Be Humane

Hu·mane

adjective

Characterized by tenderness, compassion, and sympathy for people and animals, especially for the suffering or distressed

synonyms

Merciful, kind, kindly, kindhearted, tender, compassionate, gentle, sympathetic; benevolent, benignant, charitable

antonyms

Brutal

I started working for the Amarillo-Panhandle Humane Society just about a year ago, give or take a couple of weeks. I was already somewhat familiar with the facility, having performed my volunteer hours there in order to gain my Certification to become a Dog Trainer. In addition to that, I'd been there several times just being a resident of Amarillo.

The Humane Society is essentially the adoption arm of Amarillo's Animal Control. APHS is housed on the same property as Animal Control, and must therefore abide by the City's rules and regulations. This means it is a kill facility.

When a stray animal is picked up by Animal Control, it has three days to be reclaimed by its owners. If it has a name tag, rabies tag, or microchip, the owners are contacted and have five days to retrieve their animal. Unfortunately, the identifiable pets are in the minority. (There are a total of 8 buildings on the property with one reserved for tagged animals; the building is smaller and usually has the fewest dogs in it.) Even then, the owners often refuse to pay the impoundment fees and leave their animals there to die.

The lucky ones who are extended by the Humane Society are granted an extra five day stay in hopes that the small amount of time will be enough to find them a new, loving home. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. Through breed specific rescues and external foster programs, an additional number of animals get a ticket out. Because of the Humane Society's new Executive Director and the staff she assembled, adoption rates are higher and euthanasia rates were lower while I was there than they had been in the history of its existence.

Saving lives was important work for me. It was also the hardest work I've ever done. Not just physically (working outside in snow or 100+ degree heat, carrying huge dogs who refuse to walk on a leash because they're so frightened they just shut down), but mentally and emotionally. The staff tried to prepare me for what I was about to endure with pep-talks and warnings... but no amount of second-hand stories can prepare you for the horror or the atrocities that humans do to animals on a daily basis.

My first day on the job, I went with a co-worker to pick up a litter of kittens from the vet. The vet had diagnosed them with feline leukemia. Perfectly happy and healthy kittens are euthanized every day because there aren't enough homes. We certainly couldn't adopt out the sick ones. We took them directly to the EU room and my partner asked me, “Do you want to wait and watch?” Do I want to watch them die? That's enough for day one, thanks. I'll skip it. (Although I would later carry several animals back who were severely injured and hold them while they were injected so that they would know someone was with them. I figured if it was going to be their last breath, they should know that someone cared. Even if it made me cry.)

At the end of my first week, I was given a stack of “yellows” (the carbon copy we received of the intake form from Animal Control) and told to go match them up to the puppies in the kennels of the puppy building. If there wasn't a dog matching the description on the sheet, I marked a blue line through it and kept counting. Those puppies hadn't been adopted. They hadn't been reclaimed. I was counting dead puppies. I drank myself to sleep that night.

Some time during my first month, a family came in to reclaim their missing pit bull. I was relieved, knowing that more of those die than any other type of dog. One more reclaim is one less death sentence. I went to the kennel with the family to leash their dog and could tell the dog was horribly frightened, even at the sight of his own family. Something was wrong. What dog wouldn't be happy to finally see his family and get busted out of jail? As we got closer to the door of the Humane Society, one of the bigger kids said something ugly and kicked the dog. I stopped, stuck my finger in his face, and said as sternly as I could without yelling, “Do NOT kick the dog!” He was stunned for a second but I could tell it hadn't made much of a difference. Within a few minutes, I found out why. I watched the dad of the family drag the dog out to their truck, pick him up by the skin of his neck and his back legs, and pile drive him face first into the bed of the truck. I was FURIOUS.

I went next door to Animal Control to tell them what I'd seen. “Isn't anybody gonna DO anything!?” Nope. According to Texas state law, the dog is that man's property. He can do anything to it that he wants. I was told to let it go. Walk away. Don't get involved. It's none of your business. “If you actually CARE about this job, you'll lose your damn mind.” The Director of AC tried to console me by telling me to give it about a week and if I still remembered, I could have an officer dispatched to their address to do a welfare check on the dog. I wasn't going to forget.

Exactly one week later, I asked dispatch to send an officer out for a welfare check. The dog was outside on a chain, dead in their yard. No tickets. No charges of animal cruelty. No prosecution. NOTHING. “Let it go?” I couldn't.

I came home that night and vented my frustrations on Facebook. I posted a video of L7's song “Shit List” with a caption naming the owners of the dog. “This is for …... whose dog is dead now because I didn't stab them in the face when I had the chance.” (The face stabbing isn't really a thing I would have done. I admit I was being emotional.) Animal Control supervisors saw it and called MY supervisor who then called me and said I had been instructed to remove it immediately. “They might know she posted it, and we can't have that.” I was actually hoping that someone I knew would forward it to them. I wanted them to know I posted it. I wanted them to know that someone was watching and that what they had done was deplorable. Legally, I wasn't even allowed to publicly humiliate them. Within a week, my supervisor had a new list of employee regulations and guidelines we all had to sign, including the promise that we would never speak of or mention anything regarding business of the shelter in public or on social media.

I cried almost every day. Every face behind every kennel trying to claw their way out while screaming for affection would seep their story into my soul. The heart-wrenching indifference of humans was turning me into one of those animals who saw people as the predators. Because I cared - just as I had been warned - my sanity was in serious jeopardy.

I was regularly called a “murderer” for working in a kill shelter. It didn't matter that I poured everything I had into my job and often went above and beyond what it took to get every animal I could into a decent home. Nobody who works for the Humane Society or Animal Control WANTS to see animals die. They certainly don't enjoy it. An overwhelming majority of them are on medication because of it, myself included. It's because of the general public – not the animal staff – that thousands of animals in our area per year have to die. They die because of neglect. They die from starvation by people who don't realize they need to eat every day. They die from lack of medical treatment. They die because people have litter after litter after litter of unwanted puppies who have no homes. They die because people can't be bothered with flea and tick treatments. They die because they chewed on a rug when they didn't have any toys. They die because they're given as gifts to people who didn't want them. They die because people don't have fences and dogs break chains. They die because people let their dogs out and when they get picked up, they don't want to pay their tickets.

The people at Animal Control aren't the bad guys. I've gone to bat for them publicly on more than one occasion. They have incredibly hard jobs and get bashed way more often than they deserve. Then there came a time when they needed me to do it again, but I'd signed that nifty “shut-it” clause. If I wrote anything in their defense, it would first have to be approved by my immediate supervisor, then the board of directors for HS, then finally the City Commission. I wound up posting my story anonymously.

The people at AC are there to keep people and animals safe. Sure, you're upset about your tickets, but would you rather have had your dog hit by a car? Possibly picked up by a stranger who tossed it into a dog fighting ring? (Those aren't just Pit Bulls, by the way. People use Boxers, Dalmatians, Ridgebacks, Rottweilers, Dobermans, German Shepherds, cattle dogs, and even smaller ones who would never be seen as “vicious” by normal standards. Having a Beagle or a Yorkie doesn't keep them safer from sociopaths.) Or perhaps left to their own devices, roaming the streets for months until they starve to death? Is THAT better? No, it isn't. At least when they're picked up and put in a kennel they have safety from the elements, food and water until you come to get them. IF you come to get them. If not, it is then squarely on the shoulders of the Humane Society staff to do their best to clean up the mess with which you couldn't be bothered.

