~Canine Monthly~

Last summer, we began agonizing over the decision to neuter our prized Doberman Pinscher. My wife and I first discussed the issue at the kitchen table--which was a BIG mistake.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!" howled the Doberman. "You're talking about my PRIDE(S) here."

"I TOLD you we should've gone somewhere else to talk about this," I glared at my wife.

"Oh, you men are just over sensitive about these things," my wife retorted. "What's the big deal? Snip, snip, ka-plunk in the stainless steel pan, and that's it."

I heard a "thud" and looked down to see that our Doberman had passed slap out. ("Slap" is Southern for "completely.")

After he recovered, he began stating his argument.

"I LIKE my pride(s) exactly where they are," he said. "And I like hearing people whistle and point and saying, 'Now THERE'S a pair.' I LIKE hearing them clang like fire-engine bells when I walk down the street."

"But what about your prostrate?" my wife argued. "Just ask your dad how much HE likes hearing the sound of the doctor's rubber glove being slapped on right before the doctor tells him to bend over."

At that point, I passed slap out and hit the floor with a thud.

After I recovered, I told my wife that we would never raise this issue again in the house.

But, lo and behold, we ended up having the Doberman netured, and after moving back here to Texas, we made the same decision for our German Shepherd due to his having less than perfect hips.

The German Shepherd's response was slightly different. He grabbed a gun and barricaded himself in his dog house.

After the police hostage negotiators talked him into coming out peacefully, he finally acquiesced and (reluctantly) agreed to give up his pride(s).

Now, a month later, both of our dogs were invited to a focus group just for dogs to be interviewed in regards to their views on neutering and Neuticles--the fake testicles.

At the focus group, the dogs present were given Milk Bones and other assorted treats. The Moderator began going around the room and having the dogs all introduce themselves and talk about how life is different now that they have no pride(s).

"It's not so bad," said my Doberman. "Especially on hot summer days."

"What would hot summer days have to do with your being neutered?" asked the Moderator.

"Obviously," replied our Doberman, "You've never had to squat down on a long 'stay' command on hot asphalt and have your pride(s) fry like an egg! Do THAT a couple of times, Bub, and I guarantee that you'll be ready to cut them off yourself!"

"Hear Hear!" the other dogs applauded.

"I know that I sure run faster, " piped up a 195 pound St. Bernard. "Try running through the park with a pair the size WE come with sometime. Shoot, they'll leave bruises on the inside of your thighs the size of goose eggs!"

"Right ON, bro!" the big dogs howled.

"But don't you miss the 'romantic' aspect of being intact?" the Moderator pressed on.

"Don't know about these other guys," our German Shepherd offered, "but I never had the chance to pitch woo and get romantic. I was slow to come around to that kind of thinking. But to tell you the truth, I think getting neutered saved me a lot of grief and frustration."

"How's that?" probed the Moderater.

"Heck," replied our German Shepherd dog, "first you got to buy her a good dinner, whisper sweet nothings, make promises you KNOW you ain't gonna keep, and then after it's over--and until then, you're stuck together for anywhere from half an hour to an eternity--you have to send flowers and a card. Who NEEDS that kind of committment?"

"Tell it how it is!" the younger dogs shouted, all stomping their paws on the table in agreement.

"I never had to mess with that," continued the German Shepherd, "so now my time is COMPLETELY my own and I know I can't get slapped with any palimony or paternity suits. As far as I'm concerned, it's probably the best thing that's happened to me so far."

"OK," said the Moderator, "so what about the health benefits?"

"Oh, that's easy," said a Golden Retriever. "My doc said this probably added three to five years to my life. It keeps me a whole lot calmer--especially when I get a whiff of a young good looking hunk of fur walking by my fence. That CAN'T be good for your blood pressure, you know. Plus, I'll never get an ulcer from romantic anxiety."

"PLUS," remarked a Standard Poodle, "get it done early and my doc says it can help prevent a whole slew of other problems down the road."

