Killer Angels....
I guess I'm just a real sucker for punishment, but I can't help myself... Really, I can't.
And it's not as though I haven't had enough tragedies in my own life, nothing could be further from the truth.
Maybe I am just like a big sponge – my karma, my destiny is to be here to be ravaged with pain and sorrow and blot it all up until the day I finally die. A funny mix of emotion flows through me when I am told that we are only given what we can handle – who, I ask, is the decider of that? But then, maybe that is true too, because I DO know a lot of people who would have crumbled long ago if they had to endure even a tiny bit of what I have experienced.
Knowing my luck though, I'd probably come back as something ugly and reviled by most, like a cockroach or a big hairy black spider. Or maybe one of the multitude of unwanted, abused, and neglected living entities that have the horrible misfortune of being born at the wrong time, in the wrong place, the wrong gender, or maybe just being born at all. What a scary thought. Maybe it would be better to simply believe that when you die, you are dead. Period. No second coming, no unending attempts to come back so you can 'get it right' – whatever 'it' happens to be... Heaven or Hell, perpetuity of existence or obscurity – the combinations and permutations boggle my mind... not to mention that nobody really knows for sure anyway.
However, I digress...
Back to the subject at hand, I just happened to be reading one of my daughters “Chicken Soup for the Soul” books, specifically “Chicken Soup for the Cat and Dog Lover's Soul” Okay, I know, it was my own fault – I started her on those books, and after quite some time of ignoring her first one, she did read it, and she has been an avid fan of them since. And yeah, silly me, I read them too. And yeah, more times than not I end up blubbering and vowing that I will never read another story from any of them again! But I always do because I love real stories about real people and their lives, even if they do pull at my heart strings.
One story, titled “Killer Angels” was written by Dr. Marty Becker, D.V..M., who also happens to be one of the co-author's of that particular Chicken Soup for the Soul edition. It was long after I filled and refilled my bucket of tears over his story that I discovered jut how well known he actually was. I have no trouble understanding why he is so popular...
What drew me to this story was the parallel between between the experience he wrote about, and the fate of my three beloved, healthy young dogs who were not fortunate enough to encounter a vet who held the same morals and beliefs that Dr. Becker recounts learning and embracing soon after graduating, thanks to a Heinz-57 he encountered one day. His story, in part, is as follows:
I had just graduated from veterinary school, and I was volunteering at the local shelter in Twin Falls, Idaho. As I looked down at the dog napping in her run, I knew I was going to have to wake her up to put her “to sleep.” What a cruel euphemism.
She was a Heinz-57 mixed breed with no name, no home, no hope. She was horrifically malnourished, and her coat was a mass of mats and burrs.
In a way, she was lucky to be here. Found on the side of the road – like living garbage – she'd been left to die in a remote area of our country.
The kind rancher who found her brought her to the local shelter where she joined dozens of other cuties and uglies pressing against the front of the cages hoping to catch the eye of someone who had a heart and home big enough to give them another chance.
Problem was there were too many homeless pets and not enough homes. Day after day for a week the dog waited and waited, her still wagging tail marking the time.
But on this day, her time was up. No one had adopted her, like many in the shelter, the animals were too big, too small, too hairy, too young, too old. Without enough cages to hold all that came through our doors, we were prepared to end her life quickly and without suffering. “Better than starving to death in the country,” I said, finding little solace in the words.
I was inspired to enter this profession because of a deep love of animals. I had been highly trained and entrusted to save lives and prevent pain and suffering. Yet here I was about to end the life of this innocent creature. I hated this part of my job, but I had to do it. Choking back my emotions, I readied myself to perform the procedure for which I'd been trained.
I set her on the table, and she wiggled her gaunt frame with delight as I spoke some soothing words and patted her head. The tempo of her tail quickened as she looked up at my face.
Looking into her eyes, I saw total trust, unconditional love and absolute loyalty. I felt the cruel irony of what was taking place. God's precious creatures, embodying the kindest virtues on the planet, being killed for the crime of not being wanted. She held out her leg for me to inject and licked my hand. She was ready. I wasn't.