One day I was walking through the Quarantine building for sick and injured animals. I don't remember what I was looking for but what I found knotted my stomach. At first, I couldn't tell if it was the worse case of mange I'd ever seen or if it was something else. My fears were confirmed when it was decided this boy had actually been set on fire. I knew that nobody was going to reclaim him. I knew that he would be dead by the end of the week. All I could do was talk to him and try to comfort him with pain pills and treats.

In this particular instance, I knew that no cruelty charges would ever be filed. No one knew who owned him and nobody knew who did this to him. Nothing would ever be done to the monsters who sealed this dog's fate. I'm positive they're roaming the streets today and this couldn't have possibly been their only victim. Granted, that's me assuming this wasn't an accident. It could have been, but I don't find it very likely.

People often forget that there is a direct correlation between animal abuse and people abuse. People living in a household with someone who can do this to an animal, will likely face domestic violence issues themselves. That's not just me being emotional about it - it's a FACT.

There was another case with a dog named “Sponge Bob.” He came in with a broken jaw and a dried up, dangling eye. He'd been that way for a while. The owner signed him over to be euthanized because she didn't want to pay the vet bill. The Humane Society decided to pay for it and got him to a vet. According to the vet, the dog wasn't hit by a car as the owner claimed must have happened. The break to his jaw was too clean. And since it was the eye on the opposite side of the broken jaw that had come out, the vet determined that the dog was most likely kicked with such force to the jaw that his eye had been dislocated from the socket. Now, because I didn't personally see what happened, I was told not to make any declarations or assumptions which is usually the wise decision. However, once the previous owner of the dog admitted that she had seen her grown, 40+ year old son repeatedly kick her animals, there was very little doubt in my mind as to whom the offender was. And wouldn't you know it, as soon as the vet bills had been taken care of through the generous donations of strangers, the woman decided she wanted the dog back. 

Nobody saw it happen though, so it couldn't be proved. His mother certainly isn't going rat out her own son. Once again, animal cruelty charges won't be filed. And I was once again reprimanded for being too sensitive.

When DO animal cruelty charges get filed? That's the million dollar question I'm still trying to figure out. APHS employs the ONE person who is certified to investigate animal cruelty in the top twenty-six counties in Texas. ONE girl – twenty-six counties. Needless to say, she's a little overwhelmed.

The trick to this is that the Humane Society can only investigate inquiries outside Amarillo city limits. Since that's the case, the sheriff's department of the offender's county must first be contacted. If the Sheriff doesn't feel like picking up the case because his county doesn't have the time or resources (or give-a-damn) to deal with it, it's out the window. There are endless amounts of red tape that prevent these prosecutions.

Earlier this year we were involved with some hoarding seizures from a woman in Dalhart. Our cruelty investigator had been dealing with this woman for four years and couldn't get anything done to her. There were finally enough people involved that the news outlets started paying attention. Once the spotlight was on the officers, they had to do something. After THREE seizures back to back on different properties, more than a hundred animals in total were confiscated. She finally served a few days in jail.

http://www.newschannel10.com/story/20628819/nearly-70-animals-seized-from-dalhart-women-for-possible-cruelty

Aside from that one case, I haven't really seen any others prosecuted. I've never heard of ONE inside the city limits. Why is that? “It's none of your business.” Well, then whose business IS it?

Amarillo Animal Control officers are allowed to give tickets for inadequate food, shelter, and water. That's about it. Their hands are tied because there aren't any laws in place to back them up. Even if there were laws in place in defense of the animals, AC is only there to write tickets. They can't prosecute any of them. That would be the Potter County District Attorney's office. Someone needs to ask them why they're letting people get away with murder.

Some of the more observant readers may have noticed that I previously mentioned I haven't been legally allowed to speak about any of these things. “What makes you able to talk about them NOW?”

They can't fire me now. Here's why:

On Tuesday, July 2, I went to work just like every other day. We've recently been painfully understaffed and it was often down to me and one other girl in the office (who is due to have her baby in 2 days, which left me with a lot of the legwork). I took a call from a sobbing and belligerent woman in Indiana because her pit bull had shown up in our tagged building. I went next door to the AC office to check on the dog's paperwork before I could decide if it was worth the effort to try and put together a transport for the dog across the country.

While I was standing there, a man came in with another pit bull to drop it off. He said he was moving and couldn't take it with him. It happens every day. Knowing that “owner donates” who are dropped off with AC are taken straight to the back room to be put down, the girl behind the counter said, “Sheaaaa, come look at this beautiful dog! Could you guys put him up for adoption?” I exhaled a sigh of exhaustion and went around the counter to see the dog, even though I knew he had about a 1% chance of ever being adopted (and that's a 1% chance IF he's exceptionally well-mannered and has been perfectly socialized). I knelt down sideways and reached my hand out for him to sniff it. He growled. Studying animal behavior is what I do every day. It's not just a hobby for me. I knew exactly what that dog was thinking and precisely why he reacted the way he did. He was scared senseless and had NO idea what was going on. His owner obviously didn't know that or didn't care and proceeded to smack the daylight out of his dog. Right in the face. Right in front of me. 

Imagine being less than 1/4 the size of your protector. Now imagine being dragged into a strange place and not knowing why. Imagine only being able to sense that something is wrong and that your life is about to change drastically without being able to do anything about it. Imagine cowering in fear. Imagine being able to hear hundreds of other animals crying simultaneously just outside the door. Imagine being able to smell the rotting corpses of the other animals who didn't get adopted out and wondering if you were next. Imagine vocalizing your fear in the only way you know how to, and then getting beaten in the face for it by the only person on earth who is supposed to care for you.

Within a fraction of a second, I DID imagine all those things. I felt that dog's heart racing inside my own chest. I was helpless and angry and disgusted, all at the same time. And I snapped.

Before I knew what was happening, I saw my hand raise itself into the air. My brain flickered a futile synapse, “Stop!” But before the command of logic had processed, it was too late. The damage had been done and could not be reversed.

As rumors spread, surely the legend of what happened that day will grow. Years from now, I will have knocked out the man's teeth and given him a concussion. That's not really what happened. Dude got popped upside the head. It wasn't any harder than a mother smacking the hand of her toddler for picking up a piece of candy it shouldn't have... if that toddler is muscular and 6'3” tall.

I went on about my business. Back at the Humane Society office, I called next door and apologized about the happenings. The girl who answered said that the same man was on his way to our office. He was there before she finished her sentence.

I gave him our intake sheet for him to fill out but wanted him to know that I was doing him a favor. I apologized for my reaction while I pulled out my business card with a picture of my dog Beau on it. I told the man, “This is my dog.” I pointed at pictures on the wall of my other two (now deceased) pits and said, “Those were my dogs.” He said, “You got pits?” Yes, I do. And that's why I'm sensitive about their abuse. We went back and forth and I promised I would do everything I could to help get his dog into a new home. He thanked me for my help and shook my hand. I thought that was the end of it. It almost was.

At closing time, I saw my boss come in the office with the Vice President of the Humane Society board. I didn't take the time to consider it odd because I was in the middle of an adoption with some other people. Everyone was smiling and laughing and taking pictures. I congratulated them and they went on their way.

