Sign Petition Against Ohio Kitten Shooting

From Alley Cat Allies:

A "humane" officer in North Ridgeville, Ohio, shot and killed five kittens in a resident's yard on Monday, June 10. This is a clear act of cruelty in violation of state law—but this officer will have no charges brought against him.

Please sign our petition urging North Ridgeville Mayor David Gillock to meet with Alley Cat Allies immediately to discuss more humane measures for feral cats, including community-supported Trap-Neuter-Return.

Calling this brutal killing “euthanasia” and claiming it was a public safety issue is absurd. Officers should be educating residents about how to treat animals humanely and coexist peacefully, not shooting kittens in front of children.

We can’t stand by while more cats are needlessly killed. Urge Mayor Gillock to meet with Alley Cat Allies—and to issue an immediate order halting the “euthanasia” of healthy cats.

Alley Cat Allies will be on the ground in North Ridgeville on Monday, June 17, for a rally protesting this cruel kitten killing—and we will present your signatures at the City Council meeting that evening. We need as many signatures as possible by Monday, so please ask your friends and family to sign!

Thank you so much for taking action.

Sincerely,

Becky Robinson

UPDATE 6/19/13:  Alley Cat Allies Meets with North Ridgeville Police Chief about a Humane Approach

Pit Bulls: Responsibility

Cesar Millan

 A Letter from Cesar Millan:

A month ago today in Little Rock, California (a small town located forty miles northeast of downtown Los Angeles), a woman named Pamela Devitt was out for a jog when she was attacked and killed by a pack of four dogs.

Of course, the dogs were immediately identified as pit bulls in the headlines, whether they were or not. So far, only one dog’s photo has been released, and it is clearly a pit bull mix — but the problem with most news stories about people being attacked by dogs is that every dog becomes a pit bull in the headline.

This is nothing new and only the breed changes. At various times in the past, it would have been Rottweiler, German shepherd or Doberman pinscher. However, in the tragic case of Pamela Devitt, authorities have gotten one thing absolutely right, and it offers a bit of hope that things may be slowly changing when it comes to anti-breed prejudice.

Three weeks after the attack, Alex Donald Jackson, the owner of the four dogs, was charged with murder by the LA County district attorney — possibly a first for the area, according to prosecutors. They decided to do so because, since January of this year, there had been at least three reports to police about his dogs attacking other people.

Ultimately, the courts will decide Jackson’s fate and I’m not going to discuss his case specifically. However, this incident should be a reminder to dog lovers everywhere that, ultimately, we are responsible for our own dogs’ safety and behavior, and we are the ones who should face the consequences if they should ever attack someone.

Read more: http://www.cesarsway.com/the-scoop/cesarsblog/Responsibility#ixzz2WUnCUpfT

100 Problem Puppy Mills

PRESS RELEASE
The Humane Society of the United States
May 9, 2013

As part of its seventh annual Puppy Mill Action Week, The Humane Society of the United States is releasing “A Horrible Hundred,” a report listing 100 puppy mills. The HSUS is calling on authorities to more closely monitor these and the thousands of other facilities across the country and is also urging state legislators to pass stronger laws to protect dogs in puppy mills. The puppy mills were selected based on the conditions documented in publicly available inspection reports and on evidence obtained during HSUS research and investigations.

“Every year, millions of puppies are born in horrific puppy mills and sold to unsuspecting families,” said Melanie Kahn, senior director of The HSUS’s Puppy Mills Campaign. “We urge consumers to do serious homework before buying a puppy, and we ask lawmakers, law enforcement officials and the pet industry representatives to support laws that will crack down on this cruelty.”

During Puppy Mill Action Week, The HSUS asks supporters to spread the word about the realities of puppy mills by sharing this video, pledging not to buy a puppy mill dog from a pet store or Internet site and by always considering adoption from a shelter or rescue or purchasing only from a responsible breeder they have met in person.

The HSUS is not charging that these are the worst 100 mills in the nation, but these are operations with deficiencies and inadequate attention to animal welfare. They are indicative of the puppy mill culture that has become widespread and causes immense suffering for dogs.

Some states require pet stores to post the names of the breeders in a visible location, such as on the dogs’ cages, so consumers have additional information about where the puppies came from, and other large-scale commercial dog breeders sell directly to consumers over the Internet.

