The 145(?) Wilkesboro dogs are gone, dead, deceased, destroyed, euthanized, killed, put to rest, murdered, at peace, slaughtered, put to sleep ... Choose your description.
A few days ago I made a special trip to the shelter as I was asked to help put down a couple of code 597 (cruelty case) American Bulldogs that had spent their lives on chains and concrete. They looked like they were ten years old, but in reality were more like three. Their ears and tails cut off, sores abound, and starving. They were used as guard dogs and had displayed such characteristics in the kennels, so weren’t really right for this world anymore, but I was able to get them out separately for play sessions to make their last minutes as happy as possible before their end.
We knew it was the right thing to do, but nonetheless, it sucks. It’s that funny feeling that just sticks with ya for awhile until you aren’t sure why you have that odd feeling. You wake up feeling strange, then memory serves ... you killed a couple of dogs yesterday. Not something I have gotten completely used to, don’t know if I ever will, and don’t know that I ever want to.
So with today’s awful news, my mind went right back to the euthanasia room. The Wilkesboro shelter workers must have gone into overtime with this enormous task. Seventy some beautiful adult dogs, and sixty some beautiful puppies (all deemed dangerous without evaluation due to their address, as they lived with a felony dogfighter). I can’t help but wonder how those people are doing who were basically forced to kill all these innocent dogs.
Who gets to do the awful deed; the dirty work? The low-wage shelter workers who have no say in the matter; usually the same people who have cared for these dogs, who've gotten to know the dogs and have seen for themselves how truly wonderful most of them are. How are they feeling right now? I think I know.