Then I heard, “I need to see you in my office.” Okay. Even in that instance I still had no idea anything was wrong. I casually said, “What's up?” She looked at me with confusion and disappointment and said, “Did you HIT somebody today!?” Oh. That. Yeah. I guess I wasn't supposed to do that, huh? Is that gonna be a problem? “You did it AT Animal Control, ON city property, AND in front of witnesses. It's a HUGE problem.” I hung my head in shame as I finally came to process the situation. I knew I couldn't explain why I did what I did, and I certainly couldn't defend it or justify it. I looked at her and said, “I understand you gotta do what you have to do.” Because my supervisor is also a very dear friend to me, I know it put a dagger in her heart to tell me, “I have to let you go.” I had put her in the position where she didn't have any other choice. I'd finally become too much of a liability. It wasn't the first time the word “liability” had been tossed in my direction, but it was the last I'd hear it in that building. We all knew from day one it was only a matter of time... and the time had come.

All too often I heard the words, “I don't know how you do it; I couldn't do it.” Well, apparently I couldn't do it either. Not for much longer than a year.

I only sulked for a day or two before I started seeing it as a gift. “Emancipation” is a fitting word. My heart wanted a way out but my mind kept telling me I was needed there. The way in which it finally unraveled was the easiest ticket the universe could have possibly handed me. It kept me from leaving in the back of a cop car or in a straight jacket. Either of the aforementioned routes would have been highly unpleasant, although highly plausible as well. I don't begrudge anyone on staff for the way things happened. That was all MY bad and I'll own it. I still love, respect, and miss them dearly. Someone has to keep doing the work that I'm not able to do.

I wanted more time to read and study. I've got that now. I wanted more time to do the job I love – training people and their dogs. I've got that now. I longed for the ability to use what I learned in my year at the Humane Society as an opportunity to teach people through writing about it. I've got that now. As for my sanity? That has yet to be determined.

Feel free to follow my training adventures at https://www.facebook.com/DogTrainingBySheaWhite

Pet First Aid

I recently attended a lecture (or seminar, or class, or whatever you wan to call it) given by the American Red Cross on First Aid for Dogs and Cats. Most of the first aid you'd need to give a cat is the same as it is for dogs with slightly different handling techniques. Mainly, don't get your face slashed off, but that's a pretty good rule of thumb in ANY scenario.

Because I care deeply about the accuracy of the information I absorb, I had a lot of questions during this particular presentation. I've been patching up dogs from minor accidents for as long as I can remember and have always used basics from my medicine cabinet. Since they were selling “Pet First Aid Kits” after the presentation, my first question was “Is there a difference between a Pet first aid kit and a People first aid kit?” The answer I got was “Yes,” but with no elaboration. I can only assume this was in order to sell me a new kit. The "teacher" was also there to show us how to accurately perform CPR and how to find a pulse on an animal, even though she admittedly couldn't find a pulse on her own dog. I'll do my best to refrain for any additional smarmy comments, but you may rest assured I won't be recommending anyone spend their hard-earned money on this course. Bear in mind, this is NOT a slam on the American Red Cross in general - just this one particular person who was visibly irritated by the presence of anyone who might question her lack of knowledge on the curriculum she was chosen to teach. Rant over. Moving on.

Because I'm prone to accidents myself, I've got a medicine cabinet overflowing with random items I've accumulated for the past 20 years. Gauze, ointments, pills, ace-bandages, knee braces... you name it, it's probably in there. If something in there doesn't fix what's wrong, it's probably time for a trip to the emergency room. To answer my own question – and one you've probably asked yourself by now – there really isn't much difference between a pet first aid kit and one you may have for yourself.

BUT! Even though people normally have things around the house, most people rarely have a sufficient stock for their vehicles. Accidents are just as likely to happen elsewhere, especially during spring and summer when you may be traveling with your pets to somewhere as simple as the park for a stroll.

I went ahead and bought a “Pet First Aid Kit” for my truck (mainly just so I wouldn't have to waste the time it took to purchase the individual items). I opted for the “fanny pack” version as opposed to the “in a box with a handle” version so that I could strap it to the head rests and not worry about it sliding around in the back where the dogs usually ride. One misstep by my beloved Beau would have smashed a plastic box into a thousand pieces. If you have a place in your car to safely store a box and that's easier for you, go for it. Here's mine:

Now, to see what's IN it:

In this bag, there are three zippered compartments. Everything came in the middle, so I just put things where they seemed most logical to me.

In the front pocket, I have two sets of rubber gloves, and that thing that looks like a pen is actually a tiny flashlight. People who work with dogs for a living are used to being covered in things like vomit, fecal matter, blood, and any other assortment of bodily fluids all day. Eventually it tends to not bother you... but there might be that one accident by the side of the road that's just a little TOO gruesome for bare hands that you've decided to stop and help with. Gloves are almost never a bad idea to have around. And even if you carry a regular flashlight in your car for general safety purposes, having a smaller one on hand might help in case your dog gets something in his ear or down his throat. If your dog is choking on something, you may need to be able to see it in order to safely remove it.

In the back pocket, I've placed the bulkier items that were blocking my view of the smaller items I finally decided to place in the middle pocket. Here we have two different sizes of sterile gauze packets and three q-tips. Just use your imagination on the q-tips; I'm positive there are hundreds of uses for them. As for the gauze pads, it's best to keep several handy if you can. If your dog ever gets a laceration (or cut) that's bad enough he bleeds through one, DON'T REMOVE IT to replace it with another one. If the wound has started to coagulate, you're just going to open it up again by moving any gauze that's on it. Just put a new gauze pad on top of it and keep applying pressure while you're on your way to the vet because at this point, it would seem as though Fido needs some stitches.

Now we've come to the middle pocket where there are all sorts of nifty little gems.

Yes, that's a person on the thermal wrap. As I've previously implied, ALL these materials can be used for people too, because DUH. But whatever. If you live in a region where your dog may have fallen into an icy river, or perhaps gotten himself stuck in a snowbank, this could come in handy. It's quite similar to a huge sheet of aluminum foil; it's VERY fragile so if your dog freaks out and decides he's going to claw his way through it, he will. If your dog is freezing and you need his temperature up, you may want to put a towel (or a blanket if you have one, maybe an extra hoodie or jacket) on him first, then apply this to reflect back any heat. The fabric will keep him from tearing as many holes in the thermal wrap, as well as absorbing any excess moisture.

Next, we have more gauze. This is the long, wrap-around kind that you may need to dress a leg wound, or to secure the bigger gauze patch from earlier if there's a chest or rib area laceration. Most injured animals are going to want to bite, so if you absolutely have to, the longer gauze can also be used for a make-shift muzzle. Make a secure loop around the mouth (avoiding the nose), go back under the jaw, and make another loop behind the neck. This won't really work for a relatively non-snouted dog such as a French Bulldog or a Pug.

I'm forever finding reasons that I need scissors when I don't have some. (Please don't judge my manicure or lack thereof. I work in dog poop. I don't care.) Your dog may get tangled in something. You may need to shorten a rope to tie something somewhere. (Rope wasn't included in the first aid kit and I'm not trying to imply that it should have been. But rope is one of those things that I hate not having when I need it, so that's in a different pocket of my truck.) If you're in an area where there might be people fishing, your dog could wind up with a fish hook through his paw pad. Use the scissors (if they're strong enough) to cut off the end with the hook in order to safely remove it. Also, you're probably going to need these around to cut the extra gauze length from the previous picture.

Tweezers are another thing you always need when you don't have them. I'm not too sure what I think about these plastic ones yet, but I'd rather have a set of crappy tweezers than none at all. Use them to pull out stickers or broken glass, etc.

Of course, you'll need some ointment. If you can't find little packets like these, just get a regular tube. If your dog has long hair, make sure to sweep the fur aside before applying ointment to a wound. The ointment can actually help you “goop” the fur out of the way if you need to get some gauze on top of it.

