"My Name is Sam"
After I was discharged from the Navy, Jim and I moved back to Detroit
to
use our GI bill benefits to get some schooling. Jim was going for a
degree
in Electronics and I, after much debating, decided to get mine in
Computer
Science. One of the classes that was a requirement was Speech. Like many
people, I had no fondness for getting up in front of people for any
reason,
let alone to be the center of attention as I stuttered my way through
some
unfamiliar subject. But I couldn't get out of the requirement, and so I
found myself in my last semester before graduation with Speech as one of
my
classes.
On the first day of class our professor explained to us that he was
going
to leave the subject manner of our talks up to us, but he was going to
provide the motivation of the speech. We would be responsible for six
speeches, each with a different motivation. For instance our first
speech's
purpose was to inform. He advised us to pick subjects that we were
interested in and knowledgeable about. I decided to center my six
speeches
around animals, especially dogs.
For my first speech to inform, I talked about the equestrian art of
dressage. For my speech to demonstrate, I brought my German Shepherd,
Bodger, to class and demonstrated obedience commands. Finally the
semester
was almost over and I had but one more speech to give. This speech was
to
take the place of a written final exam and was to count for fifty per
cent
of our grade. The speeches motivation was to persuade.
After agonizing over a subject matter, and keeping with my animal
theme, I
decided on the topic of spaying and neutering pets. My goal was to try
to
persuade my classmates to neuter their pets. So I started researching
the
topic. There was plenty of material, articles that told of the millions
of
dogs and cats that were euthanized every year, of supposedly beloved
pets
that were turned in to various animal control facilities for the lamest
of
reasons, or worse, dropped off far from home, bewildered and scared.
Death
was usually a blessing.
The final speech was looming closer, but I felt well prepared. My
notes
were full of facts and statistics that I felt sure would motivate even
the
most naive of pet owners to succumb to my plea.
A couple of days before our speeches were due, I had the bright idea
of
going to the local branch of the Humane Society and borrowing a puppy to
use
as a sort of a visual aid. I called the Humane Society and explained
what I
wanted. They were very happy to accommodate me. I made arrangements to
pick
up a puppy the day before my speech.
The day before my speech, I went to pick up the puppy. I was feeling
very
confident. I could quote all the statistics and numbers without ever
looking
at my notes. The puppy, I felt, would add the final emotional touch.
When I
arrived at the Humane Society I was met by a young guy named Ron. He
explained that he was the public relations person for the Humane
Society.
He was very excited about my speech and asked if I would like a tour
of the
facilities before I picked up the puppy. I enthusiastically agreed.
We started out in the reception area, which was the general public's
initial encounter with the Humane Society. The lobby was full, mostly
with
people dropping off various animals that they no longer wanted Ron
explained
to me that this branch of the Humane Society took in about fifty animals
a
day and adopted out twenty.
As we stood there I heard snatches of conversation: "I can't
keep him, he
digs holes in my garden." "They such cute puppies, I know you
will have no
trouble finding homes for them." "She is wild, I can't control
her." I heard
one of Humane Society's volunteer explain to the lady with the litter of
puppies that the Society was filled with puppies and that these puppies,
being black, would immediately be put to sleep. Black puppies, she
explained, had little chance of being adopted. The woman who brought the
puppies in just shrugged, "I can't help it," she whined.
"They are getting
too big. I don't have room for them."
We left the reception area. Ron led me into the staging area where
all the
incoming animals were evaluated for adoptability. Over half never even
made
it to the adoption center. There were just too many. Not only were
people
bringing in their own animals, but strays were also dropped off. By law
the
Humane Society had to hold a stray for three days. If the animal was not
claimed by then, it was euthanized, since there was no background
information on the animal. There were already too many animals that had
a
known history eagerly provided by their soon to be ex-owners. As we went
through the different areas, I felt more and more depressed. No amount
of
statistics, could take the place of seeing the reality of what this
throwaway attitude did to the living, breathing animal. It was over
overwhelming.
Finally Ron stopped in front of a closed door. "That's it,"
he said,
"except for this." I read the sign on the door. "Euthanization
Area." "Do
you want to see one?" he asked.
Before I could decline, he interjected, "You really should. You
can't tell
the whole story unless you experience the end." I reluctantly
agreed.
"Good." He said " I already cleared it and Peggy is
expecting you." He
knocked firmly on the door. It was opened immediately by a middle aged
woman
in a white lab coat. "Here's the girl I was telling you
about," Ron
explained. Peggy looked me over. "Well I'll leave you here with
Peggy and
meet you in the reception area in about fifteen minutes. I'll have the
puppy
ready." With that Ron departed, leaving me standing in front of the
stern-looking Peggy.
Peggy motioned me in. As I walked into the room, I gave an audible
gasp.