"All right," said the Moderator, "let's shift gears a little bit and talk about Neuticles."

"What in tarnation are Neuticles?" our Doberman asked.

"Fake pride(s)," answerd the Poodle. "I hear they come in all sizes, shapes and colors. I haven't seen the '98 models yet, but I understand they haven't changed all that much. Besides, they just slip them in where the real ones went--so who cares what they look like?"

"Is that right?" asked the Golden Retriever.

"Pretty much," replied the Moderator. "How do y'all feel about that?"

"What's the point?" exclaimed the Doberman. "Sure, put some fake things back 'there' where the REAL ones used to be, and just my luck I'll be on a long 'sit' or 'down' on a hot sidewalk and those blamed things will conduct more heat than the Space Shuttle upon re-entry to the Earth's atmosphere!"

"Oooooh," all the dogs shuddered.

"But they're supposed to make you look like a whole dog," argued the Moderator.

"Yeah, right," argued our German Shepherd. "Shoot, man, I got so much hair 'back there' that nobody could tell whether I 'got a pair' or not. If they REALLY want to know whether I 'got a pair,' just let 'em try coming over my fence sometime. I'll SHOW them what I got."

"Hee hee hee, ha ha ha!" all the dogs snickered. "Hey! I feel like I'm ten pounds lighter," offered the 195 pound St. Bernard. "Why would I want to put on more weight that nobody could see? Why to fill up my space 'back there,' those things would have to be the size of baseballs! Ever try running full speed with a sack full of baseballs hanging around YOUR rear end?"

"Uh, not exactly," said the Moderator, who was beginning to sweat and feel mighty uncomfortable. This wasn't going the way the thought it would.

"Well, I ain't got NO hair to cover me up 'back there' and I don't care," growled the Doberman. "But if anybody wants to make fun of THAT, just let them!"

"It'd just remind me of what I lost," mused the Golden Retriever.

"So, y'all ain't in favor of Neuticles?" asked the Moderator, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

"NO WAY!!!" all the dogs howled in unison.

"Hey," said the Poodle, "I think it's the humans that are more concerned about that stuff than we are."

So the Moderator gave each dog a package of treats, paid them and dismissed them as he sat down to right his report.

"In conclusion," he wrote, "the dogs we interviewed recognized the health benefits of neutering, but did not see any value in replacing the real thing with something fake simply to keep the owner's ego intact. Their suggestion was that if the owner was so keen on such products, let THEM try 'em first."
By JD

n a tense press conference yesterday, several canine members of B.S. (Ban Stupidpeople) announced their plans to end senseless and prejudicial breed bans in some of North America's cities. Their solution is to initiate wide-sweeping bans of Problematic Anal & Idiotic Nerds (P.A.I.Ns) and thus helping make our cities and rural areas a better place to live.

A variety of ideas were tossed out to reporters ranging from the simplistic and idealistic to the extreme. Whizzer, a large mixed-breed, seemed to be in charge of all the B.S. members present. And Whizzer was quite vocal.

"We see where PAINs are trying to ban so-called pit bulls," Whizzer began, "but can any of you geniuses out there in the media tell me exactly what a pit bull IS?" Many uncomfortable murmurs emerged from the pool of reporters.

"Well," a pimply faced geeky reporter began, "I've seen them, so I know they exist. They are dangerous dogs and should be banned." The other reporters broke into spontaneous applause, marveling at their colleague's courage and journalistic integrity.

"You, zit-face," snarled Whizzer, "are a true PAIN. Did you know that drunk drivers cause far more injuries than so-called pit bulls?"

"OK, then what about Rottweilers?" demanded another reporter. "We've been hearing an awful lot about them on the news as of late."

"And, you. . . you royal PAIN in the posterior," growled Whizzer, "just where do you THINK this so called news comes from? It comes from spineless sensationalists like yourself. Why don't you yahoos ever write more about the heroic deeds that Rottweilers do--like protecting a child from a wild animal? Or why don't you write about the Rottweilers that are Therapy dogs and visit children and elderly patients in hospitals?"