If you suspect your dog has ingested something poisonous, don't call 911. They're going to yell at you that 911 is for people and hang up. You should call the ASPCA's Animal Poison Control Center for specific directions. Here's the number: 888-426-4435 (Enter it into your cell. Right now.) If you need to get your dog to vomit and can somehow get some Hydrogen Peroxide down his throat, don't forget to make sure the bottle is NEW. If it's been previously opened, it won't have the bubbles in it to make it work. This one is only 4 ounces and doesn't take up much room.

This might help you get the Peroxide where it needs to go:

Next is an ice pack... for when you need an ice pack.

Also, here are some eye drops... for when you need eye drops.

I'll save the picture of the tongue depressor because everyone knows what those look like (not to imply that most of you didn't know what scissors and tweezers are - I'm just tired of loading pictures). “But why would I need that!?” Well, mainly if your dog is choking on something and you're not really sure what it is. As soon as you try to look in your dog's throat, his tongue is going to back up and block your view. In addition to using it for its actual purpose, you can also use one to help build a splint if you have a smaller dog with a leg injury.

Lastly, we have a styptic pencil. The main ingredient in most of these is aluminum sulfate and it's used on cuts. Most groomers use a styptic powder for when they cut nails into the quick to stop the bleeding. (Before safety razors were invented, it was a standard part of shaving kits and was used to heal shaving cuts.) When applied directly to the wound, it constricts the surrounding tissue sealing the injured blood vessels. But be warned: it's gonna burn.

And there you have it! I'm sure there are other things you could find helpful in an emergency but this is a pretty thorough list. Keep in mind, if your dog has a severe injury, PLEASE use these items and methods on your way to your vet or an emergency care clinic.

Thanks!

(I knew I'd think of something later...)

This won't come in any emergency kit but I ALWAYS have some around the house. It's called Vetericyn and can be used to treat almost any wound. Hot spots, rain rot, rashes, post-surgical sites, burns, cinch fungus, ringworm, skin infections, scratches, eye infections, skin ulcers, thrush, and insect bites. The thing I love most about this is that I use it on ME all the time too!

Amarillo Magazine

A sweet little girl by the name of Sarah Clark thought it would be interesting to do a story about me for Amarillo Magazine. We sent some e-mails back and forth, and met in the park to take some pictures with my dog, Beau. Then this happened. The abundance of flattery was almost unbearable for me to stomach. I snorted awkwardly when I read that she had called me "petite." Granted I AM short but I've also got shoulders like a linebacker, so I wasn't really sure where she pulled that from but I was willing to take it as a compliment. I never considered myself a "star" and I still find myself moderately uncomfortable when people call me a "dog whisperer"... all I did was take the time to learn how to communicate with them. Anyway, that's enough about that. Here's the article:

Amarillo Magazine - Unpathed Path

***I'd like to add a little something to this; an addendum that CANNOT be overlooked. In this article, while I was still working for my previous "mentor trainer", I mention the use of "e-collars", which is essentially a sugar coated abbreviation for an electric shock collar.

It was mandatory (meaning I didn't have an option and neither did my customers) that I use them on my Camp & Train students and I was repeatedly reprimanded for not using them enough. I knew that I could train my students effectively without their use and always tried to avoid it until the last minute. It was during that last minute that my "mentor trainer" would step in and, without fail, shock the living daylight out of my dogs and puppies as young as 4 months old. I watched those babies flinch, scream, try to run away (but couldn't because they were leashed), and sometimes urinate out of sheer terror. It made ME cry to observe the brutality of such a completely unnecessary infliction.

I wound up covered in stress hives and no longer enjoyed my job. As a matter of fact, I began to loathe my training time when I knew my obligation wasn't just education, but causing pain. So, I quit. I walked away from the only training opportunity I thought I had because I just couldn't take it anymore.

From there, I began my OWN training business. I have since then vowed to NEVER use or endorse the use of an electric shock collar. I also strongly loathe the use of choke chains and prong collars. They just aren't necessary. With some time, patience, and proper techniques, ALL of the aforementioned "tools" can be completely avoided.

If you're in the Amarillo area and need help getting your dog to walk politely on a leash, please visit my website for more information: SheaWhiteDogTraining.com

Allegations and Absurdity

The next entry I wrote for “The Dog Logs” was going to be about the foster puppy, Rango, but before I had the time to finish it, something else came along that demanded my attention…

There is a picture that started circulating on Facebook a few days ago of a bloodied and sad little Australian Shepherd. It’s a heart-breaking picture, really. Having sincere concerns for the welfare of this animal, I immediately had questions. How did this happen? WHY did it happen? What kind of injury are we looking at? Is anyone taking responsibility for this?

The picture and its caption were soon spread with adamant intent. The caption varied slightly from person to person with each posting but its general gist was this: “This is what happened when Animal Control picked up Cassie Simms dog!!! This is Auston, he is the nicest dog ever and he was out in their alley yesterday playing with some other dog when animal control picked him up and proceeded to beat him. Those of you that know Auston know that he wouldn’t hurt a fly, this makes me sick to think that anyone could do this to such a sweet dog, or any animal at that. When we went to pick him up this is how his owners found him, his lip was busted, he had a cut on his chest, he was bleeding from his nose, and looked like he had been tossed around. The owners feel like there is nothing they can do about it. The police were called and they won’t do anything about it because animal control is who deals with animal cruelty. We want this story to spread like wildfire. This happened right here in Amarillo, and it’s completely unacceptable. Something needs to be done to whoever did this.”

This caption only raised more questions for me. Dogs don’t belong in alleys. Why was the dog in the alley? Had it run out the door of his home or had he escaped his yard? How did Animal Control happen upon this dog? Was his home near where he was found or had he been wandering the streets for days? My next concern was why the people involved automatically assumed the dog had been beaten by Animal Control. The dog could have been in a fight with another dog. The dog could have injured himself while escaping his own yard. There are MANY questions that a rational person would have asked before jumping to that particular conclusion.

Being somewhat familiar with the establishment, I was positive that there is NO person employed by this agency who clocks in every morning with the intention of breaking into someone’s yard and stealing their dog to beat it bloody (which is the FIRST position the owner took – that later changed). The notion is absurd beyond comprehension. Every single person on staff there owns at least one, if not several animals. Contrary to the currently popular circulating rumors, they’re actually employed to help protect animals as well as people because they CARE.

This is going to bounce around a bit because this story has been ALL OVER the place and it's quite confusing, even to me. Please bear with me as I try to piece it together as logically as possible from the information I have gathered.

The night the dog was taken into custody (Tuesday, May 8), the owner told officers that she would be going to the media because of her outrage over the situation. Animal Control had no problem with that because they knew they weren’t in the wrong. She has every right to do so, should she deem it necessary.

On the afternoon of May 9, the head of Animal Control contacted the owner and asked if the dog had seen a vet about his injuries. She was told that if she didn’t have a particular vet she already used that they could recommend some and would happily pay the bill for a full examination including x-rays or whatever was deemed necessary. She already had a vet that she had seen regularly, so it was suggested that she go see the one with whom she was already familiar. Animal Control also contacted the vet and asked for a full medical report upon completion of the examination because if there WAS any sign of abuse from one of the officers, action upon said officer would be taken swiftly. The vet soon reported to the owner of the dog and to Animal Control that the only injuries found were several cuts in the mouth and a slightly swollen jaw, consistent with any animal biting a staff. The vet also advised there was no wound on the dog’s chest as stated in the caption. The animal displayed no tenderness or soft tissue damage indicating that the animal had been abused in any way.

