Hello. You have reached Amy at 555-1201. Due to the high volume of calls I have been receiving, please listen closely to the following options and choose the one that best describes you or your situation:

Press 1 if you think I’m a veterinarian and want free medical advice.

Press 2 if you know I’m involved in cat rescue, but want to save money and have me give you free, untrained medical advice anyway.

Press 3 if you make $200,000 a year, but still want me to pay to spay the “stray” in your yard.

Press 4 if you have a 10-year-old cat and your 15-year-old son has suddenly become allergic and you need to find the cat a new home right away.

Press 5 if you have three cats, just had a baby, and want to get rid of your cats because you are the only person in the world to have a baby and cats at the same time.

Press 6 if your cat is sick and needs a vet but you need the money for your vacation.

Press 7 if you just got a brand new kitten and your old cat is having problems adjusting, so you want to get rid of the old one right away.

Press 8 if your little kitten has grown up and is no longer small and cute and you want to trade it in for a new model.

Press 9 if you are elderly and want to adopt a cute kitten that is not active and is going to outlive you.

Press 10 if your relative has died and you don’t want to care for their elderly cat because it doesn’t fit your lifestyle.

Press 11 if you are moving today and need to immediately place your 15-pound, 8-year-old cat.

Press 12 if you want me to come to your home today and pick up the cat you no longer want.

Press 13 if you have been feeding and caring for a “stray” for the last three years, are moving, and suddenly determine it’s not your cat.

Press 14 if you are calling at 6:00 a.m. to make sure you wake me up before I have to go to work so you can drop a cat off on your way to work.

Press 15 to leave us an anonymous, garbled message letting me know you have left a cat in my yard in the middle of January, which is in fact, better than just leaving the cat with no message.

Press 16 if you are going to get angry because I’m not going to take your cat that you have had for fifteen years, because it is not my responsibility.

Press 17 if you are going to threaten to take your 10-year old cat to be euthanized because I won’t take it.

Press 18 if you want one of my perfectly behaved, kids and dog friendly, purebred cats that I have an abundance of.

Press 19 if you have already called once and been told I won’t help you if you’re not willing to help yourself, but thought you would get a different person this time with a different answer.

Press 20 if it is Christmas Eve or Easter morning and you want me to deliver an 8-week old kitten to your house by 6:30 a.m. before your kids wake up.

Press 21 if you have bought your children a duckling, chick, or baby bunny for Easter and it is now Christmas and they are no longer cute.

Press 22 if you want me to take your female cat that has already had 5 litters, but I can’t spay her because she is pregnant again, and it is against your religion.

Press 23 if your cat is biting and not using the litter box because it is declawed, but are not willing to accept the responsibility that the cat’s behavior is altered because of your nice furniture.

Press 24 if your 2-year old male cat is marking all over your house but you just haven’t gotten around to having him neutered.

Press 25 if you previously had an outdoor-only cat and are calling because she is suddenly pregnant.

Press 26 if you didn’t listen to the message asking for an evening phone number and you left your work number when I’m also working and you are angry because I didn’t call you back.

Press 27 if you need a kitten immediately and cannot wait because today is your daughter’s birthday and you forgot when she was born.

Press 28 if your cat’s coat doesn’t match your new furniture and you need a different color or breed.

Press 29 if your new love doesn’t like your cat and you are too stupid to get rid of the new love (who will dump you in the next month anyway), instead of the cat.

Press 30 if you pressed through all these ‘presses’ and didn’t hear enough. This press will connect you to the sounds of tears being shed by me as I hold a discarded old cat while the vet mercifully frees him from the grief of missing his family.

Note: I did not write this. I found it here: http://muttcats.com/articles/open_letter.htm

An Open Letter to Mr. and Mrs. Average Pet Owner
by Bonnie Brayshaw
St. Louis, Missouri

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Average Pet Owner:

Thank you for contacting us animal rescuers, shelter volunteers, and foster-homes about your inability to keep your pet. We receive an extremely high volume of inquiries and requests to accept surrendered animals (and none of us is getting paid, OK?). To help us expedite your problem as quickly as possible, please observe the following guidelines:

1. Do not say that you are “CONSIDERING finding a good home” for your pet, or that you, “feel you MIGHT be forced to,” or that you “really THINK it would be better if” you unloaded the poor beast. Ninety-five percent of you have already got your minds stone-cold made up that the animal WILL be out of your life by the weekend at the latest. Say so. If you don’t, I’m going to waste a lot of time giving you common-sense, easy solutions for very fixable problems, and you’re going to waste a lot of time coming up with fanciful reasons why the solution couldn’t possibly work for you. For instance, you say the cat claws the furniture, and I tell you about nail-clipping and scratching posts and aversion training, and then you go into a long harangue about how your husband won’t let you put a scratching post in the family room, and your ADHD daughter cries if you use a squirt bottle on the cat, and your congenital thumb abnormalities prevent you from using nail scissors and etc., etc. Just say you’re getting rid of the cat.
2. Do not waste time trying to convince me how nice and humane you are. Your coworker recommended that you contact me because I am nice to animals, not because I am nice to people, and I don’t like people who “get rid of” their animals. “Get rid of” is my least favorite phrase in any language. I hope someone “gets rid of” YOU someday. I am an animal advocate, not a people therapist. After all, for your ADHD daughter, you can get counselors, special teachers, doctors, social workers, etc. Your pet has only me, and people like me, to turn to in his or her need, and we are unpaid, overworked, stressed-out, and demoralized. So don’t tell me this big long story about how, “We love this dog so much, and we even bought him a special bed that cost $50, and it is just KILLING us to part with him, but honestly, our maid is just awash in dog hair every time she cleans, and his breath sometimes just reeks of liver, so you can see how hard we’ve tried, and how dear he is to us, but we really just can’t . . .” You are not nice, and it is not killing you. It is, in all probability, literally killing your dog, but you’re going to be just fine once the beast is out of your sight. Don’t waste my time trying to make me like you or feel sorry for you in your plight.
3. Do not try to convince me that your pet is exceptional and deserves special treatment. I don’t care if you taught him to sit. I don’t care if she’s a beautiful Persian. I have a waiting list of battered and/or whacked-out animals who need help, and I have no room to foster-house your pet. Do not send me long messages detailing how Fido just l-o-v-e-s blankies and carries his favorite blankie everywhere, and oh, when he gets all excited and happy, he spins around in circles, isn’t that cute? He really is darling, so it wouldn’t be any trouble at all for us to find him a good home. Listen, we can go down to the pound and count the darling, spinning, blankie-loving beasts on death row by the dozens, any day of the week. And, honey, Fido is a six-year-old Shepherd-Lab mix. I am not lying when I tell you that big, older, mixed-breed, garden-variety dogs are almost completely unadoptable, and I don’t care if they can whistle Dixie or send semaphore signals with their blankies. What you don’t realize is that, though you’re trying to lie to me, you’re actually telling the truth: Your pet is a special, wonderful, amazing creature. But this mean old world does not care. More importantly, YOU do not care, and I can’t fix that problem. All I can do is grieve for all the exceptional animals who live short, brutal, loveless lives and die without anyone ever recognizing that they were indeed very, very special.
4. Finally, just, for God’ s sake, for the animal’s sake, tell the truth, and the whole truth. Do you think that if you just mumble that your cat is “high-strung,” I will say, “Okey-doke! No prob!” and take it into foster care? No, I will start asking questions and uncover the truth, which is that your cat has not used a litter box in the last six months. Do not tell me that you “can’t” crate your dog. I will ask what happens when you try to crate him, and you will either be forced to tell me the symptoms of full-blown, severe separation anxiety, or else you will resort to lying some more, wasting more of our time. And, if you succeed in placing your pet in a shelter or foster care, do not tell yourself the biggest lie of all: “Those nice people will take him and find him a good home, and everything will be fine.” Those nice people will indeed give the animal every possible chance, but if we discover serious health or behavior problems, if we find that your misguided attempts to train or discipline him have driven him over the edge, we will do what you are too immoral and cowardly to do: We will hold the animal in our arms, telling him truthfully that he is a good dog or cat, telling him truthfully that we are sorry and we love him, while the vet ends his life. How can we be so heartless as to kill your pet, you ask? Do not ever dare to judge us. At least we tried. At least we stuck with him to the end. At least we never abandoned him to strangers, as you certainly did, didn’t you? In short, this little old rescuer/foster momma has reached the point where she would prefer you pet owners to tell her stories like this:
   • “We went to Wal-Mart and picked up a free pet in the parking lot a couple of years ago. Now we don’t want it anymore. We’re lazier than we thought. We’ve got no patience either. We’re starting to suspect the animal is really smarter than we are, which is giving us self-esteem issues. Clearly, we can’t possibly keep it. Plus, it might be getting sick; it’s acting kind of funny.”
   • “We would like you to take it in eagerly, enthusiastically, and immediately. “We hope you’ll realize what a deal you’re getting and not ask us for a donation to help defray your costs. After all, this is an (almost) pure-bred animal, and we’ll send the leftover food along with it. We get it at Wal-Mart too, and boy, it’s a really good deal, price-wise.”
   • “We are very irritated that you haven’t shown pity on us in our great need and picked the animal up already. We thought you people were supposed to be humane! Come and get it today. No, we couldn’t possibly bring it to you; the final episode of “Survivor II” is on tonight.”

Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Pet Owner, for your cooperation.

How Could You?
By Jim Willis, 2001

When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was “bad,” you’d shake your finger at me and ask “How could you?”-but then you’d relent and roll me over for a bellyrub.

My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect.

We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because “ice cream is bad for dogs” you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.

Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love.

She, now your wife, is not a “dog person”-still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy. Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate.

Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a “prisoner of love.” As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch-because your touch was now so infrequent-and I would’ve defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway.

There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered “yes” and changed the subject. I had gone from being “your dog” to “just a dog,” and you resented every expenditure on my behalf. Now, you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You’ve made the right decision for your “family,” but there was a time when I was your only family.

I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said “I know you will find a good home for her.” They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with “papers.” You had to pry your son’s fingers loose from my collar as he screamed “No, Daddy! Please don’t let them take my dog!” And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life.

You gave me a good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too. After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked “How could you?”

They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you that you had changed your mind-that this was all a bad dream… or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me.

When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited. I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days.

As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured “How could you?”

Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said “I’m so sorry.” She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn’t be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself - a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place.

And with my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my “How could you?” was not directed at her. It was directed at you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of you. I will think of you and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.

A Note from the Author:
If “How Could You?” brought tears to your eyes as you read it, as it did to mine as I wrote it, it is because it is the composite story of the millions of formerly “owned” pets who die each year in animal shelters.

Anyone is welcome to distribute the essay for a noncommercial purpose, as long as it is properly attributed with the copyright notice. Please use it to help educate, on your websites, in newsletters, on animal shelter and vet office bulletin boards. Tell the public that the decision to add a pet to the family is an important one for life, that animals deserve our love and sensible care, that finding another appropriate home for your animal is your responsibility and any local humane society or animal welfare league can offer you good advice, and that all life is precious.

Please do your part to stop the killing, and encourage all spay & neuter campaigns in order to prevent unwanted animals. - Jim Willis

Jim Willis’ website, which also has a printable pdf version of this essay