If you'd stepped into the room, the three kittens in my arms would have brought a tender smile to your face. You'd think they were all happily snoozing, laying half on one another, warm and soft. A black long haired, a white with gray spots, and a gray stripped kitten were all probably the same litter. Trapped by a homeowner fearing they were or would become feral, they were brought to the shelter. With a quick injection to each, painlessly, they fell asleep. Heads dropping quickly -- heavily, muscles relaxed, breathing softened and hearts stopped. My role was to hold them as they went, let them know that despite the fact this shelter had killed them -- humanely euthanized them -- it was to save them from a fate of living and dying with worms, at the claws of a predator, or hit by a car or shot by some kid with a gun.
My first day working intake I shadowed Aimee and watched as she dealt with the dogs placed in 'tanks' overnight by animal control officers (ACO), cats and dogs surrendered by their owners with many excuses and justifications, strays brought in by good Samaritans, and two dogs who were on their way to rescues until for no apparent reason, separately, they both attacked other animals and caused injuries so bad they could no longer be released to a rescue. Not all of them were put down, just the numbers listed at top. One dog, a pit bull who had been adopted only to be brought back four days later with concerns over a lack of appetite, vomiting, and bleeding. She had Parvo, a particularly heinous virus. I know it was far more kind to help her die quickly rather than a slow internal bleed to death. Another large German Shepherd brought in by his owner with the complaint he had suddenly collapsed and would not get up. He had mud caked in his collar, dirt throughout his coat that appears never to have been bathed, scars around his mouth and general signs of neglect; skin and bones. He took 20 minutes to give in to the injection. I think he might have felt better, letting go of all the pain he'd been holding for so long.
The four cats all went quietly. Two took additional injections because of their size, but I believe they felt no pain. Showed no signs of discomfort, only a dire need to sleep, so deeply, which they could not resist. Holding a cat, petting the kittens, would have been macabre had it not been so peaceful, so simple. Their soft, soft fur being petted for the last times. Walking with Bonnie, taking each to the back garage, she performed three final tests to confirm their deaths. Somehow the pain I felt was eased to know it was really over for each. The dismay that a vibrant, anxious kitten 20 minutes ago was now a soft body of fur lying on a table released the hold sorrow had on me, on my imagination, when I could know there was no doubt now, it was dead; it was over.
I cried more in the garage, where no one but Bonnie would see me. Others don't cry any more, but that doesn't mean they don't know the sorrow. Many of them smoke, and I wonder if that really helps, if that's how they deal.
Following the deaths, the bodies were just that, empty carcasses. They didn't matter any longer, they were not being used by whatever had been in them previously, they could be destroyed now with less matter. What the kittens, cats, and dogs were did not exist now. You would no more call the body of a loved one the same AS the loved one, as you would do for these animals.
The dogs I did not hold, I was not in the room for. I only know it happened. I could not be in the room for them, with them, I was far too absorbed in my own pain for their passing to be of any help. The kittens, the cats, I could at least hold in their last moments.
We place their remains, all that remains of what had at one moment a living creature, in the incinerator with the other remains from roadkill, and from euthanizations performed earlier that day. I found a terrible peace for myself to know these bodies would not exist any longer, returning to an organic matter of sorts, ashes of what had been tissue and skin, sounds and personalities.
I don't know how many animals were taken into the shelter today, I should. I wish I could start today again and focus on those alive with a chance, a hope to be adopted. But I can only face tomorrow knowing that my energy should go to those still living, and while I of course will still feel for those who meet their end at this shelter, I can help them no more.
Tomorrow I will go in early and give flea baths to two little puppies seized from a home where they were neglected; starved. I bathed them today, but they will need another one. I can help them, I can do everything in my power so they are adopted, loved, cared for, and hopefully never return to this place again.
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