Sigh,
This weekend I got the honor of working with PETA's Community Animal Project - or CAP, a program that spays and neuters, delivers straw in the winter, water and housing all throughout the year for dogs who live on the chain or outside.
For whatever reason, there is one dog from this weekend that I cannot stop thinking of. I cannot forget. He was a large german shepard/black lab mix. We saw him from the street. He was chained tightly to some worn down fencing next to a garage, in a small grassy area of a backyard. His house was a two-tone plastic dog crate, covered in dirt and mud. His living area was a pile of dirt and unraked leaves, and he was surrounded by his own waste on every side. There was no food or water in sight, except for a small plastic baggy filled with raw shrimp. He instantly got up to greet us, his large frame moving fast and his tail wagging. His eyes told stories we'll never understand, and you could tell inside them was hope that we would never leave. The neighbor said the house had been abandoned three years ago, and that whoever owned it came to "feed" the dog daily. Still, this loving, feeling creature begged us to stay with him, and as we wrote down all of the information we could get, we got up and walked away. We loosened his collar, gave him food, water and straw, and left him behind.
Three days have passed now. My life has continued, I've come home, eaten, laughed, played, talked, gone to work, relaxed. It has been day and night, warm and cold.
Still outside, he lingers. In the same place, on the same chain. In the same dark alley way next to the same garage. Smelling the same wretched stench of feces and urine, laying in the same dead leaves as the previous months. His life will never change, for him, simply existing in those horrible conditions is life. From the look of his body and the way he acted, he once knew love, now he knows nothing but memory. Now he knows nothing but loneliness.
For those three nights since I met him, I've thought of him every time I close my eyes. When I'm tucked away in my warm bed, he is still out there. He is still out there in the cold, wet night. He is still waiting for someone to come along and pet him, he is still hoping that one day that love he once knew, will return.
We will return for him, but only to finally end his solace. To end his isolation. We cannot erase his months of betrayal, or his months of depression. We can only alleviate his suffering, not replace it with love. There's not enough love in the world to make up for the wrongs of human beings. If they could understand our language, what could we ever say? Would we tell them that their lives mean nothing? That they're useless, worthless, nothing? Would we tell them that we thought throwing a baggy of shrimp outside still wrapped in plastic was simply enough to make up for the choking belt around their neck? That they deserved to fall asleep every night in the dampness of their own waste? Would we tell them that yes, we think that's just fine?
If we truly had to answer for our actions, what would we say?
Fortunately for us, our victims can't speak. Most of only fight for the ones who can, because it makes us feel less guilty. We turn our heads to those who can't because they're simply easier to forget.
So what happens when we can't forget?
For whatever reason, there is one dog from this weekend that I cannot stop thinking of. I cannot forget. He was a large german shepard/black lab mix. We saw him from the street. He was chained tightly to some worn down fencing next to a garage, in a small grassy area of a backyard. His house was a two-tone plastic dog crate, covered in dirt and mud. His living area was a pile of dirt and unraked leaves, and he was surrounded by his own waste on every side. There was no food or water in sight, except for a small plastic baggy filled with raw shrimp. He instantly got up to greet us, his large frame moving fast and his tail wagging. His eyes told stories we'll never understand, and you could tell inside them was hope that we would never leave. The neighbor said the house had been abandoned three years ago, and that whoever owned it came to "feed" the dog daily. Still, this loving, feeling creature begged us to stay with him, and as we wrote down all of the information we could get, we got up and walked away. We loosened his collar, gave him food, water and straw, and left him behind.
Three days have passed now. My life has continued, I've come home, eaten, laughed, played, talked, gone to work, relaxed. It has been day and night, warm and cold.
Still outside, he lingers. In the same place, on the same chain. In the same dark alley way next to the same garage. Smelling the same wretched stench of feces and urine, laying in the same dead leaves as the previous months. His life will never change, for him, simply existing in those horrible conditions is life. From the look of his body and the way he acted, he once knew love, now he knows nothing but memory. Now he knows nothing but loneliness.
For those three nights since I met him, I've thought of him every time I close my eyes. When I'm tucked away in my warm bed, he is still out there. He is still out there in the cold, wet night. He is still waiting for someone to come along and pet him, he is still hoping that one day that love he once knew, will return.
We will return for him, but only to finally end his solace. To end his isolation. We cannot erase his months of betrayal, or his months of depression. We can only alleviate his suffering, not replace it with love. There's not enough love in the world to make up for the wrongs of human beings. If they could understand our language, what could we ever say? Would we tell them that their lives mean nothing? That they're useless, worthless, nothing? Would we tell them that we thought throwing a baggy of shrimp outside still wrapped in plastic was simply enough to make up for the choking belt around their neck? That they deserved to fall asleep every night in the dampness of their own waste? Would we tell them that yes, we think that's just fine?
If we truly had to answer for our actions, what would we say?
Fortunately for us, our victims can't speak. Most of only fight for the ones who can, because it makes us feel less guilty. We turn our heads to those who can't because they're simply easier to forget.
So what happens when we can't forget?