My Name is Sam - A true story about euthanasia (not pretty)

"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 speeches 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 many 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 state of 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 the 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.

Permission to cross-post

"Karen M." wrote in message
om...
"My Name is Sam"

snip
by Chris Benton
Please Spay or Neuter your pet.

Wow, that is a powerful piece.
Annie

"Karen M." wrote in message
om...
"My Name is Sam"

snip
by Chris Benton
Please Spay or Neuter your pet.

Wow, that is a powerful piece.
Annie

It isn't pretty, but it is one of the most accurate, and universal stories
written. The author could be Any Man. The shelter is Everywhere.
This is the reason I can't work at the shelter for more than four months at a
stretch. I get depressed and hopeless and start having nightmares. I have to
sit out for a couple of months and work strictly on fundraisers,newsletters and
other off-site projects. It's also the reason I turn into a frothing crazywoman
every time I run across the sheer ignorance as portrayed by the author the
incomings. It's absolutely true. All of it. My heartfelt sympathy and
admiration goes to the people who *can* face that situation, day after day, and
not lose their determination or hope, keeping hanging in there and trying like
hell to bring about even the smallest change.
Sherry

It isn't pretty, but it is one of the most accurate, and universal stories
written. The author could be Any Man. The shelter is Everywhere.
This is the reason I can't work at the shelter for more than four months at a
stretch. I get depressed and hopeless and start having nightmares. I have to
sit out for a couple of months and work strictly on fundraisers,newsletters and
other off-site projects. It's also the reason I turn into a frothing crazywoman
every time I run across the sheer ignorance as portrayed by the author the
incomings. It's absolutely true. All of it. My heartfelt sympathy and
admiration goes to the people who *can* face that situation, day after day, and
not lose their determination or hope, keeping hanging in there and trying like
hell to bring about even the smallest change.
Sherry

In article ,
enlightened us with...

"His name is Sam."


by Chris Benton
Please Spay or Neuter your pet.

Permission to cross-post


Making me cry at work is not very nice.

What a powerful read.

--
--
~kaeli~
You feel stuck with your debt if you can't budge it.
http://www.ipwebdesign.net/wildAtHeart
http://www.ipwebdesign.net/kaelisSpace

In article ,
enlightened us with...

"His name is Sam."


by Chris Benton
Please Spay or Neuter your pet.

Permission to cross-post


Making me cry at work is not very nice.

What a powerful read.

--
--
~kaeli~
You feel stuck with your debt if you can't budge it.
http://www.ipwebdesign.net/wildAtHeart
http://www.ipwebdesign.net/kaelisSpace

"Sherry " wrote in message
...
It's also the reason I turn into a frothing crazywoman
every time I run across the sheer ignorance as portrayed by the author
the
incomings. It's absolutely true.

Regarding the 'incomings'. I'm sure those who work the intake side hear all
the lamest excuses. These people need to be made aware in the most graphic
terms possible of the impact their stupidity has. How hard would it be to
invoke a policy where people are selected at random to 'help' guide their
hopelessly unadoptable animal through the euthanasia process?
Example - "You carry it back there, observe the piles of bodies, hold it
while shots are given, and place it in the wheelbarrow yourself or you will
have to return another day. Our holding cages are full and we are
shorthanded, so if you want it disposed of, you're going to have to help."
Have language absolving shelter from responsibility for emotional trauma,
etc, buried in surrender agreement. Then beat on 'em real hard about doing
volunteer time or getting someone they know to volunteer. Y'all let these
assholes off too easy..... Screw it if they run home puking... Those who do
it every day will agree that there's plenty of grief to go around.

"Sherry " wrote in message
...
It's also the reason I turn into a frothing crazywoman
every time I run across the sheer ignorance as portrayed by the author
the
incomings. It's absolutely true.

Regarding the 'incomings'. I'm sure those who work the intake side hear all
the lamest excuses. These people need to be made aware in the most graphic
terms possible of the impact their stupidity has. How hard would it be to
invoke a policy where people are selected at random to 'help' guide their
hopelessly unadoptable animal through the euthanasia process?
Example - "You carry it back there, observe the piles of bodies, hold it
while shots are given, and place it in the wheelbarrow yourself or you will
have to return another day. Our holding cages are full and we are
shorthanded, so if you want it disposed of, you're going to have to help."
Have language absolving shelter from responsibility for emotional trauma,
etc, buried in surrender agreement. Then beat on 'em real hard about doing
volunteer time or getting someone they know to volunteer. Y'all let these
assholes off too easy..... Screw it if they run home puking... Those who do
it every day will agree that there's plenty of grief to go around.

"RobZip" wrote in message
...

"Sherry " wrote in message
...
It's also the reason I turn into a frothing crazywoman
every time I run across the sheer ignorance as portrayed by the author

the
incomings. It's absolutely true.

Regarding the 'incomings'. I'm sure those who work the intake side hear
all
the lamest excuses. These people need to be made aware in the most graphic
terms possible of the impact their stupidity has. How hard would it be to
invoke a policy where people are selected at random to 'help' guide their
hopelessly unadoptable animal through the euthanasia process?


This "sounds" good, but I suspect that the end result would be that still
more people would simply dump their cats and dogs somewhere rather than face
what you just described. This means that the poor animals would suffer more
painful deaths.

MaryL