When I lived in Birmingham, I was selling shipping manifest computers to small companies. One day I had an appointment with an elderly couple who owned a small sock factory in Fort Payne, Alabama. When I arrived at the run-down old building with peeling paint and big fans circulating the sultry summer air, I hoped, as I had many times before since I’d been in outside sales, that I was at the wrong place. Unfortunately, when I stepped inside the rusted metal door, I was quickly made aware that I had reached my intended destination when an old timer in overalls called for me to come over to the table in the middle of the room where he and his wife were working. I didn’t notice what they were doing because once I began walking in that direction I was captivated by a pathetic and very sad sight. Although a disturbing sight, it made me feel good to see that someone else loved animals as much as I.
Once I spotted the Chihuahua, the rest of the room became a blur. The co-proprietor, a fat old country lady with a Marlboro hanging from her lips, had a tiny Chihuahua resting on her shoulder. I couldn’t believe the condition of that dog! Its tongue was hanging out of its mouth because it had no teeth at all. Blindness had rendered its corneas opaque. It seemed to melt into her pudgy shoulder as she rendered a consistent pounding of hard pats against the tiny canine’s body. I was flabbergasted.
“Oh my God!” I said. Bless its little heart! Is it blind?”
The lady kept the steady, solid pat going at the same monotonous pace as she replied, “Yep, she’s blind. She ain’t got a tooth in her head either. That’s why her tongue hangs out all the time. She’s twenty-five year old,” she said. The dog’s entire body was jarred with each slap and it never changed its position.
“You’re kidding,” I said. “Twenty-five years old?”
“Got her when all my kids was little, and they’re all grown now. She’s been with her Mama a long time and I just don’t know what’d I’d do without my baby.” She continued to pound the pooch.
The sweet little decrepit dog knew that the pounding was her mama’s stern pat letting her know that she was there for her. That little Chihuahua was so lucky to have been adopted by a mother that loved her unconditionally throughout her long life. Those consistent stern slaps reminded her that she was safe in the hands of her beloved mother. That old woman’s loyalty to her pet left such an impression on me. So much that, even though it’s been over ten years ago, every now and then I still think about them. The old woman and her beloved Chihuahua, no doubt, have gone on and reunited in Heaven.
Our pets depend on us to care for them. We are all they have; yet many of us, when a pet needs an expensive surgery or gets old and incontinent, just have it put down. There’s something incredibly wrong with that. A pet’s love for their family is unconditional. They feel like they are a part of a loving family unit. Then one day when Fido can’t fetch anymore or Fluffy can’t climb into the litter box fast enough, the “human” begins to come out in the pet owner. That’s so sad and so wrong unless the animal is clearly in pain.
The first and only pet that I ever help put down while I was working as a veterinarian’s assistant was a thirteen-year-old Chihuahua. The owners had sent their son-in-law down to the clinic to have it taken care of because they couldn’t bear to do it. The reason was the dog had gotten so old that it had become incontinent.
Dr. Carter called me into the treatment room to hold the little pooch still while he gave the lethal injection. I put my arm around her and she began to wag her tail as if she thought we were her friends. After all, she had no beef with either of us. I dreaded this so much! Dr. Carter instructed me to hold her tight against my body because she would likely react to the injection. My palms grew sweaty and my heart palpitated as I drew the sweet little trusting dog in closer. Then he made me hold her front leg up as her pierced the vein. The precious little trusting canine stiffened up and screamed frantically. Then she just dropped to the cold stainless steel table that was her deathbed.
The son-in-law left her there for us to dispose of. Poor little thing! After thirteen years of loyalty to that family, she wasn’t even worthy of a decent burial. I placed the remains in a cardboard box as instructed by Dr. Carter. We drove that afternoon to his other clinic with the box in the back of his pick-up. About a week or two later, my coworker, Toni, and I were cleaning out the livestock section at the clinic. I opened up a box to see what was inside and there was what was left of the pitiful little Chihuahua. She was all bloated and her teeth were clenched. I couldn’t believe that sweet little dog’s unfortunate fate at the hands of her trusted family.
The little blind Chihuahua was definitely the more fortunate of the two. If only every pet owner could love the way that old country woman in Fort Payne did, unconditionally, until the very end!
No comments:
Post a Comment