There was a deafening silence among the press corps.

"Uh huh, I thought so," muttered Whizzer. "Well, let me give you some B.S. proposals:

First: We propose to ban all drunk drivers from ALL North American cities. No exceptions. They have proven repeatedly that they can't be trusted and that they injure and kill far more people than do all the dog bites combined.

We also propose to ban all child molestors and rapists. After all, when's the last time any of you hot-shot info-geeks heard about a dog doing such a thing? And believe me, there are FAR more child molestors and rapists walking our streets today than there are dangerous dogs.

But, just to humor you PAINs in the media, we also propose to ban people who stink, people with questionable lineage, people who can't prove exactly what race they are, short people, tall people, ugly people--that would be ALL of you in this room--fat people, skinny people--"

"But that's PREJUDICED!!!" shrilled the pimply-faced reporter. "You're banning people based on nothing more than how they look and what you might THINK they will do--"

"Works for you, don't it?" replied Whizzer
By JD

After I was discharged from the Navy, Jim and I moved back to Detroit to use our GI bill benefits to get some schooling. Jim was going for a degree in Electronics and I after much debating decided to get mine in Computer Science. One of the classes that was a requirement was Speech. Like many people I had no fondness for getting up in front of people for any reason let alone to be the center of attention as I stuttered my way through some unfamiliar subject., but I couldn't get out of the requirement and so I found myself in my last semester before graduation with Speech as one of my classes.

On the first day of class our professor explained to us that he was going to leave the subject manner of our talks up to us, but he was going to provide the motivation of the speech. We would be responsible for six speeches, each with a different motivation. For instance our first speech's purpose was to inform. He advised us to pick subjects that we were interested in and knowledgeable about. I decided to center my six speeches around animals especially dogs. For my first speech to inform, I talked about the equestrian art of dressage. For my speech to demonstrate., I brought my German Shepherd, Bodger to class and demonstrated obedience commands. Finally the semester was almost over and I had but one more speech to give. This speech was to take the place of a written final exam and was to count for fifty percent of our grade. The speeches motivation was to persuade.

After agonizing over a subject matter, and keeping with my animal theme, I decided on the topic of spaying and neutering pets. My goal was to try to persuade my classmates to neuter their pets. So I started researching the topic. There was plenty of material, articles that told of the millions of dogs and cats that were euthanized every year, of supposedly beloved pets that were turned in to various animal control facilities for the lamest of reason, or worse dropped off far from home, bewilder and scared. Death was usually a blessing . The final speech was looming closer, but I felt well prepared. My notes were full of facts and statistics that I felt sure would motivate even the most naive of pet owner to succumb to my plea.

A couple of days before our speeches were due, I had the bright idea of going to the local branch of the Humane Society and borrowing a puppy to use as a sort of a visual aid. I called the Humane Society and explained what I wanted. They were very happy to accommodate me. I made arrangements to pick up a puppy the day before my speech.

The day before my speech, I went to pick up the puppy. I was feeling very confident. I could quote all the statistics and numbers without ever looking at my notes. The puppy, I felt, would add the final emotional touch. When I arrived at the Humane Society I was met by a young guy, named Ron. He explained that he was the public relations person for the Humane Society. He was very excited about my speech and asked if I would like a tour of the facilities before I picked up the puppy. I enthusiastically agreed. We started out in the reception area, which was the general public's initial encounter with the Humane Society. The lobby was full, mostly with people dropping off various animals that they no longer wanted. Ron explained to me that this branch of the Humane society took in about fifty animal a day and adopted out twenty. As we stood there I heard snatches of conversation., "I've can't keep him, he digs holes in my garden" "There such cute puppies, I know you will have no trouble finding homes for them". "She is wild , I can't control her." I heard one of Humane Society's volunteer explain to the lady with the litter of puppies that the Society was filled with puppies and that these puppies, being black, would immediately be put to sleep. Black puppies, she explained, had little chance of being adopted. The woman who brought the puppies in just shrugged, "I can't help it" she whined " They are getting too big, I don't have room for them."