The HSUS found that:

• Most of the 100 facilities have been cited repeatedly by federal or state inspectors for violations such as injured and sick dogs who had not been treated by a veterinarian, animals left in the freezing cold or blistering heat without protection, filthy conditions, and, in some cases, operators who performed surgeries on dogs without a veterinary license or shot and killed unwanted dogs.
• States with the highest numbers of puppy mills on this list include Missouri (24), Ohio (15), Kansas (11), Iowa, (8), and Indiana and New York (6 each).
• More than half of the puppy mills listed had more than 100 dogs and puppies on the premises according to their most recent state or federal inspection reports. At least 30 of the facilities had more than 200 dogs and puppies, and one (Clearwater Kennel in Minnesota) had more than 1,100.
• The report covers puppy mills in 20 different states, but puppies from these breeders are shipped to pet stores and Internet buyers across the country so consumers never see the real conditions in which they were born and raised.
• Many of the facilities in the report claim to be affiliated with the American Kennel Club. The AKC increasingly lobbies against laws that would require puppy mills to be more uniformly licensed and inspected.
• The HSUS urges the USDA to swiftly finalize a rule to require all large-scale commercial puppy sellers to be uniformly licensed and inspected, including those that sell directly to consumers over the Internet. Additionally, the USDA needs to streamline its procedures for reporting problem operators to law enforcement and preventing operators from re-starting under a new name or license number.

See the list by state here.
Read the full report here.

FACTS:

• Puppy mills are mass-breeding facilities that churn out puppies for the pet trade with an emphasis on profit over welfare. Breeding dogs in puppy mills have no real quality of life, often living continually in small wire cages with little or no personal attention, exercise or veterinary care.
• In recent years The HSUS has assisted in rescuing nearly 10,000 dogs from more than 50 different puppy mills across the country churning out more than 2 million puppies per year for the pet trade.
• While The HSUS stands ready to assist law enforcement with closing down illegal puppy mills whenever feasible, there remain an estimated 10,000 puppy mills across the United States, and many of them are legal. 

Media Contact: Niki Ianni, 301-548-7793, 610-999-6932, nianni@humanesociety.org

Chester's Music

This letter was written and submitted to the website An Open Apology.  The owner of the website invited me to share this letter with my readers:

You were filthy. You were matted. Your teeth were a mess, jutted-out-under-bite, yellow, and neglected. There was dry poop crusted onto your back leg, something I mistakenly assumed might bother you. When I tried to clean it off, you tried to bite me with those ridiculous teeth of yours.

Chester, you were not my dog. I was nobody to you. Your somebody left you at a vet’s office months ago and never came back. I suppose they had been trying to do the kinder thing by not leaving you at the shelter, knowing that at eleven years old, your chances would be so low. Knowing that with a big tumor on your side, your chances would be so low. And really, chances for everyone there are so low.

The vet called me because he knows I foster dogs. Because he knows I’m insane like that. Because he knows that I care. And I did care, Chester; and I wanted to help you. But that Wednesday, I just could not. I could not because I was caught up in the ego and in the trivial and in the me me me. I justified to myself that I always care too much. I asked myself how good could I possibly be for you being spread so thin? On that day I was drowning from the inside out, my heart already bursting with pain for the suffering of animals. That ache lives right there, just exists and hangs, so thinly veiled that I’m almost never without it. On that day, it was furious and it overtook my insides, and it shredded me. I had nothing left for you.

So after only a few hours in my home, I took you back to the vet because my fingers feared your mouth. Because I didn’t choose to give you time to bloom. Because that Wednesday I wanted faster and easier. I vowed to come walk you. I vowed to come see you. I vowed to bring you home once more. But deep in my belly, even as I waved goodbye, I knew I should’ve give you a chance. I knew I was your last hope. I knew you would perish there, after months of calling a kennel your home, and it is not a home - the concrete floor and the constant barking and the coldness. I knew that it would be a tragedy to end a life you never got to live. Because how good could it have been before we met? Because what kind of a person leaves their pet behind?

Now I’m on the phone with the vet’s, put on hold. I’ve called for you, Chester. It’s me. I’m here. It’s been a few days, and I want to take you on a stroll so you can feel the sunshine on your skin. I want to try again. I told them I would try again. You deserve someone to try again. Yvette, the head vet tech, sounds small when she returns to the line, smaller than her usual mousy self. “They decided to euthanize him,” she says. And I think she’s confused you with some other shaggy old Terrier. Because there had been vows and there had been promises. But she is not confused. I’m just too late.

They didn’t call me, Chester. I swear I told them I’d be back. I even bought you mushy treats to eat out of my hands so you could meet my smell again and warm to me. But I had you here and the moment was then, and I let you down. I’ve yanked my car into a Trader Joe’s parking lot because I can’t drive through my streaming tears. I’m sitting in front of a dumpster, and I want to jump into it. I want to throw away this regret. I want that bin to be a time capsule that takes me back and lets me do it over, and lets me do it better. I want it to bring you back to life.

And I don’t know if anyone held you as they slid the needle into your vein. I don’t know if you felt affection escorting you out of this world. I don’t know if someone wept by your side. And I know you were old and sick and discarded, but somebody should have held you anyway. It should’ve been me. And now all I can think is: how did you go?

I get hundreds of emails every day, Chester, a constant punch of pleas for homeless pets like you. I see countless faces every weekend, each eager for belonging and safety and tenderness. But I can’t stop thinking about how many animals we never see at all. How many don’t get their stories shared. How many faces we don’t notice. And then - who knows they were ever even here? I want you to know that you were here. I learned of your story and it affected me. I heard your feet on my wooden floor and it made music. I pushed the coarse fur out of your eyes so you could know what friendship looks like.

But real friends don’t give up so fast, the way I did. Real friends care, the way I always thought I would. That one day I had you here, I wasn’t your friend and I didn’t care enough. I took a moment to harden my flooded-heart. I took a moment to create a divide between you and me. I took a moment to put your situation aside, murmured, “wait for me, I’ll try again when it’s more convenient with my schedule.” But it wasn’t up to you; you couldn’t wait. And it cost you your life. My uncaring moment cost you your life. And it cost me something, too: the price of living with guilt and with shame.

Don’t feel bad for me, Chester. I am not a martyr or a saint or an angel. Others are heroes; I am not. I have terrible road rage and I’m impatient and I don’t always wash my hands. But I care. I care deeply. I care deeply and yet I failed you. And I don’t think I like people anymore because people leave their animals in the dust. And where was your “owner” on that day? Huh? Where? It’s not that it’s a bother for me to hold this now. It’s not that it’s a drain. It’s just that it demands so much strength.

I don’t even know if I am good anymore, Chester. All I know is I can’t breathe. Caring takes so much time and so much energy, that I forget to breathe. And I want to shout, “Help me! No one can do it alone!” I want to insist, “You are somebody! It takes all of us to stop this!” I want to declare, “I am not an enabler, I am not a doormat. I must not absorb it all!” But I can’t tell anybody what to do. And at the end of the day, only the animals suffer for my rebellion. Like you.

Some may say, “he was just a dog.” But you were a life, and now you are not. And why should it be this way, this calloused way, why should some live and some die? Why do we get to decide when we are so flawed and so faulty? My husband says, “you can’t care that much every single time.” My mother says, “you’re doing the best you can, more than most.” My father says, “you cannot save them all.” But I can’t hear them.

All I hear is the rhythm of your paws on my floor. And sometimes it feels like too much. It always feels like too much. It feels like I am wearing a hundred cloaks. A thousand. A million. It is hot and humid, and I am lost in fabric. You may never see me again, it is so heavy. I am a hangar, I am a coat rack, I am here to carry cloth. The weight of all that fur. But the alternative is not to care and look where that led me. You are gone.

heart breaking

Read this story on An Open Apology.

The Pet Cremation Conspiracy Theory

This is an excerpt from a blog post written by Minette of The Dog Training Secret:

The Pet Cremation Conspiracy Theory and the Hardest Lesson I Have Ever Learned

I hate conspiracy theories, I am not a believer but I think I have uncovered one!

This is probably the hardest article I have ever written.  Usually writing comes pretty easily to me, don’t get me wrong I have my bad days and my writers block days where I want to write but clear thoughts don’t really enter my mind in a coherent way; but this article is different.

It has taken me 7 months to get to a place where I could even contemplate writing it and it breaks my heart, but I am hoping my story will save other people the heart ache I have gone through.

As many of you know, my “angel in fur” my “furry soul mate” my “heart dog” died in September of last year.

Cancer had invaded his lungs and I didn’t know until it was too late, I woke up he was having trouble breathing and he had to be euthanized that day;  he had been so stoic that there was no warning that he had been battling cancer.

A piece of me died that day, a big piece.

Euthanizing your pet, your family member is hard enough, it is devastating to say good bye and I realized it is almost equally hard to pick up your pet’s ashes post euthanasia and cremation; but I had always wanted to be buried with my special dog when I died.

I was a vet tech for many years, so I guess I just trusted the veterinary/cremation process and took some of my knowledge and expectations for granted.  I made sure after my dog had been euthanized that I would be getting him individually cremated and that I would get just his remains… I paid for that, but I didn’t drill the ER clinic about who they contracted with and what my expectations of his treatment post death would be;  I assumed that the rituals I had known as a vet tech were standard in all/most (especially a well- known ER clinic) within the veterinary world.

I guess this was my mistake and I am here to make sure it is not yours.

When I went to pick up my baby’s ashes, he had been disposed of in a Ziploc bag, which had then been put in a velvet bag; however  the Ziploc bag had sustained several holes in transit and so his ashes had spilled out into the velvet bag and to add insult to injury there was no documentation of substance.  There was a tiny paper hand written tag that had been looped onto the bag with his name on it, but that was it.

There was no information or certificate on when he died, who had cremated him and when, how much he weighed or any kind of certification at all; no metal tags that had followed his body through the process… there was just nothing.

Click HERE to read the full story.

Bordie Collies - Hooked On Swing

Mary Ray performs her "Hooked on Swing" routine at Crufts.  Amazing!

God Made a Dog