I listen, sometimes, to the news, and what I hear is often so different from what is *said.* Maybe this is because my father was a news man, and he taught me early to read between the lines. Maybe some of it is hard lessons learned by life, that often things are presented in a certain way or framed in a certain light to forward a particular agenda. Nowhere is this tendency more pronounced, than when discussing animal 'neglect' on the news. Many times, I hear these tales of 'filth' and 'squalid' conditions when a raid is held on an animal breeder or a hoarder, but what I see in the camera's lens is not at all what is being described; what I see are animals in reasonably good health and weight, who seem to be fairly clean and socialized. And when this happens (and it is happening ever more often) I try, like my father taught me, to read between the lines, and ignore the hype to get to the meat of the situation. Was this about neglect, really? Do those animals really need to be 'rescued?' Or is this the result of an angry neighbor with an axe to grind, a competitor trying to end someone's breeding program, or an animal rights activist on a mission from God? Maybe things are not as 'nice' as they could be, but were the animals really in any danger? Perhaps the owner got in over their head. Perhaps they were suffering from health issues and things just got away from them. Perhaps a lot of things, but my mind just does not automatically flow to the default "people suck" and just assume that it is what is being portrayed; a case of abuse and neglect. I don't watch, and hate on those targeted without waiting to hear their side of the story; I wonder what really happened, and how much of the circus is smoke and mirrors, intended to give a very distorted view of the reality. Because there but for the love of God go many of us, these days. Trust me, if you are a dog breeder, someone can pull into your driveway tomorrow and END your meaningful involvement in the sport you have spent your life devoted to. And it will not matter one iota whether you are good to your animals or not. You can be made to look like a freak show. Believe it. And even for those who may not live up to your expectations, often the reason they get where they are is not from any mean-spiritedness or lack of regard; it is not from benign neglect, no. It is from being dragged into the crucible of caring too much, of being susceptible to the ever-present danger of 'just one more.'
Sometimes, it is a case of too much of a good thing. There are people who do not have any resistance to desire; their ability to reason simply flies out the window when they see a nice pup, and they can manage to find room for 'one more.' It is the same sort of fractured reasoning that makes people spend money they do not have on dog show entries, while letting the house payment slide. It is a failure of self control, in some respects. They fail to realize the hardship it puts on the others, this inability to live within your means. And it manifests itself in more than just shortages of cash flow. When a person has more dogs than they can reasonably spend time with, both they AND THE DOGS suffer for it. And despite the cuteness of the little poem, there is a dark line of truth lurking in the back of it. It puts the unwary and undisciplined in the position of being slave to their 'habit' like any other junkie. They cannot enjoy the dogs any longer, it is a full time job just housing and feeding and exercising them; no time left for long walks in the park and playing with Frisbees. And like any other junkie, they seem oblivious to the damage their 'fix' does to the animals they profess to care for. The dogs themselves who DO love them, but need so desperately to be DOGS, not living trophies.
There is another side to this illness, however, and an even darker thread that can take hold. Sometimes, it happens for all the RIGHT reasons. People who show are not the only ones who can succumb to this illness. Those who get into breed rescue are at an even greater risk. The difference here is that when a breeder has presence of mind enough to play with the puppy, but not take it home, they leave knowing that someone else will take that beautiful baby home and love it and show it. But the rescue worker knows that, if they walk out that dog pound door, the light in THOSE eyes will go out...forever. It can be a terrible bargain with the Devil, that knowledge. You leave, knowing you are condemning that dog to an early and generally undeserved death. And so, in too many cases, rescue people continue to make room for 'just one more' until they are wall to ceiling dogs and cats, and still weep for the ones they CANNOT save. It is this dire knowledge that causes 'rescue burnout,' and it is also the terrible frustration of standing helpless while worthwhile animals are put to death because of apathy on the part of their 'owners' and poor or no screening of homes by their 'breeders.'
This reasoning is of a piece with the mindset of cops who have been on the job for a while. When you live day to day staring at the dirty, stinking underbelly of Society, the stench and the misery get to you after a while, and you begin to lose your ability to believe in good. In time, the rescue worker has heard all the pitiful excuses, and the lame rationales from people who 'wanted' a puppy, but not a dog. And a new, and more insidious sickness can result. This sickness is called 'shelter mentality,' and it manifests itself in behavior that can lead to being a 'collector.'