We left the reception area, Ron lead me into the staging area where all the incoming animal were evaluated for adoptability. Over half never even made it to the adoption center. There were just too many. Not only were people bringing in their own animal, but strays were also dropped off. By law the humane society had to hold a stray for three days. If the animal was not claimed by then it was euthanized, since there was no background information on the animal. There were already too many animals that had a known history eagerly provided by their soon to be x owners. As we went through the different areas, I felt more and more depressed. No amount of statistics, could take the place of seeing the reality of what this throw away attitude did to the living breathing animal. It was over overwhelming. Finally Ron stopped in front of a closed door. "That's it." He said. "Except for this." I read the sign on the door. "Euthanization Area." "Do you want to see one.? He asked. Before I could decline, he interjected, "You really should, you can't tell the whole story unless you experience the end." I reluctantly agreed. "Good." He said " I already cleared it and Peggy is expecting you." He knocked firmly on the door. It was opened immediately by a middle aged woman, in a white lab coat. "Here's the girl I was telling you about." Ron explained. Peggy looked me over. "Well I'll leave you here with Peggy and meet you in the reception area in about fifteen minutes. I'll have the puppy ready." With that Ron departed, leaving me standing in front of the stern looking Peggy.

Peggy motioned me in. As I walked into the room, I gave a audible gasp. The room was small and sparten. There were a couple of cages on the wall and a cabinet with syringes and vials of a clear liquid. In the middle of the room was a examining table with a rubber mat on top. There were two doors other then the one I had entered. Both were closed, one said to incinerator room, and the other had no sign, but I could hear various animals noises coming for behind the closed door. In the back of the room, near the door that was marked incinerator, were the objects that caused my distress. two wheel barrels, filled with the bodies of dead kittens and puppies. I stared in horror. Nothing had prepared me for this, I felt my legs grow weak and my breathing become rapid and shallow. I wanted to run from that room, screaming. Peggy seemed not to notice my state of shock. She started talking about the euthanizaton process, but I wasn't hearing her. I could not tear my gaze away from the wheel barrels and those dozens of pathetic little bodies. Finally, Peggy seemed to noticed that I was not paying attention to her. "Are you listening?" She asked irritably. "I'm only going to go through this once. I tore my gaze from the back of the room and looked at her. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing would come out, so I nodded. She told me that behind the unmarked door were the animals that were scheduled for euthanasia that day. She picked up the a chart that was hanging from the wall. "One fifty three is next." She said as she looked at the chart. "I'll go get him." She laid down the chart on the examining table and started for the unmarked door. Before she got to the door she stopped and turned around. "You aren't going to get hysterical are you?" She asked " Because that will only upset the animals." I shook my head. I had not said a word since I walked into that room. I still felt unsure if I would be able to without breaking down into tears.

As Peggy open the unmarked door I peered into the room beyond. It was a small room, but the walls were lined and stacked with cages. It looked like they were all occupied. Peggy opened the door of one of the lower cages and removed the occupant. From what I could see it looked like a medium size dog. She attached a leash and ushered the dog into the room in which I stood. As Peggy brought the dog into the room I could see that the dog was no more than a puppy maybe five or six months old. The pup looked to be a cross between a Lab and a German shepherd. He was mostly black, with a small amount of tan above his eyes and on his feet. He was very excited and bouncing up and down, trying to sniff everything in this new environment. Peggy lifted the pup onto the table. She had a card in her hand. which she laid on the table next to me. I read the card. It said that number one fifty three was a mixed Shepherd, 6 months old. He was surrendered two days ago by a family. Reason of surrender was given as jumps on children. At the bottom was a note that said Name: Sam. Peggy was quick and efficient , from lots of practice, I guessed. She laid one fifty three down on his side and tied a rubber tourniquet around his front leg. She turned to fill the syringe from the vial of clear liquid. All this time I was standing at the head of the table. I could see the moment that one fifty three went from a curious puppy to a terrified puppy. He did not like being held down and he started to struggle. It was then that I finally found my voice. I bent over the struggling puppy and whispered "Sam." " Your name is Sam." At the sound of his name Sam quit struggling. He wagged his tail tentatively and his soft pink tongue darted out and licked my hand And that is how he spent his last moment. I watched his eyes fade from hopefulness to nothingness. It was over very quickly. I had never even seen Peggy give the lethal shot. The tears could not be contained any longer. I kept my head down so as not to embarrass myself in front of the stoic Peggy. My tears fell onto the still body on the table. "Now you know." Peggy said softly. Then she turned away. "Ron will be waiting for you."

I left the room. Although it seem like it had been hours, only fifteen minutes had gone by since Ron had left me at the door. I made my way back to the reception area. True to his word, Ron had the puppy already to go. After giving me some instructions about what to feed the puppy , he handed the carrying cage over to me and wished me good luck on my speech That night I went home and spent many hours playing with the orphan puppy. I went to bed that night but I could not sleep. After awhile I got up and looked at my speech notes with their numbers and statistics. Without second thought I tore them up and threw them away. I went back to bed. Sometime during the night I finally fell asleep.

The next morning I arrived at my Speech class with Puppy Doe. When my turn came to give my speech. I walked up to the front the class with the puppy in my arms. I took a deep breath, and I told the class about the life and death of Sam. When I finished my speech I became aware that I was crying. I apologized to the class and took my seat. After class the teacher handed out a critique with our grades. I had got a "A". His comments said "Very moving and persuasive." Two days latter, on the last day of class, one of my classmates came up to me. She was a older lady that I had never spoken to in class. She stopped me on our way out of the class room. "I want you to know that I adopted the puppy you brought to class." She said. "His name is Sam."
-By Montana

I remember the lady that was with him that day. She was well dressed, and appeared to be a reasonably educated person. I remember him sitting next to her. He was a Shetland Sheepdog, sable and white with a touch of distinguishing gray on his muzzle. The master of maturity had laid it's hand upon him, hazing the brown eyes slightly. He sat with dignity at his assigned post. I wondered how he would react when the leash was given to me and his tailored owner walked out the door without him.

"Reason for Surrender, Ma'am?" I asked. "We just don't have time for him anymore", came the flat, emotionless answer.

Our front door moved slightly. I thought it must be the wind. I asked the lady if she was aware that a 12 year old dog did not stand a very good chance of finding another home. Yes, she understood. The front door moved again, a little further this time. I questioned her as to the dog's veterinarian, and after getting the phone number, I called the vet. Generally on a dog this age, the vet may be able to enlighten us in regards to a medical problem that the owners may not be willing to deal with. Once again, the front door moved and caught my eye.

The medical history of the dog was clean, no medical problems were noted. I walked over to the front door to pull it closed, when I noticed a small pair of blue eyes peering through the crack. I opened the door to find little blond girl, maybe 4 years old. The teary-eyed child had been trying to open the door all this time. As I opened the door to let her in, a look of disgust came across the face of the lady owner.

The child rushed in and embraced the elegant Sheltie. The owner glared at me and curtly asked if we were finished. I replied yes in a very confused voice. The owner, now also apparently the mother of this child proceeded to pry the crying girl away from the dog. I stood there like a dimwit, not quite sure what was going on.

"Let GO of him!" she yelled, "we have to go NOW!". The child sobbed and buried her face in the dog's ruff. Through her sniffling I could make out the words "I'll be good, please mommy, nooo". As the mother literally drug her daughter out of the office, the last words I heard the mom say as the door slowly closed were "I told you if you didn't clean your room, I would….".