I collapsed onto the dog and held her tight as I bathed her with tears. Never, ever would I do a convenience euthanasia again. I'd euthanize a pet if it was suffering terribly, or had an incurable disease, but never again because of an uncaring owner's mere request...
Dr. Marty Becker, D.V.M.
If you have read my earlier posts you will have read about the cruel fate of Arch Angel, and her two fine five months old pups, Stan and Pinkie. Their only mistake was being free for about an hour and being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Their deaths still haunt me, even though it has almost been a year now. If not for a cruel, calculated decision of a town council who somehow deemed that I did not deserve the chance to rescue them from this cruel fate, they would still be here with me, or maybe in another loving home that would feel their undying love, loyalty, and trust. I can only imagine what those pups would be like now, but I well remember their Mom, and how very much she meant to me.
When I read Dr. Becker's story, and how G.H. had willingly extended her paw for that lethal injection, and licked his hand, I hurt even more, knowing how proudly Stan and Pinkie would have done the same for their murderer because they had been taught to 'give me five' when they were only a few weeks old, and were always thrilled to be rewarded for it with words and caresses...
How utterly, profoundly sad it is that a young woman, who must have had a deep love for animals to endure the years of training that she did so that she could graduate and set up shop and fulfill her, I would assume, life's ambition to be an animal doctor, would so coldly murder three beautiful, healthy dogs for a few bucks. She learned those skills and was supposed to use them to save lives, and prevent pain and suffering, as those who bring their beloved pets to her trust her to do. Why then would she unquestioningly choose money over her own ethics and morality? There is no way that anyone could have missed Angel's tattoo in her ear, or failed to notice the healthy gleam in their coats, even if they had been cruely caged for 4 days and forced to lay in their own muck.
And it's not as though I haven't had enough tragedies in my own life, nothing could be further from the truth.
Maybe I am just like a big sponge – my karma, my destiny is to be here to be ravaged with pain and sorrow and blot it all up until the day I finally die. A funny mix of emotion flows through me when I am told that we are only given what we can handle – who, I ask, is the decider of that? But then, maybe that is true too, because I DO know a lot of people who would have crumbled long ago if they had to endure even a tiny bit of what I have experienced.
Knowing my luck though, I'd probably come back as something ugly and reviled by most, like a cockroach or a big hairy black spider. Or maybe one of the multitude of unwanted, abused, and neglected living entities that have the horrible misfortune of being born at the wrong time, in the wrong place, the wrong gender, or maybe just being born at all. What a scary thought. Maybe it would be better to simply believe that when you die, you are dead. Period. No second coming, no unending attempts to come back so you can 'get it right' – whatever 'it' happens to be... Heaven or Hell, perpetuity of existence or obscurity – the combinations and permutations boggle my mind... not to mention that nobody really knows for sure anyway.
However, I digress...
Back to the subject at hand, I just happened to be reading one of my daughters “Chicken Soup for the Soul” books, specifically “Chicken Soup for the Cat and Dog Lover's Soul” Okay, I know, it was my own fault – I started her on those books, and after quite some time of ignoring her first one, she did read it, and she has been an avid fan of them since. And yeah, silly me, I read them too. And yeah, more times than not I end up blubbering and vowing that I will never read another story from any of them again! But I always do because I love real stories about real people and their lives, even if they do pull at my heart strings.
One story, titled “Killer Angels” was written by Dr. Marty Becker, D.V..M., who also happens to be one of the co-author's of that particular Chicken Soup for the Soul edition. It was long after I filled and refilled my bucket of tears over his story that I discovered jut how well known he actually was. I have no trouble understanding why he is so popular...
What drew me to this story was the parallel between between the experience he wrote about, and the fate of my three beloved, healthy young dogs who were not fortunate enough to encounter a vet who held the same morals and beliefs that Dr. Becker recounts learning and embracing soon after graduating, thanks to a Heinz-57 he encountered one day. His story, in part, is as follows:
I had just graduated from veterinary school, and I was volunteering at the local shelter in Twin Falls, Idaho. As I looked down at the dog napping in her run, I knew I was going to have to wake her up to put her “to sleep.” What a cruel euphemism.
She was a Heinz-57 mixed breed with no name, no home, no hope. She was horrifically malnourished, and her coat was a mass of mats and burrs.
In a way, she was lucky to be here. Found on the side of the road – like living garbage – she'd been left to die in a remote area of our country.
The kind rancher who found her brought her to the local shelter where she joined dozens of other cuties and uglies pressing against the front of the cages hoping to catch the eye of someone who had a heart and home big enough to give them another chance.
Problem was there were too many homeless pets and not enough homes. Day after day for a week the dog waited and waited, her still wagging tail marking the time.
But on this day, her time was up. No one had adopted her, like many in the shelter, the animals were too big, too small, too hairy, too young, too old. Without enough cages to hold all that came through our doors, we were prepared to end her life quickly and without suffering. “Better than starving to death in the country,” I said, finding little solace in the words.
I was inspired to enter this profession because of a deep love of animals. I had been highly trained and entrusted to save lives and prevent pain and suffering. Yet here I was about to end the life of this innocent creature. I hated this part of my job, but I had to do it. Choking back my emotions, I readied myself to perform the procedure for which I'd been trained.
I set her on the table, and she wiggled her gaunt frame with delight as I spoke some soothing words and patted her head. The tempo of her tail quickened as she looked up at my face.
Looking into her eyes, I saw total trust, unconditional love and absolute loyalty. I felt the cruel irony of what was taking place. God's precious creatures, embodying the kindest virtues on the planet, being killed for the crime of not being wanted. She held out her leg for me to inject and licked my hand. She was ready. I wasn't.
I collapsed onto the dog and held her tight as I bathed her with tears. Never, ever would I do a convenience euthanasia again. I'd euthanize a pet if it was suffering terribly, or had an incurable disease, but never again because of an uncaring owner's mere request...
Dr. Marty Becker, D.V.M.
If you have read my earlier posts you will have read about the cruel fate of Arch Angel, and her two fine five months old pups, Stan and Pinkie. Their only mistake was being free for about an hour and being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Their deaths still haunt me, even though it has almost been a year now. If not for a cruel, calculated decision of a town council who somehow deemed that I did not deserve the chance to rescue them from this cruel fate, they would still be here with me, or maybe in another loving home that would feel their undying love, loyalty, and trust. I can only imagine what those pups would be like now, but I well remember their Mom, and how very much she meant to me.
When I read Dr. Becker's story, and how G.H. had willingly extended her paw for that lethal injection, and licked his hand, I hurt even more, knowing how proudly Stan and Pinkie would have done the same for their murderer because they had been taught to 'give me five' when they were only a few weeks old, and were always thrilled to be rewarded for it with words and caresses...
How utterly, profoundly sad it is that a young woman, who must have had a deep love for animals to endure the years of training that she did so that she could graduate and set up shop and fulfill her, I would assume, life's ambition to be an animal doctor, would so coldly murder three beautiful, healthy dogs for a few bucks. She learned those skills and was supposed to use them to save lives, and prevent pain and suffering, as those who bring their beloved pets to her trust her to do. Why then would she unquestioningly choose money over her own ethics and morality? There is no way that anyone could have missed Angel's tattoo in her ear, or failed to notice the healthy gleam in their coats, even if they had been cruely caged for 4 days and forced to lay in their own muck.
You must have seen the love and trust in their eyes Melanie... how could you do this? Did it ever cross your mind that maybe you should do a little investigation of your own, especially when the appointment was booked days before you actually did that evil deed? How can you justify murdering my three beautiful German Shepherds without even a second thought? How do you sleep at night with all those ghosts haunting you for your misdeeds? How could you be so easily bought off and cruel? I don't think you learned THAT at vet college...
Requiem for Arch Angel, Stan, and Pinkie
R.I.P. June 30, 2005
Broken hearts, broken dreams
Haunt my days without thee.
If I could only once but see
Your wings and how you fly
Perhaps it would end my agony
Haunt my days without thee.
If I could only once but see
Your wings and how you fly
Perhaps it would end my agony
And somehow ease the tragedy
Of how senselessly you died.
Of how senselessly you died.
June 30, 2006
Forever in my heart...
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posted by SoulSongs from Saskatchewan @ 8:38 PM
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