We all know these people; they are good hearted, caring people who have just been exposed to too much suffering, too many excuses, and have decided that NO ONE is going to be as good to the animals as they can. And so, they refuse to allow anyone to adopt their foundlings, or inflate their adoption criteria until Saint Francis himself could not apply....and in the meantime, they can't allow any other animals to suffer, so those kittens in the dumpster at the grocery store come home, and the puppies in the shopping cart in the Wal-Mart parking lot that were WAY too hot, what were those people THINKING but of course if they'd had any brains in the FIRST place they would have spayed their dog and not been out there at ALL, and of course that wee little scruffy thing on the side of the road must come home too...and before you know it, the home is a warren of cages floor to ceiling, and dirty litter boxes spilling into the narrow corridors between cages, in a house that used to be pristine but there is just too many to care for to keep on top of it, yet at least here they are fed and warm and SAFE goes the logic, and the phone rings and the vet's office who knows they will want this cute tiger kitten calls to say they are sorry, but if someone doesn't come get him by 3 today, they will be forced to put him to sleep, so room must be found for yet one more.....and one day comes the knock at the door, it's the Health Dep't acting on complaints from the neighbors about the noise and stench. And they come in despite tearful pleas, and confiscate the animals, and on the news at 6 there's the announcer, calling the home they used to think of as a loving refuge, a 'filthy stinking hovel' and threatening to condemn the premises due to the stench...and the poor 'collector' is soooo confused, all they wanted to do was help the poor little animals, but it all just got out of hand somehow.....it was only one more...one more....one more........
*sigh* yes, it is sooooo easy to look at the conditions those animals are kept in, and think to yourself, 'they should have realized...' but then, if you consider that most, if not all of those animals would be DEAD now if they had not been 'rescued,' you can begin to understand the sickness, at least a little. They can always clean up the house, they figure (if only they could find the TIME, between rescue runs and working to pay for the kibble;) the animals can exist with dirty feed bowls, and small cramped living quarters, and litter boxes that runneth over. Yes, exist is the word, but to the mind of the collector, it beats Death by a wide margin. It is a difficult situation to judge. But at the very least, it calls for a better effort than a knee-jerk response and critical condemnation. Because the bottom line is, those people are responsible for saving more lives than you or I probably will in a lifetime of association with the fancy. Who are WE to judge?
And the fact is, these people have LOTS of help getting to that position, by people who behave as if they are shocked when the truth comes out. The vets who are sick of cleaning cages of dumped kittens and abuse the rescue chain with threats to 'euthanize by 3 pm' if someone doesn't come get them; the well-meaning friends who 'don't have space' themselves, but know that 'Kathy will always take one in,' the grateful club members who know JUST who to call when someone calls the local kennel club with a foundling....
I do rescue. This is a situation I find myself in constantly. I just moved to a new house out in the country, where I have a lot more room and no close neighbors. And so, I am the OBVIOUS choice to many people who have a 'really special one' they want me to take in; they just KNOW with 'all this room' out here I must be able to squeeze in this dear little Jack Russell, or the three legged kitty, or what have you....never considering the fact that I need KENNEL RUNS to put them in, and food to feed them; and that these facilities cost money and time to build and maintain. That if I took in all the foundlings I am asked to rehome, 'all this room' out here would be overrun with dogs I could barely manage to get fed daily, never mind cleaned or worked with in order to make them sutiable for rehoming. But you HAVE to, comes the pleading voice on the phone; the vet office sez they can't keep him any more, and they are gonna put him down tomorrow...and so the round of phone calls begins anew. This is not my dog, or even my breed; and yet, I too feel the tug; even tho I never saw, may never see, this dog. I know if I do NOT get involved, it may well die. THIS is the hook that creates collectors.......and every ONE of us is part of the chain.
I know my limits. I have refused absolutely to take in ANY animals here until I can get my new house in order, and my new runs finished, and have things well enough under control that I can provide adequate time to my OWN dogs before I bring in any fosters. But...in the face of the threats of destruction, and the tearful pleading in the voices on the phone, voices to whom your name was held out as a last hope, to hear that hope fading, and the hopelessness, the bitter frustration, leach in; to hear that trembling that signals a person who is going to dissolve into hopeless tears when they put the phone back in the cradle...those voices haunt me. And so often, I sit, and look at that phone, long after I have given the caller another list of numbers to try, and I feel so bad. I do as much as I can; I tell myself, I DON'T have any more runs to spare; I don't have the time, the money to feed any more; I am stretched so thin now that it is a tightrope walk to get the new puppy a workout every day. I have a house, a business to run; a small child who needs my time and attention; a mate who is understanding and helpful, but who needs to connect with me too. They NEED my time, my attention; I can only do what I can do, and I am at my limit.
But I sit, and I look at that damned phone, while the tears slip down my cheeks one by one, and I wonder...maybe I COULD have made room...for just one more......
The Evil One
