An old experience with animal abuse that still stings

One of the cruelest cases(of animal abuse) I have ever seen involved an Albuquerque vet. We, Nancy, Sarah and I, delivered him a little cat on a rainy weekend afternoon, expecting him to euthanize it. It had been hit by a car, was still alive, but not by much. Oh no, he said, we can save this guy. But I will need some money up front. So I gave him $50, pointing out that he was not mine and I didn't have much and that that was a lot at the time. Oh, don't worry, we will find his owner, the good doctor said. I stopped by the next day to see how the patient was doing and the staff let me in to see him, laying still, eyes open, breathing laboringly, a liquid dripping into his leg. A couple of days,maybe a week of this later, they called to tell me that the owner had come to claim her cat and wanted to even up with me. She was in tears in the waiting room when I got there; the vet, bless his benevolent heart, wanted almost $300 from her on top of my $50, the cat still wasn't moving, she was't really even sure it was her cat, and she didn't know what to do. To help things along, the vet was storming in and out of the waiting area mumbling in a too-loud-and-angry voice that he wasn't running a charity operation and he was tired of being taken advantage by people who thought he was, blah, blah, blah. Somehow we made it through this ordeal, firgure out between us how we would pay the vet's bill -- outrageously expensive in my mind for the time -- and my new friend took her cat with her, rushing to her own vet, who immediately said the cat had no chance of living, that its injuries clearly indicated the need for euthanasia, which he did, ending the little cat's misintended misery.

Now this is indeed the worst vet story I have ever run into. Most every other veterinarian I have met has had a wonderful approach to animals and their lives, and, most of the time, their owners, too. With their help I have managed to keep quite a few little furry ones alive and still stay somewhat solvent in the process. As a group, I love them, have a great deal of respect for the profession, wish I were one, and am always happy when I hear that someone I know wants to become one. But this one, and he and I and my late cat friend's owner all know who he is, is something else. Deliberately to maintain the life of an injured animal requiring the grace of death is beyond belief. I certainly felt victimized by this man. I am sure the cat was, too.

Oh, the ways we humans find to amuse ourselves ...

I was dismayed to read an announcement at the Sportsman's Warehouse in Albuquerque this morning that $80 and a certain lack of maturity would get two people and their guns admission to a fun-filled weekend of holiday-season slaughter here in New Mexico. For 40 bucks apiece, you and a good friend could frolic for three fun-filled days over the weekend of Dec. 11, 12, and 13 trying to be the big guys able to kill the most coyotes. The winners, bless their malignant hearts, get to split a pot that is made up of the total in entry fees minus the store's costs prorated against the number of dead coyotes they manage to show up with. That should get you in ripe fever ready for the Holidays. ("I killed the most coyotes, I killed the most coyotes, I'm the big guy, tra, la, la, ..." sung to "Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly.) The notice did not indicate where this debacle was to occur; for that information one had to inquire at the checkout registers after joining up. As for me, I kind of like coyotes, along with most other living things, and I don't think it is "sporting" to compete to try to kill the most of any species. I am sure it brings bad kharma. I will probably say a quiet prayer for the coyotes and hope that they find some other place to hang out while the "sportsmen" have their demented fun. I will also hope the hunters' guns all jam. I have never been a big fan of the store but this morning will be my last visit to the Warehouse.