| A tragic tale of animal suffering and human carelessness
I worked as an animal care technician for a large progressive humane society for years. I then was promoted and deputized into the position of Animal Control Officer, where I traveled the county in a special van answering service calls, dealing with wildlife, issuing tickets for pet-related infractions and providing much-needed information to the public.
Many times in the field I witnessed scenes of horrifyingly neglected, abandoned and injured animals. Navigating these profoundly sad events helped me realize how important the choice of dog breed and the commitment of the caretaker is to the health and welfare of the animal. Indeed, it's a matter of life and death.
One day I responded to a call about a large dog running loose in a street that had intimidated a passer-by. The dog was described as a "huge, black dog". I arrived at the reported address in a very upscale neighborhood and immediately spotted the dog in question. It was a giant breed - a shaggy jet-black Newfoundland. The creature was sprawled in the driveway, chewing at itself with great gusto.
I drove up the driveway to speak with the owner about the complaint, warranted or not. The dog sprang up and followed me. I noticed that its movements were labored but it did not seem to be an elderly dog. I knocked on the door as the dog approached. I was not yet sure if the dog was truly aggressive or just friendly and curious. The dog dropped disinterestedly in midstride to resume chewing itself and I sighed with relief.
The house was a sprawling mansion, opulently appointed. I noted a large pile of unread, rotting newspapers at one side of the driveway. Unraked leaves and debris were piled everywhere, clogging the paths and driveway, giving the impression of homeowner absenteeism. I pounded on the door to no avail - no one was home. I noticed a utility company door-hanger notice of account termination for lack of payment. Apparently no one had been home for quite some time and the power had been turned off.
I turned to assess the big shaggy dog. "Hey there fella, how are you?" I chirped, crouching and extending my hand. The dog lurched upright and shuffled closer, sniffing my hand and giving a feeble wag of its tail. I approached and stroked the dog's head, alarmed by the awful body odor emanating from the thick black coat. I could now see that dense lumpy mats of the long black fur caused the shagginess - the dog clearly had not been bathed or combed in an eternity.
I ran my hand down the dog's stinky back and froze in horror. Between the hard mats of fur, the dog's spine and ribs were like a washboard, jutting out in stark relief with very little muscle to be found. Emaciated! As I stroked, aghast at the terrible condition of the dog, my fingers exposed large open sores between the huge, hard mats of fur that the thick coat was hiding.
This service call was becoming a nightmare - I had never personally seen a dog in worse condition. My ears started ringing and tears leapt to my eyes as I inspected the poor dog's body. "Oh, gosh, pal - you sure do need help - how about a nice meal and a bath for starters - we might need to shave your coat…" I spoke to the poor dog in a happy singsong voice while sniffing back my tears. It was very clear to me that the dog would be confiscated and someone was going to be charged with felony animal neglect.
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My probing fingers discovered a collar, grown over with mats of fur. I looped a leash around the dog's neck and used my pocketknife to cut the mats away from the collar - as I did so a wave of fetid stench arose. As I located the collar buckle and began to remove it I saw a huge crescent of red, raw, oozing flesh where the collar had been stuck all the way around the poor dog's neck. I found a faded tag dangling from the stinking wet collar. As I read the name a jolt of anger shot through me - how dare they - the dog's name was "Trouble".
The tag also revealed some owner contact information. My breath was shallow and my eyes stung from the tears of shock and anger. For a reality check, I dialed my supervisor back at the shelter to advise her of the serious case I was bringing in. She reminded me: Take pictures, leave a notice, call all the numbers on the tag, talk to some neighbors.
First, I took copious photos of the dog in its home setting, including the pile of newspapers and utility shutoff notice. Then I loaded the dog into my van for safekeeping. He tried to climb in when he caught a whiff of the dog cookies I had put out for him, but he just could not make it due to his weakened state. The dog was too big to fit into a compartment for the ride so I boosted him into the van's aisle, my stomach clenching at the stench of it's coat and open sores.
While the dog crunched on the treats, I stopped by the houses nearby to see if perhaps any neighbors were aware of a caretaker arrangement for the dog. I knocked on three doors before reaching someone at home, an older gentleman. He said that the teenage son of two doctors who were overseas owned the dog. He had seen the son come and go from the house briefly previously but had not seen anyone there but the dog for months. He had assumed that a dogsitter was caring for "Trouble" but had never been close to any of the owners or the dog since he did not like the dog - "He stinks!" I thanked him, left my card and returned to the van.
I gave Trouble more biscuits and while he crunched with great gusto, I called the phone numbers on the dog tag. One of the numbers rang uselessly inside the house. The second number was for an attorney's office. I left my name, animal shelter phone number and badge number. Then I finished my careful notes before pulling away from the house.
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I didn't know it then, but that would be Trouble's last living day. When I arrived back at the animal shelter, the owner's attorney's office had already returned my call and had faxed over authorization to have the dog euthanized. The staff veterinarian performed an examination, pronounced the dog not fit for adoption, and advised complying with the destruction order due to the dog's miserable condition. I took pictures during the examination to document the dog's deplorable health problems due to neglect.
Then we gently put poor "Trouble" to sleep. His huge body sagged in our arms after he calmly received the fatal injection into his bloodstream while we stroked and petted him. I cried as we handled his stinking dead body, taking more evidentiary pictures and tagging the body for trial evidence hold in the freezer.
"Don't worry, Bonnie," my co-worker said with a caring hand on my shoulder. "Trouble is in a much better place now. His pain is gone. Those horrible people can't torture him now. Being with you today, getting some attention, eating dog biscuits and going for a ride - it was the best day he's had in a long time."
I fortified myself with the thought of the poor dog's owners being publicly convicted of felony animal cruelty in open court. Justice had to be done.
But that was not to be… the District Attorney of my county decided that since the dog had been euthanized as soon as the owners' attention had been captured, there was "no harm, no foul." It was said that none of them were directly culpable for the neglect of the family pet, since they "could have just been ignorant" of proper animal care.
It's always the animals that suffer for callous human disregard. I lost a lot of faith in our system of justice and in human nature when Trouble died and nothing came of his suffering. It is my hope that someone will read this cautionary tale and decide against taking on a responsibility that they have no business having. Before deciding to be an absentee pet owner, please consider asking for help or bringing the animal to a shelter. Don't just let the details slide when an innocent life is in the balance!!!
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