I soon found a page on Facebook that had been created for the incident at hand: “Justice for Auston.” (I’m not here to question why the spelling of the dog’s name changed 3 times; I’m sticking with the “O” because that’s what’s been most consistent.) They posted the video of the ProNews7 interview where the dog was happily bounding around the yard, playing with the owner, and with no visible injuries. What WAS visible in the video were gaps in their fencing large enough for a small horse to escape.

See for yourselves here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=LYzJ9dHW6kU

As people lined up to bash the government agency for their cruelty, I decided to start asking questions. It was only fair to start with the instigating party, to see if I could get a more fully formed side of their story. “If the dog was so severely "beaten" why is he running and playing in the yard? Have you ever seen a scared animal on the end of a catch pole? Have you ever had your tongue pierced? It bleeds a LOT. The wounds could have very easily been self-inflicted and have apparently been confirmed by HER veterinarian as such. Keep in mind there are always TWO sides to every story.”

I know now that these were not the correct questions to ask of these people. The point to the tongue piercing question was that when I was 16 and living in Austin mine was done incorrectly and bled profusely for nearly an hour. I didn't think it was ever going to stop. A frightened animal biting at a metal stick could cause a lot more damage. You could Google a medical analysis, or just read this,: “Mouth injuries are common, especially in children [or dogs], and may involve the teeth, jaw, lips, tongue, inner cheeks, gums, roof of the mouth (hard or soft palates), neck, or tonsils. Sometimes mouth injuries look worse than they are. Even a small cut or puncture inside the mouth may bleed a lot because there are many blood vessels in the head and neck area.” Thank you, Cigna Medical Care.

After logic evaded the “Justice for Auston” group once again, I added that their own posting began with the phrase, "An Amarillo dog-owner is breathing a sigh of relief after it was confirmed by a veterinarian that her dog was not abused by Animal Control officials." I continued asking questions. “Then why the tirade? What justice does she want? I'd think she'd want a fence that isn't full of holes. Not ONCE have I seen anywhere that the owner took responsibility for HER dog being out of HER yard.”

As suspected, the Shea-bashing continued. Rikki Lynn Nicole Quaas replied, “wow seriously ^^^^ thats just insane.... and complete bs. NO DOG SHOULD LOOK LIKE THAT WHEN IN CARE OF ANIMAL CONTROL, and if the "catch pole" is such an obviously horrible way to capture an animal, then WHY USE IT!!?? and not to mention they knew where the dog belonged and instead of getting the owner and returning them home they leave a note???? and catch and "BEAT" an animal that cant speak up. Plus we all heard side 2 to the story ....”

First of all, why am I insane? For suggesting that the owner take responsibility for having inadequate fencing? Lemme 'splain a little something to you. The owner was clearly not home at the time of the incident. Do you expect the Animal Control officers to break into her house to leave the dog inside? No. Should they have put the dog back into the yard from which it just escaped? No. If they had done so, the dog would have easily been able to escape again and what then? Get run over by a car? Is THAT better for the dog than taking it into custody? No.

After this, a young gentleman by the name of Jake Hudson decided to toss another spit wad in the bucket. I'm not here to call Jake a bad guy – he's clearly passionate about the situation, although it would seem slightly misguided. It's obvious he cares about the dog and its well being. He's just not willing to look at any view point other than his own.

“@Shea if you read, there was more than a bitten tongue. The dogs nose was bleeding and had cuts. I understand there are two sides to the story, but when you look at the FACTS, regardless what you think you can not ignore the fact that they left the dog in the kennel to bleed. Im about 99% sure if that was your dog, you wouldnt go "oh the pound didnt do this cuz the vet says so".


Actually, if I didn't SEE any wounds on my dog, I certainly wouldn't invent them. And if I should have my dog inspected by a professional of my choice who agrees there are no additional injuries, I wouldn't be seeking an attorney to sue someone over something that didn't happen and demanding that everyone who was called in to help (because of MY mistake) lose their job because of incompetency.


Jake continued, “Obviously if the dog was bleeding from the nose, there would have been some type of blunt force trama. If you watched the video, the director blamed that on the stick they used. Oh please that thing was plastic, likelyness that the dog was close enough to the officers to hit it on the nose is ridiculous.”


Again, I have to point out some inaccuracies. The poles are metal. The dog doesn't have to be in close proximity to the officer in order to bang his nose on it. The point is to keep the dog AWAY from the officer. If you think this is physically impossible, you've clearly never watched an episode of Animal Cops. If that's still too much effort, you could just take a gander at this video which PROVES the possibilities. I know your attention spans are short, so just skip to the 50 second mark. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kVuC8LHiM3A


Oh dear mother of pearl, he's still talking. “Also Shea, this has nothing to do about her lack of responsibility. We all understand that things happen, dogs get out. But when it looks like the dog was beaten and thrown in the kennel is unjustifiable. You cant remotely consider taking there side on that, if not you dont deserve to have a dog.”


Actually, yes, it has everything to do with her lack of responsibility. And I can forgive the grammatical errors and misspellings to an extent. But to say I don't deserve to have a dog? Them's fightin' words. And it's not stopping there! “Also, i have had my tongue pierced and no it does not bleed alot ;)” I'll give you the grace of assuming you've been misled up until this point but now I can without hesitance call you a LIAR.


For some reason, I continued to beat my head against a virtual brick wall. “I work with animals every day. I am a teacher, a trainer, a reader, and a writer. Too many people are using emotion in the place of logic here. Is it not standard practice to notify an owner if their dog has been picked up? Yes. That's why they left the note. Obviously, the owner was not present when this occurred. Why was Animal Control called concerning the animal in the first place? What did the owner SEE happen to justify - aside from what a veterinarian has already disclosed - the accusations of abuse? What state of panic, aggressive or otherwise fearful as is its natural instinct, was the dog displaying at the time? How long was the dog in Animal Control's possession before the owner arrived? You shouldn't be angry at someone for having questions. I don't want to see any animal hurt when the situation could have been prevented - I care for them as much as anyone here. All I want to know is the WHOLE story. That shouldn't offend anyone rational.”

Here comes Rikki Lynn Nicole Quaas. “There was no questions asked by you. You made a blatant statement suggesting the animals injuries were self inflicted. And absolutely no animal should ever be returned to the owner looking like that ... No matter how long it is in animals cares control. Not EVER. Call whomever you like irrational, fact of the matter is if you see this picture and hear both sides of the stories which we all have and you still want to place blame on a defenseless animal then I don't even have any more to say ...that pretty much says it all. anyway.... enough outta Shea ....”


I pointed out that there were indeed TEN previously asked questions, none of which were answered. You can't say that both sides of the story were clearly represented, then turn around and accuse the news station that the owner went to of somehow providing a cover-up. It can't be BOTH. According to the owner and her friends, the TV station is lying, the newspapers are lying, the veterinarian of HER choice is lying, and of course Animal Control is lying. Everyone BUT the owner is at fault. These people are making my brain tired. I give up. If the people on this side won't answer my questions, I'll ask them elsewhere.


The entirety of my day has involved investigation of every aspect of the events which Cassie Simms has personally deemed newsworthy. Her outcry for “justice” while running to every media outlet in town is what made this information public. I didn't get into this looking to take sides or pick a fight. All I wanted to know is WHAT HAPPENED.


