View Full Version : Interview at the Dog Pound

07-16-2006, 02:05 AM
Get some :tissue: out and be ready to :sad2: :sad1: I got this off of the rescue group I started helping out with.
>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
>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."
>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
>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.
>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
>"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
>I shook my head. "I can't say Spartan. Maybe someone kind will come
>and get you. We can only hope."
>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
>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
>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.

He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. He will be yours, faithful and true to the last beat of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion. - Anonymous

07-16-2006, 02:26 AM
Sorry Erika, I could only read a portion of it :sad1: I'm way to emotional over happenings like this. :sad1:

07-16-2006, 02:55 AM
Sorry Erika ...I couldn't finish either..... :confused:

07-16-2006, 03:01 AM
OK I made it through....thank you Erika, for reminding me why I continue to rescue :hearts: :hearts:

07-16-2006, 08:20 AM
I so think this should be given out and made to be read before shelters except any owner surrender dogs or cats. I bawled and bawled when I read it. It's so heartbreaking to think of the thousands and thousands of animals who have stories just like those. :sosad:

07-16-2006, 09:15 AM
First, thank you for the kleenex warning. I finished it...took me a little while. It's hard to read with tears streaming down your face. (I shouldn't have read this first thing in the morning...) Thank you for posting such a touching story. I agree that it should go to every shelter in the world. Thank doG for rescue!!!!!!

07-16-2006, 10:10 AM
That was such a tough one to read....

07-16-2006, 11:18 AM
Since yhe author is Anonymous....I'm going to print these to hand out at the picnic.....Thank you Erika

Alex's Mom
07-16-2006, 11:32 AM
Actually, the author is a Canadian (:canada:)...this was posted on one of my local rescue listserves a few days ago with the following: "I wrote a story today. I have submitted it to a Canadian dog magazine, and I am hopeful they will print it. It might just help ONE dog. Permission to cross post granted, as long my name, contact email and copyright appear with it: Sally Hull, selahv@shaw.ca, July 6th/2006"

So I'd say go ahead, just give the correct attribution somewhere on the page.

07-16-2006, 12:01 PM
You got it ...credit will be given, thanks Paula

Lee Anne
07-16-2006, 12:14 PM
I couldn't read it. I'm very sorry..... but I know ... I just wish everyone knew and then those places wouldn't be there. :sosad:

Lee Anne
07-17-2006, 12:38 PM
I DID make it through and I'm so terribly sad. I want to vomit every time a co-worker or aquaintance talks so casually about breeding their dogs (I'm talking people that have done NO research and don't plan to do it other than to let Muffy have just ONE or TWO litters.) I want to scream and cry and FORCE them to read these posts.

07-17-2006, 02:14 PM
I made it too, but was very heartbreaking. Thanks, for the reminder.:sosad: