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"My Name is Sam"
After I was discharged from the Navy, Jim and I moved back to Detroit to
use our GI bill benefits to get some schooling. Jim was going for a
degree in Electronics and I, after much debating, decided to get mine in
Computer Science.
One of the classes that was a requirement was Speech. Like many people,
I had no fondness for getting up in front of people for any reason, let
alone to be the center of attention as I stuttered my way through some
unfamiliar subject. But I couldn't get out of the requirement, and so I
found myself in my last semester before graduation with Speech as one of
my classes. On the first day of class our professor explained to us that
he was going to leave the subject matter of our talks up to us, but he
was going to provide the motivation of the speech. We would be
responsible for six speeches, each with a different motivation. For
instance our first speech's purpose was to inform. He advised us to pick
subjects that we were interested in and knowledgeable about. I decided
to center my six speeches around animals, especially dogs.
For my first speech to inform, I talked about the equestrian art of
dressage. For my speech to demonstrate, I brought my German Shepherd,
Bodger, to class and demonstrated obedience commands. Finally the
semester was almost over and I had but one more speech to give. This
speech was to take the place of a written final exam and was to count
for fifty per cent of our grade. The speechs motivation was to persuade.
After agonizing over a subject matter, and keeping with my animal theme,
I decided on the topic of spaying and neutering pets. My goal was to try
to persuade my classmates to neuter their pets. So I started researching
the topic. There was plenty of material, articles that told of the
millions of dogs and cats that were euthanized every year, of supposedly
beloved pets that were turned in to various animal control facilities
for the lamest of reasons, or worse, dropped off far from home,
bewildered and scared. Death was usually a blessing.
The final speech was looming closer, but I felt well prepared. My notes
were full of facts and statistics that I felt sure would motivate even
the most naive of pet owners to succumb to my plea.
A couple of days before our speeches were due, I had the bright idea of
going to the local branch of the Humane Society and borrowing a puppy to
use as a sort of a visual aid. I called the Humane Society and explained
what I wanted. They were very happy to accommodate me. I made
arrangements to pick up a puppy the day before my speech.
The day before my speech, I went to pick up the puppy. I was feeling
very confident. I could quote all the statistics and numbers without
ever looking at my notes. The puppy, I felt, would add the final
emotional touch.
When I arrived at the Humane Society I was met by a young guy named Ron.
He explained that he was the public relations person for the Humane
Society. He was very excited about my speech and asked if I would like a
tour of the facilities before I picked up the puppy. I enthusiastically
agreed. We started out in the reception area, which was the general
public's initial encounter with the Humane Society.
The lobby was full, mostly with people dropping off various animals that
they no longer wanted. Ron explained to me that this branch of the
Humane Society took in about fifty animals a day and adopted out only
about twenty.
As we stood there I heard snatches of conversation:
"I can't keep him, he digs holes in my garden."
"They are such cute puppies, I know you will have no trouble finding
homes for them." "She is wild, I can't control her."
I heard one of Humane Society's volunteer explain to the lady with the
litter of puppies that the Society was filled with puppies and that
these puppies, being black, would immediately be put to sleep.Black
puppies, she explained, had little chance of being adopted. The woman
who brought the puppies in just shrugged, "I can't help it," she whined.
"They are getting too big. I don't have room for them." We left the
reception area. Ron led me into the staging area where all the incoming
animals were evaluated for adoptability. Over half never even made it to
the adoption center. There were just too many. Not only were people
bringing in their own animals, but strays were also dropped off. By law
the Humane Society had to hold a stray for three days. If the animal was
not claimed by then, it was euthanized, since there was no background
information on the animal. There were already too man! y animals that
had a known history eagerly provided by their soon to be ex-owners.
As we went through the different areas, I felt more and more depressed.
No amount of statistics, could take the place of seeing the reality of
what this throwaway attitude did to the living, breathing animal. It was
overwhelming.
Finally Ron stopped in front of a closed door. "That's it," he said,
"except for this."
I read the sign on the door. "Euthanasia Area." "Do you want to see
one?" he asked. Before I could decline, he interjected, "You really
should. You can't tell the whole story unless you experience the end." I
reluctantly agreed. "Good." He said, "I already cleared it and Peggy is
expecting you." He knocked firmly on the door. A middle-aged woman in a
white lab coat opened it immediately. "Here's the girl I was telling you
about," Ron explained. Peggy looked me over. "Well, I'll leave you here
with Peggy and meet you in the reception area in about fifteen minutes.
I'll have the puppy ready."