And this is what happened:


It was reported that several male dogs were wandering loose in an alley near Cassie Simms' home. A resident nearby owns a female Boxer who happened to be in heat. The woman who owned the boxer – and had her contained safely in her yard – called Animal Control to have the excess animals removed because they were also acting aggressively to other residents who were trying to use their alley.


At approximately 4:10, the first officer arrived at the location and quickly assessed he would not be able to handle the situation on his own and called for back up.

The people who know Auston well say that he is a very friendly dog and never aggressive towards anyone he knows. This persona can change dramatically when a male dog is trying to mate with a female in heat. In addition to this, he was also being pursued by people he didn't know who were trying to take him away from “sexy time.” In this instance, a dog would be naturally aggravated. That's just science. If you disagree, feel free to look it up.


It took both officers several minutes to corner Auston and contain him with a staff, also otherwise referred to as a “catch pole.” Once he was secured on the staff, he continued the aggressive behavior and attempted to attack one of the officers. This is another reason for the implementation of the staff. The animal fought and bit the staff from the location of his capture, all the way to the vehicle into which he was loaded. Even with the additional protection of padding on the end of the staff to help prevent injuries, he wound up biting his own lip and tongue, and banging his nose on it.


At approximately 5:55, Cassie Simms arrived at Animal Control demanding the return of her pet and accused “someone” of opening her gate to allow her dog to escape or that Animal Control had trespassed onto her property in order to steal the dog from her back yard.


Before I continue, let me show you some pictures of her “gate” and you can make your own decision as to whether or not this scenario seems plausible.

Where else could an Australian Shepherd – whose breed is known for their acrobatic skills - have possibly had the opportunity to Shawshank his way out of there? The more sensible question to pose would be, “Where did he NOT have the opportunity?”

At approximately 6:05, the officer returned to Animal Control with Auston secured in his unit. He was advised that the animal needed to be cleaned up before giving him back to the owner. Both the officer and his supervisor made several attempts to clean Auston up. The more they tried, the more aggressive the animal became, and the more he bit the staff and kept injuring his lip. In fact, he was SO aggressive that even Mrs. Simms could not contain him and had to wait for her husband to arrive before they could leave with the dog.

I'm not here to say who's right and who's wrong, but you can clearly see where my suspicions lie.

I should also add that the ConnectAmarillo.com article containing the previously debated video ended thusly:

“Results of the examination concluded the dog did not suffer any type of injuries from any sort of abuse.

Cassie said she is content with the outcome and glad her dog was not abused.

As for Auston, Cassie said he is doing fine and getting back to normal.

She said her family now plans to upgrade their fence to ensure their pets do not escape again.”

Yet the fight continues because justice has still somehow been avoided. Justice for WHAT!?

Here's what I want you to ask yourselves: Which story makes more sense to YOU?

Life's the Pits

I started doing volunteer work at the Amarillo-Panhandle Humane Society the first week of March this year. It began as a requirement in order to gain my certification from Animal Behavior College. I waited until the last week I was still taking classes to cram in my 10 necessary hours and was more than happy to finally have it over with. Frankly, the place was depressing and by my second day out there I broke down in hysterics, tears streaming down my face, announcing I would never return.

Well, I returned. The same week I started my hours at the Humane Society (which shall henceforth be referred to as HS), my sister-from-another-mister, Jena (and just so it sounds right in your head while you’re reading this, it’s pronounced like “Gina”), became the new Executive Director there. She's got a heart as big as Texas, and I have yet to meet another person whose passion is greater than hers when it concerns the welfare of animals. She's a doer, not a talker, and she's inspired me to be the same. As long as I'm being honest, I'll admit she's guilted me into 1/2 of it whether it was intentional or not. Knowing she's up before 5:00 in the morning every day makes it a LOT harder to hit the snooze button until noon with a clear conscience.

Some time in December, Jena and I started making plans to win the lottery so that we could open a Pit Bull rescue and rehabilitation sanctuary for the Texas Panhandle since that doesn't really exist anywhere closer to here than Dallas. We both own Pits and know they can be incredible dogs (and have been historically noted as such) but we’re also painfully aware of the stigma surrounding them because of the selfishness and stupidity of human kind. We started sorting out legal papers, figuring out how to screen potential adopters, looking at and pricing plots of land, imagining blue-prints, and all sorts of shit. Needless to say, we never won the lottery and real life eventually got in the way. Actually, not winning the lottery didn’t really hinder our dreams altogether… we just got veered in a different direction.

About the time Jena was being hired as the Director of HS, I landed my training position at Animal Lodge. I teach group classes twice a week now, and work the Camp & Train (which is essentially a 2 week doggie boot-camp) “students” on a daily basis. We both kind of got our dream jobs. Neither one of us really imagined the term “dream job” would include being covered in shit, piss, blood, vomit or any other number of natural bodily functions regularly, but we couldn’t be happier.

One day Jena called me and said the HS board had revisited its previously applied policies and finally approved the implementation of the adoption of Pit Bulls. After at least a decade of not having been able to rescue this particular breed from the shelters, we were both ecstatic.

Most people should already know (although some seem to not) that this is a decision that requires quite a bit more planning and responsibility than trotting down to the pet store and picking up a cute little Bichon Frise bouncing in the window. (I said they’re cute – save the “I have a Bichon, you racist!” hate mail, please.) Pits need dedication, supervision, training, exercise, proper socialization, adequate fencing, super strong chew toys (don’t even waste your money on the squeaky shit), and LOTS of love and attention. They are NOT yard ornaments. Despite their tough exterior, they’re really quite sensitive – as are ALL dogs. People all too often forget that animals have feelings and it breaks my heart that so many of them need to be reminded of that. “That dog in my neighbor’s yard just won’t quit barking!” Did you take into consideration he might be tied to a tree with no food or water or attention with nothing to do but bark until his plans of escape come to fruition? If that were you in his place, you’d be pretty pissed off too.

Anyway, there’s a huge adoption event that comes through town every year (well, this is the third), North Shore Animal League America’s Tour For Life. It starts in Jersey or somewhere over there and makes stops all over the country. Jena has been preparing for this since she received notification, and about a month ago she called and said she’d pulled a Pit for it. “He’s really sweet; I named him Sparky. I need you to help me get him ready for this adoptathon. Can you give me an hour a day to just come work with him?” She knew I wouldn’t say no. This was our opportunity to prove what our mission had been about all along.

The day I went to meet Sparky he was covered in ticks. Ticks have been REALLY bad in our part of Texas this year and in a shelter, you can’t help but run across them. We put him on a lead and took him out of his kennel to give him a treatment. Jena applied the medicine while I held on to the nylon leash/noose around his neck. To say Sparky was a puller is a gross understatement. I’ve wrangled some damn strong dogs but I was afraid I’d met my match. The lead was cutting into my fingers and I was honestly afraid it was going to come apart at the stitches. The insides of my knuckles were white for a good 10 minutes after I let him go (yes, I probably need to take more vitamins but that’s not the point); it was obvious to me that he’d never been on a leash and if that was the case, he probably doesn’t have any amount of obedience training either. His previous owners made the effort to crop his ears, but not to register his microchip (for that matter, he wouldn’t still be at HS if they’d bothered to come look for him). Sparky had been a lawn ornament. I had three weeks to get this dog trained and my confidence was shaken a bit. This is going to be HARD. But then again, my dog Beau came from essentially the same situation of abandonment and neglect and I got HIM into decent shape, SO keep yer chin up, lil’ camper! It ain’t gonna be no cake-walk but it’s also not impossible.

