy, the Jack Russell Terrier. I
peered through her kennel gate.
"Ah Patsy," I shook my head. "I had hoped you would have found a nice
home."
"I did," Patsy replied. "Well, at least I thought I did. The day you came
here, someone came in and chose me. It turned out the same.another person
who wanted a cute little dog, but not the work it takes to keep them happy.
She brought me back just three days later, tired of my constant playing and
running about, bouncing off the furniture." Patsy stood on her hind legs,
resting her little paws on the gate. "But guess what? A man and a little
girl came here yesterday, they smelled VERY good too! They petted me, and
played with me. Then they threw a ball for me. I brought it right back to
them like a good dog!" Patsy was becoming very excited. Her stubby little
tail wagged rapidly back and forth, making me grin. "They kept talking about
something called flyball! The man said they were going to go talk to someone
named Mom, and maybe they would come back."

I smiled. Maybe they would come back. In the meantime, I had some
questions for Patsy. "What has happened in here since my last visit?" She
dropped back down onto her haunches, and became sullen.
"I hate this place," she said. "That Lab down there?" I nodded. "Well,
she came in with ten puppies. Someone just dumped them all like garbage at
the front door. That was last week. Five days ago, some of her young became
very, very ill. I remember smelling the sickness.the smell of blood. The
workers came in, they called the sickness Parvo. They were very agitated.
Six of her young died, the other four went behind the steel door." Patsy
shuddered. "She has been mourning since, and will not eat."
"Lord have mercy," I whispered.
"That's not all," she said. "The disease has run through the kennel, and
others have gone behind the steel door. I suppose I was lucky, I was
vaccinated. So was Popper, but he has The Cough." As if on cue, Popper once
again was seized by a coughing fit behind us.

"I have to get out of here," Patsy wailed. "I am so frightened!" Once
again I was questioning the logic of my return to this God forsaken place.
"Oh Patsy," I opened the door to her kennel and picked her up in my arms,
cuddling her close. I could feel her trembling.
"You smell different," she said suddenly stopping and sniffing me.
"You.smell.like one of.THEM."
"Them?" I asked.
"A Rescuer!" she sniffed me once more, her little tail wagging rapidly.
Just then, the door to the kennel room opened, and a pound worker and a man
with a little girl came in. The little girl rushed toward Patsy's kennel,
but stopped abruptly when she saw me holding her.

"Oh no!" she wailed. "You aren't taking my dog are you?" I quickly put
Patsy into her waiting arms, and said "No young lady, she is all yours! But
take very good care of her, she is one special little dog."
"Yay! Daddy look!" she squealed as Patsy planted little dog kisses all
over her cheeks. "Daddy, is she really mine?"
"Yes Honey, she is really yours," her father beamed. The worker
instructed them to be sure to bleach the bottoms of their shoes as they
left, and I saw a brilliant sparkle in Patsy's eyes as she looked at me over
the shoulder of her new little master. This time, I was certain, it would be
okay.at least for this one little dog.

As I left the building, and the many sad and despairing dogs it held, I
could not help but wonder how anyone with a heart could abandon their
beloved and devoted pet. Ignorance and selfishness are the cause of so much
grief. These amazing animals give humans their whole hearts. They serve
them, protect them, and give them unconditional love regardless of how they
are treated. Their capacity for forgiveness is something I will never
comprehend.and yet they are so often treated like trash by the very ones
they trust. Their loyalty is repaid with blind indifference.

Opening the door to my car, I wiped a tear from my cheek, and looked
down. " Patsy isn't the only dog who will find out what flyball is, right
Popper?" Popper looked up at me, a glimmer of hope returning to his glazed
eyes, his tail wagging slightly between his legs. I knelt down, cupped his
sweet little face in my hands, and looked him in the eyes.
"It's off to the vet with you, and then when you are well, you are going
to meet your new brother and sister."

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
This is a work of fiction, and as such, I have chosen to end it on a
happy note.
I truly wish all pound stories ended in such a manner, but sadly, this is
not the case. For most animals, the story ends quite differently. According
to the Humane Society in the USA, THIRTY EIGHT ANIMALS PER MINUTE are put to
death for no other reason than THEY EXIST. Responsibility begins with YOU.

Copyright
Sally Hull

[Lily indil1 0]

merci pour tes bons mots squirrel et pour la suite de l'histoire MozNiki.

Je dois avouer que ce n,est pas facile de travailler dans un refuge, mais quand on sais qu'on peux changer les choses ca réconforte un peu:)

Pour les semaines à venir, je m'occupe du programme des familles d'accueuil avec une autre employée. Nous fesons tout ce que nous pouvons pour trouver de bonnes familles pour nos animaux. Nous devons restructurer le fonctionnement du programme , trouver de nouvelles familles et placer des animaux.

Donc je n'assisterai plus aux euthanasies pour un petit moment, mais parcontre c'est moi qui dois décider de qui j'envoie derrière la porte noire et qui j'essaie de sauver... Au moins maintenant j'ai un pouvoir de décision ;)

je vous remercie encore de votre appuie. Vos mots sont apaisants.


Lysanne

[Squirrel1 0]

Merci pour la suite de l'histoire.

C'est encore tellement touchant.