The room was small and spartan. There were a couple of cages on the wall
and
a cabinet with syringes and vials of a clear liquid. In the middle of
the
room was an examining table with a rubber mat on top. There were two
doors
other than the one I had entered. Both were closed. One said to
incinerator
room, and the other had no sign, but I could hear various animals noises
coming from behind the closed door. In the back of the room, near the
door
that was marked incinerator were the objects that caused my distress:
two
wheelbarrows, filled with the bodies of dead kittens and puppies. I
stared
in horror. Nothing had prepared me for this. I felt my legs grow weak
and my
breathing become rapid and shallow. I wanted to run from that room,
screaming.
Peggy seemed not to notice my state of shock. She started talking
about the
euthanization process, but I wasn't hearing her. I could not tear my
gaze
away from the wheelbarrows and those dozens of pathetic little bodies.
Finally, Peggy seemed to notice that I was not paying attention to her.
"Are
you listening?" she asked irritably. "I'm only going to go
through this
once." I tore my gaze from the back of the room and looked at her.
I opened
my mouth to say something, but nothing would come out, so I nodded.
She told me that behind the unmarked door were the animals that were
scheduled for euthanasia that day. She picked up a chart that was
hanging
from the wall. "One fifty three is next," she said as she
looked at the
chart. "I'll go get him." She laid down the chart on the
examining table and
started for the unmarked door. Before she got to the door she stopped
and
turned around. "You aren't going to get hysterical, are you?"
she asked,
"Because that will only upset the animals." I shook my head. I
had not said
a word since I walked into that room. I still felt unsure if I would be
able
to without breaking down into tears.
As Peggy opened the unmarked door I peered into the room beyond. It
was a
small room, but the walls were lined and stacked with cages. It looked
like
they were all occupied. Peggy opened the door of one of the lower cages
and
removed the occupant. From what I could see it looked like a
medium-sized
dog. She attached a leash and ushered the dog into the room in which I
stood.
As Peggy brought the dog into the room I could see that the dog was
no more
than a puppy, maybe five or six months old. The pup looked to be a cross
between a Lab and a German shepherd. He was mostly black, with a small
amount of tan above his eyes and on his feet. He was very excited and
bouncing up and down, trying to sniff everything in this new
environment.
Peggy lifted the pup onto the table. She had a card in her hand, which
she
laid on the table next to me. I read the card. It said that number one
fifty
three was a mixed Shepherd, six months old. He was surrendered two days
ago
by a family. Reason of surrender was given as "jumps on
children." At the
bottom was a note that said "Name: Sam."
Peggy was quick and efficient, from lots of practice, I guessed. She
laid
one fifty three down on his side and tied a rubber tourniquet around his
front leg. She turned to fill the syringe from the vial of clear liquid.
All this time I was standing at the head of the table. I could see the
moment that one fifty three went from a curious puppy to a terrified
puppy.
He did not like being held down and he started to struggle.
It was then that I finally found my voice. I bent over the struggling
puppy
and whispered "Sam. Your name is Sam." At the sound of his
name Sam quit
struggling. He wagged his tail tentatively and his soft pink tongue
darted
out and licked my hand. And that is how he spent his last moment. I
watched
his eyes fade from hopefulness to nothingness. It was over very quickly.
I
had never even seen Peggy give the lethal shot. The tears could not be
contained any longer. I kept my head down so as not to embarrass myself
in
front of the stoic Peggy. My tears fell onto the still body on the
table.
"Now you know," Peggy said softly. Then she turned away.
"Ron will be
waiting for you."
I left the room. Although it seemed like it had been hours, only
fifteen
minutes had gone by since Ron had left me at the door. I made my way
back to
the reception area. True to his word, Ron had the puppy all ready to go.
After giving me some instructions about what to feed the puppy, he
handed
the carrying cage over to me and wished me good luck on my speech.
That night I went home and spent many hours playing with the orphan
puppy.
I went to bed that night but I could not sleep. After a while I got up
and
looked at my speech notes with their numbers and statistics. Without a
second thought, I tore them up and threw them away. I went back to bed.
Sometime during the night I finally fell asleep.
The next morning I arrived at my Speech class with Puppy Doe. When my
turn
came to give my speech. I walked up to the front the class with the
puppy in
my arms. I took a deep breath, and I told the class about the life and
death
of Sam. When I finished my speech I became aware that I was crying. I
apologized to the class and took my seat. After class the teacher handed
out
a critique with our grades. I got an "A." His comments said
"Very moving and
persuasive."
Two days later, on the last day of class, one of my classmates came
up to
me. She was an older lady that I had never spoken to in class. She
stopped
me on our way out of the class room. "I want you to know that I
adopted the
puppy you brought to class," she said. "His name is Sam."
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