That night, Jena picked me up and we took a trip to PetCo to pick up the equipment I’d need to work with Sparky. All I really wanted for him was a prong collar, a 30 foot leash, and some treats.

Some people think the use of a prong collar is medieval and cruel. Don’t get me wrong; it CAN be. But it’s also a learning tool and when used correctly CAN be effective. When I was trying to get my dog Beau to walk politely on a loose leash, I tried every trick in every book. I cried at the thought of being a failure; “Some trainer I am. I can’t even get my own dog to stop dragging me around.” *Sniffle*Sob*Snot* I finally broke down and got a prong collar for him. With the correct sizing, fit, placement, and technique, Beau is now doing wonderfully. He still gets excited about every tree on our walks and pulls when I’m not keeping up, but it’s nothing like it used to be. My face is still where I left it instead of smeared across the sidewalk somewhere down the block. {Side note just to make myself clear: Beau is more than ½ my body weight and built of pure muscle. I’ve lost nearly 20 pounds and 2 pant sizes since I started working with him and the other dogs. To take on a dog like him who’s never seen a leash or the inside of a house is work that takes commitment and patience. I saw something the other day that gave me pause… if you’ve got your 2 pound Yorkie on a prong collar, you might want to put him back in your purse and reevaluate your relationship with the Animal Kingdom.}

Every day that I went out to work with Sparky, Jena was usually off doing something selfish like feeding herself or her animals, or at another meeting figuring out how to be better at her job. On day five, I ran into her at HS. When I saw her I said, “Hey, you wanna come see how awesome Sparky is!?” “Yes, I do!” I told her I’d started off with him on a regular leash but by the end of the week I had him on the 30 foot line which was essentially like using no leash at all (but should he run off or get distracted, I still had control). He was smart, eager to please, and did everything nearly perfect in a very short amount of time, especially considering it took a while for him to recognize that “Sparky” was the new sound we were calling him that he was supposed to pay attention to. Over the next weeks, the days we spent together were as much to get him out of his kennel as anything. Run him around, stretch his legs, scratch his belly, then make sure he still remembered his hand signals and what-not. The way he crinkled his nose when he looked up to smile at me was about as delightful as anything I could imagine. He was truly Sparkalicious.

On one of the days that I went to play with Sparky, Jena told me they’d just picked up another puppy and she knew I was going to fall in love with him. “He’s a pit/mastiff mix and we named him Rango.” When Animal Control found him, he had a prolapsed rectum and needed surgery. I learned this via text and replied, “Jesus, his asshole fell out!?” I wasn’t sure what that was all about but when I met him he had little pink stitches in his bottom and a cone around his neck to keep him from bothering them. It was heart-breaking AND hilarious. Then he looked up at me with his little golden puppy eyes and I DID fall in love with him. But I don’t want a puppy… puppies are jerks and pee all over your house. I can’t have him because my house is too small and Beau is enough for me to handle anyway. I found 100 reasons to walk away from this puppy to keep from getting attached to him. Then Jena said, “He’s cute AND he needs a foster home! It’d just be until the adoptathon and I’m sure he’ll get adopted quickly. He’s got special needs and I know nobody will take better care of him than you will. C’moooooon, Shea!”

Shit. Now I have a foster puppy. I guess we’ll see how THIS works out. *Sigh*

Who doesn't love a cookie?

After finishing the book portion of my learning through Animal Behavior College (which shall henceforth be referred to as ABC) I was set up with a local certified trainer. To complete my certification, I must observe a series of 7 classes, take a dog through the 7 week course (naturally, I'll be training Beau) and then help teach said classes. We're almost ½ way through the observation and participation segments (since there is more than one class per week, we get to double up on schooling) and Beau is doing GREAT! It gave my heart the warm and fuzzies to hear my mentor trainer tell me how smart she could tell he was, and that it's obvious to her how much work I've been doing with him at home. During his first class with me, she even said he should be a therapy dog because of how awesome he was with the children who came to love on him. I'm learning patience, which has never been one of my greater virtues, and it's actually paying off. Once we complete normal obedience training, my goal is to get Beau through the American Kennel Club's Canine Good Citizen program – which is quite a bit more rigorous - so that he'll have additional certification as well. To some it may just be a piece of paper, but to me it will prove that both of us have gone above and beyond the call of duty.

In addition to my schooling, in order to become certified, I must also complete 10 hours of volunteer work at a local shelter, along the lines of the Humane Society or SPCA. Because I know people at the Amarillo Humane Society, that's what got picked. Well, that, and they ASKED me to come work with them.

The paperwork that comes with the volunteer portion of my program is about 30 pages thick; I should have suspected as much since my “textbook” was such a fat bastard.

Upon being informed of my new career choice, my brother delicately inquired, “Why the fuck's it take a year and a half to teach a dog to sit?” Well, it's a little more complex than that. I'd never even heard the word “coprophagia” before but now I know its symptoms and how to write out a comprehensive treatment plan for it. Go ahead, Google it. I'll wait.

To begin my volunteer work at HS, I first had to fill out an application and was told by my coordinator from school that they'd need to run a background check. It makes me wonder why this process came to fruition. Was there at one point a string of hardened criminals lining up to walk shelter dogs? There's no point in me asking questions to rebel against the system, just run my shit and if we have to have the discussion about some bounced checks and traffic tickets from my early twenties, I'll deal with that when it gets here.

I did my “meet-n-greet” early last week with the HS staff, then went back the next day to observe a little bit of their day-to-day routine. After my butt went numb from sitting in a chair in the lobby, I decided to walk around a bit and talk to the dogs. After wandering through several of the buildings I started feeling guilty that I didn't have any treats for any of the animals. I was headed to buy some when the main lady said they kept some up at the front desk. “You wouldn't happen to also have a clicker, would you?”

Within the 30 pages of instructions as to what I was supposed to do while I was working with kennel dogs is a section entitled, “Make Your Shelter a Bark-Free Zone.” In a nut-shell, when you encounter a calm, non-barking dog, you're supposed to click your clicker then give the dog a treat. They have listed EIGHT steps to this process and made it seem nearly impossible. I don't see how this is supposed to keep everybody from barking all the time – random barking seems inevitable – but I'm here to learn. Right this minute I've got no clicker so I'm wingin' it.

I was given a full, sealed bag of cookie type biscuit treats. Knowing I didn't have enough for everybody to get one, I started breaking them into 2 or 3 pieces. From afar I could hear barks echo from every individual building, filling the sky with a chorus of stress and fear. I thought, “There's no way...”

Each dog run stretches from inside a building to an external portion, so they can have their heated or air-conditioned section as well as the ability to be “outside.” Either way you look at it, it's still caged concrete with very little interaction; I don't understand how anybody with half a heart can see these animals in this situation and not have it break a little.

When I went outside, the first dog I walked up to seemed happy to see me. For that matter, most of them are happy to see anybody. My instructions are to not treat the animals unless they are calm, of course not barking, and have all 4 feet on the ground. I figured out that as long as I was standing, most of the dogs would jump up to get closer to me. I don't know if it's considered cheating or not but once I squatted down to their level, all 4 feet hit the floor.