With that Ron departed, leaving me standing in front of the
stern-looking Peggy. Peggy motioned me in. As I walked into the room, I
gave an audible gasp. The room was small and spartan. There were a
couple of cages on the wall and a cabinet with syringes and vials of a
clear liquid. In the middle of the room was an examining table with a
rubber mat on top. There were two doors other than the one I had
entered. Both were closed.
One said to incinerator room, and the other had no sign, but I could
hear various animals' noises coming from behind the closed door. In the
back of the room, near the door that was marked incinerator were the
objects that caused my distress: two wheelbarrows, filled with the
bodies of dead kittens and puppies. I stared in horror. Nothing had
prepared me for this. I felt my legs grow weak and my breathing become
rapid and shallow. I wanted to run from that room, screaming. Peggy
seemed not to notice my stateof shock. She started talking about the
euthanasia process, but I wasn't hearing her. I could not tear my gaze
away from the wheelbarrows and those dozens of pathetic little bodies.
Finally, Peggy seemed to notice that I was not paying attention to her.
"Are you listening?" she asked irritably. "I'm only going to go through
this once." I tore my gaze from the back of th! e room and looked at
her. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing would come out, so
I nodded. She told me that behind the unmarked door were the animals
that were scheduled for euthanasia that day. She picked up a chart that
was hanging from the wall. "One fifty-three is next," she said as she
looked at the chart. "I'll go get him." She laid down the chart on the
examining table and started for the unmarked door. Before she got to the
door she stopped and turned around. "You aren't going to get hysterical,
are you?" she asked, "Because that will only upset the animals." I shook
my head. I had not said a word since I walked into that room. I still
felt unsure if I would be able to without breaking down into tears. As
Peggy opened the unmarked door I peered into the room beyond. It was a
small room, but the walls were lined and stacked with cages. It looked
like they were all occupied. Peggy opened the door of one of the lower
cages and removed the occupant. From what I could see it looked like a
medium-sized dog. She attached a leash and ushered the dog into the room
in which I stood.
As Peggy brought the dog into the room I could see that the dog was no
more than a puppy, maybe five or six months old. The pup looked to be a
cross between a Lab and a German shepherd. He was mostly black, with a
small amount of tan above his eyes and on his feet. He was very excited
and bouncing up and down, trying to sniff everything in this new
environment. Peggy lifted the pup onto the table. She had a card in her
hand, which she laid on the table next to me. I read the card. It said
that number one fifty-three was a mixed Shepherd, six months old. He was
surrendered two days ago by a
family. Reason of surrender was given as "jumps on children." At the
bottom was a note that said "Name: Sam."
Peggy was quick and efficient, from lots of practice, I guessed. She lay
one fifty-three down on his side and tied a rubber tourniquet around his
front leg. She turned to fill the syringe from the vial of clear liquid.
All this time I was standing at the head of the table. I could see the
moment that one fifty-three went from a curious puppy to a terrified
puppy. He did not like being held down and he started to struggle. It
was
then that I finally found my voice. I bent over the struggling puppy and
whispered, "Sam. Your name is Sam." At the sound of his name Sam quit
struggling. He wagged his tail tentatively and his soft pink tongue
darted out and licked my hand. And that is how he spent his last moment.
I watched his eyes fade from hopefulness to nothingness. It was over
very quickly. I had never even seen Peggy give the lethal shot. The
tears could not be contained any longer. I kept my head down so as not
to embarrass myself in front of the stoic Peggy. My tears fell onto the
still body on the table. "Now you know," Peggy said softly. Then she
turned away. "Ron will be waiting for you."
I left the room. Although it seemed like it had been hours, only fifteen
minutes had gone by since Ron had left me at the door. I made my way
back to the reception! area. True to his word, Ron had the puppy all
ready to go. After giving me some instructions about what to feed the
puppy, he handed the carrying cage over to me and wished me good luck on
my speech. That night I went home and spent many hours playing with the
orphan puppy. I went to bed that night but I could not sleep. After a
while I got up and looked at my speech notes with their numbers and
statistics. Without a second thought, I tore them up and threw them
away. I went back to bed. Sometime during the night I finally fell
asleep.
The next morning I arrived at my Speech class with Puppy Doe. When my
turn came, I held the puppy in my arms, I took a deep breath, and I told
the class about the life and death of Sam. When I finished my speech I
became aware that I was crying. I apologized to the class and took my
seat. After class the teacher handed out a critique with our grades. I
got an "A." His comments said "Very moving and persuasive."
Two days later, on the last day of class, one of my classmates came up
to me. She was an older lady that I had never spoken to in class. She
stopped me on our way out of the classroom. "I want you to know that I
adopted the puppy you brought to class," she said.
"His name is Sam."
by Chris Benton
Please Spay or Neuter your pet.
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