A letter from an Animal Control Officer Apr 4, 2008 9:32 AM
This is deserving of your time…and of those you know. “Think occasionally of
the suffering of which you spare yourself the sight.” Yes, I Gas Dogs and Cats
for a Living. I’m an Animal Control officer in a very small town in central
North Carolina . I’m in my mid thirties, and have been working for the town in
different positions since high school. There is not much work here, and working
for the county provides good pay and benefits for a person like me without a
higher education. I’m the person you all write about how horrible I am. I’m the
one that gasses the dogs and cats and makes them suffer. I’m the one that pulls
their dead corpses out smelling of Carbon Monoxide and throws them into green
plastic bags. But I’m also the one that hates my job and hates what I have to
do. First off, all you people out there that judge me, don’t. God is judging
me, and I know I’m going to Hell. Yes, I’m going to hell. I wont lie, it’s
despicable, cold, cruel and I feel like a serial killer. I’m not all to blame,
if the law would mandate spay and neuter, lots of these dogs and cats wouldn’t
be here for me to gas. I’m the devil, I know it, but I want you people to see
that there is another side to me the devil Gas Chamber man. The shelter usually
gasses on Friday morning. Friday’s are the day that most people look forward
to, this is the day that I hate, and wish that time will stand still on
Thursday night. Thursday night, late, after nobody’s around, my friend and I go
through a fast food line, and buy 50 dollars worth of cheeseburgers and fries,
and chicken. I’m not allowed to feed the dogs on Thursday, for I’m told that
they will make a mess in the gas chamber, and why waste the food. So, Thursday
night, with the lights still closed, I go into the saddest room that anyone can
every imagine, and let all the doomed dogs out out their cages. I have never
been bit, and in all my years doing this, the dogs have never fought over the
food. My buddy and I, open each wrapper of cheeseburger and chicken sandwich,
and feed them to the skinny, starving dogs. They swallow the food so fast, that
I don’t believe they even taste it. There tails are wagging, and some don’t
even go for the food, they roll on their backs wanting a scratch on their
bellys. They start running, jumping and kissing me and my buddy. They go back
to their food, and come back to us. All their eyes are on us with such trust
and hope, and their tails wag so fast, that I have come out with black and
blues on my thighs.. They devour the food, then it’s time for them to devour
some love and peace. My buddy and I sit down on the dirty, pee stained concrete
floor, and we let the dogs jump on us. They lick us, they put their butts in
the air to play, and they play with each other. Some lick each other, but most
are glued on me and my buddy. I look into the eyes of each dog. I give each dog
a name. They will not die without a name. I give each dog 5 minutes of
unconditional love and touch. I talk to them, and tell them that I’m so sorry
that tomorrow they will die a gruesome, long, torturous death at the hands of
me in the gas chamber. Some tilt their heads to try to understand. I tell them,
that they will be in a better place, and I beg them not to hate me. I tell them
that I know I’m going to hell, but they will all be playing with all the dogs
and cats in heaven. After about 30 minutes, I take each dog individually, into
their feces filled concrete jail cell, and pet them and scratch them under
their chins. Some give me their paw, and I just want to die. I just want to
die. I close the jail cell on each dog, and ask them to forgive me. As my buddy
and I are walking out, we watch as every dog is smiling at us and them don’t
even move their heads. They will sleep, with a full belly, and a false sense of
security. As we walk out of the doomed dog room, my buddy and I go to the cat
room. We take our box, and put the very friendly kittens and pregnant cats in
our box. The shelter doesn’t keep tabs on the cats, like they do the dogs. As I
hand pick which cats are going to make it out, I feel like I’m playing God,
deciding whose going to live and die. We take the cats into my truck, and put
them on blankets in the back. Usually, as soon as we start to drive away, there
are purring cats sitting on our necks or rubbing against us. My buddy and I
take our one way two hour trip to a county that is very wealthy and they use
injection to kill animals. We go to exclusive neighborhoods, and let one or two
cats out at a time. They don’t want to run, they want to stay with us. We shoo
them away, which makes me feel sad. I tell them that these rich people will
adopt them, and if worse comes to worse and they do get put down, they will be
put down with a painless needle being cradled by a loving veterinarian.
(There is more) pt. 2