After I finished feeding the dogs in the first outside run, I headed inside the Pit Bull building to visit the most vicious monsters on the planet. (Yes, I typed that with an eye roll.) The second I walked into the building most of them were quiet. One big dude on the end barked a little until he could see me. They had some puppies nearest the entrance and I could see 3-4 kennel runs back at a time – they were ALL calm. I broke my cookies up and squatted in front of each dog, talking to them and feeding them, wishing I could pet them. Every single one of them smiled and licked my fingers. Every. Single. One. Not one barked AT me. Not one tried to bite me. They all just wanted to be loved, as is in their nature.

It was in the “vicious monster” building that I ran into THIS little nugget:

Oh. My. God. Her legs were just over half the length of any normal pit bull and I came to the conclusion that she must have been mixed with a Corgi. I instantly fell in love with her. At first glance this picture might look like she's snarling but she's happily smacking cookie bits. I may have allegedly doubled (or tripled) hers just to see her make that face again. I wanted to bring her home with me SO badly but I've decided I can't have another dog until Beau is fully trained. The dogs here get 5 days for their owners to retrieve them. She's been at HS since at least last Tuesday. If I go out there tomorrow and she's not there, I'll know her 5 days were up and I WILL cry. That such a sweet animal was abandoned and her “people” didn't give enough of a shit to even go find her – sentencing her to death. If she IS still there tomorrow (which I highly doubt) I'll happily pay the $15 to extend her life for 5 more days... but to what end?

I made my rounds through the rest of the buildings and had time with everyone who would come to me. There were only 2 or 3 dogs who I could tell were too fearful to approach me or just didn't feel well enough to eat the cookie I handed them. Working with fearful dogs is a whole different bag and I just didn't take the time it would have taken that day to help treat them. You can't treat that in an afternoon; depending on the severity it can take months and even years for them to recover with constant work.

I'd like to say that every single dog in every single pen acted exactly as I wanted them to but that's just not true. ALMOST. There were 2 boxers penned together who were gnarly aggressive. They jumped and snarled and barked and frothed, even as I was sitting down in front of them. I spent a little extra time with them and after a few minutes they finally calmed down enough to eat their treats. They did NOT get doubles.

I didn't really do any work with any of them but it did help me get a feel of what I'll be dealing with. I just hope that during my time there I can grow the callouses necessary to deal with the fact that these dogs have a VERY short time left on this earth. Even the ones who are put on the side to be adopted only get an extra 5 days, bringing their maximum life span to 10 days from pick up if someone doesn't take them home.

It's ugly, but it's life. It's what I've chosen to plunge myself into with the hopes that maybe I can help save a life... or at least bring one more smile to one more dog's face and give them the opportunity to know that someone cares while they're still here.  

Goodbye, Indica

She had a long life but it wasn't the easiest. She was repeatedly beaten, neglected and mentally abused. I did my best to change that, and some days it turns my stomach to think I didn't do enough. All I could do was try.  

She came to me during the winter of a year I've tried to forget. She'd just birthed five puppies and was barely a year old. She didn't know how to be a mother to those pups, nor did I understand what it meant for me to be a mother to her. We both had to learn the hard way.

The man who brought her into my life was a horrible excuse for a human being and always will be. In many ways, Indica and I both endured the same pain... except that I eventually had to accept responsibility for putting myself in a shitty situation. She never had a choice. She was just “here” and didn't have the option of walking away. She stayed by my side for 15 years. I gain solace in the knowledge that MOST of those years were as comfortable as I could possibly make them for her.

She was the toughest bitch I've ever met and I loved her with all my heart. Although I was legally an adult when she came to me, I still feel like we grew up together. She was the protector of our domain; she took to no strangers and kept friends in check, as well as making sure there was never an abundance of free-roaming cats anywhere near my yard. I'll never forget the smiles it brought to her face when she caught one. Or the mess I had to clean up afterward.

I was out of town this past October when she started losing control of her bodily functions. It took multiple visits to the vet and a string of medicinal experiments to figure out what was required to keep her balanced. It was during this time she was eventually diagnosed with Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever and I was told she'd be on medication for the rest of her life. I was willing to deal with that.

This became her morning dose of medication, followed by round 2 in the evenings:

It was close to the end of November when she picked Beau to be the newest member of our pack. Because of her arthritis, she didn't really want to play with him. I started noticing how easily she tired. Her days were beginning to fill with frustration and, I feared, a slight resentment. She wasn't getting 100% of my attention anymore. Although, until I got him neutered, she sure as hell had 100% of Beau's attention. All he cared about was her vagina, and that well had dried up long ago. She spent a significant portion of her time telling him to fuck off. I thought it showed how much she liked him by the fact that she hadn't drawn any blood on him... turns out, she probably didn't have enough teeth left to get the job done.

On the evening of December 23, my friend, Jena, came to visit. She brought early Christmas toys for Beau, none of which Indica paid any concern – she just wanted to rest. After a while, Jena had the smarts to put Beau in his kennel to let Indica have some peace. As I watched her lie on her self-designated section of the couch, the weight of her reality started to kick in. It was heavy on my sternum like a steel-toed boot tied to cinder blocks. I began to sob.

I kept thinking, “But she's still happy sometimes. She smiles and wags...” And then I considered how much effort it took her to give me those smiles and wags and realized how random they'd become. She never wanted me to know she was in pain and she hid it well. She also had a heart murmur, growing lymph nodes, and a constantly irritating growth on her snout she'd break open every day but it couldn't be removed because of its close proximity to her eye.

She was tired. So very, very tired. I forced myself to come to the realization that it was just plain selfish of me to demand she endure this. As much as I hated it, I knew what I needed to do.

I had Jena pick me up the morning of Christmas Eve because I knew I wouldn't be able to make the drive by myself. The vet was only available for an hour that day and it didn't make him very happy to see me under the circumstances.

As we walked down the hall to the back of the clinic, Indica spotted a cat and perked up momentarily. She had no desire to chase or mangle it. My hart sank a little more. I looked at the doctor who had become all too familiar with us in the past 15 years and said, “I don't WANT it to be time, but it's time.” He asked if I was sure. Tears began to flood my steaming, red face. He said, “Shea, at her age, you can't make the wrong decision.”

Jena had the forethought that she didn't want Indica's last moments to be cold or uncomfortable so she brought a soft, fuzzy blanket that she laid upon the “exam” table. As we hoisted Indica to her spot I tried to stay strong for her. “Momma's here, it's gonna be ok.” I switched positions with the administering vet techs to make sure I could hold her. I watched them inject her and held on tighter.

“I'm right here, momma dog... I've got you. I love you SO much...” She didn't fight it at all. She went peacefully limp in my arms. I didn't want to let go. The tech came back within a minute to check her heart-beat. She didn't have to tell me – I knew – she was gone. I stayed with her a little bit longer, to get one more hug and give her one more kiss on her head... until I felt the last puff of air in her lungs escape with a gentle cough.

I have to know I made the right choice. Although I was devastated, it would have been much worse had I returned home one day to find her gone and had missed out on the opportunity of holding her while she passed.

My gift to Indica was to relieve her suffering. Her gift to me was not returning to an empty house. I had Beau's bouncing, smiley face to greet me upon my arrival. I believe she put him here to help heal my heart. He's curled up on my feet under the desk as I type this. It's painfully adorable; and by that, I mean it's cute but I'm losing circulation. 

A few days later I was called to go pick up her ashes. That day was almost as hard for me. We had one last car ride home, then she was laid to rest upon a shelf over my bed, next to her boyfriend, Darwin. 

I like to think they're together now, chasing rainbows and butterflies. It's more likely that they're slaughtering little angel kittens... but either way, I know they're happy now. And so am I, knowing I have my furry guardian angels watching over me.