Product of The System

Product of the System

Dogs are known for being man’s best friend. To the best of my knowledge, they are just that. I have found dogs to be loving, active, exuberant, enthusiastic, funny, attentive (most notably when there is a treat in hand), protective, brave, and above all else, loyal animals. They exceed all expectations we have of friendship, but do we reciprocate? Is man known for being dog’s best friend?

Sadly, the answer to this question is a resounding NO. Although there are a great deal of dogs that have great homes, there are many more that are still in need of a family to take care of them. Many of these dogs are in or from a puppy mill. This is why I have chosen to use my sympathetic imagination to see life through the eyes of one of these troubled animals for my P2.

I was born on a frigid December morning outside Flint Michigan. I look more like a hairless mouse than a Border Collie, but that’s the least of my worries. I’m blind and can barely move on my own. My mother, five siblings, and I are living in a cramped cage, but it’s not so bad. At least we are all together. Mother nuzzles us all to her belly so we can suckle her milk for the first time. I feel safe, totally oblivious to the world around me.

After a few days, I’m beginning to grow a coat of fur and developing my eyesight. I suckle from my mom when she’ll let me, always having to fight for position with my brothers and sisters. I’ve noticed my mom has a spotted pattern on her belly. I find myself eerily calm when gazing at it. I don’t know if it’s the hypnotic pattern itself, the life giving milk that flows from it, or the warm feeling I associate with it, but there’s definitely something about it. I love my mom. She takes such good care of us. I can’t imagine life without her.

It is now mid January. The weather seems to get colder by the day. When we’re not huddled with mom to stay warm, my siblings and I play. It gets a little frustrating roughhousing with four other pups in such a small space, but we make the best of it. After numerous confrontations, I have gotten the rest of the litter to submit to me, making me the alpha dog of the group. This is a very respected position with a great deal of responsibility that I do not take lightly. Suddenly, a man comes and opens our cage, and I immediately sense a great deal of tension in the air. He grabs mom by the scruff, and drags her out. She begins screaming and frantically clawing to get back to us, but the man puts a noose around her neck and tightens it to the point that my mom can no longer scream. I look into her eyes, and see that she is completely horrified. The rest of the litter is shrieking as loud as their little puppy voices will allow. I lunge forward to try and save her, but am met with the back of the man’s hand and sent hurling towards the back of the cage like a rag doll. I hop up immediately and run back to her, but the cage door has been latched shut. She lets out a deep howl, which is met with another tightening of the noose. As they drag her down the aisle, she manages to gurgle out one last bark. It was to let us know not to be afraid, and that she loved us very much. We all watch as she is forced into the top of a steel box along with seven other dogs. The man closes the box, flips a switch, casually dusts of his hands, and leaves the room. We all sit there, staring at the box, whimpering quietly. Every second seemed like an eternity. About thirty minutes later the man returns, opens up the box, stacks the lifeless bodies of those inside into a wheelbarrell, and takes them outside. What did my mom do to deserve this? She was a good dog, and more importantly, a good mother. She was getting a little old to have any more puppies, but does that mean she deserves to die? I don’t understand. I feel as if I’ll never be safe again.

The man validates my feelings upon his return. He grabs us by the scruff and takes us to a new building further back on the property. This is my first venture out into the world, and I can’t even move around or smell anything for myself, which is very unsettling for a dog. We enter a drafty room with dog cages stacked to the ceiling like palettes in a warehouse. All the dogs in this room are barking uncontrollably. I can hear the desperation in their tone. The smell of urine and feces permeates the air, along with a new smell that is foreign to me. The man puts me in a cage with my little sister. My two other brothers are put in the cage on one side of us, while my other little sister, the runt of the litter, is put in a cage with a strange dog. The man leaves, and a great deal of the barking stops. I wonder why that is? All of a sudden, a fight breaks out. It’s my sister and the strange dog. He’s much bigger, older, and meaner than she. My sister tries to defend herself, but is quickly overpowered. The dog picks her up by the throat and begins to shake her like a rope toy. The cage is so small that he slams her body on each side of the cage as he jerks his head left and right. The rest of us start barking, but it is futile. We hear a loud snap, and then the dog throws her against the side of the cage that is adjacent with ours. Her neck is broken, and she lays there, barely breathing. The rest of us begin to whimper again. I try to console her by licking the top of her head and nose. She died several hours later.

It has been four days since my sister lost her life, and she is still lying in the same place she fell. I now know what that unfamiliar stench is, death. My sister won’t be removed for another couple of days. I’m not even two months old yet, and I am in hell.

It’s July now, and it is hot. Several of the dogs in our row have died from a combination of heat exhaustion, malnutrition, and stress. The heat causes the corpses to decompose quicker, thus the stench of death is almost overpowering. The four of us that remain are still alive, if you can call it that. Several of us have developed a nasty tick where we chase our tail until we collapse. Border Collies are a very active breed with a high energy level, so being caged with no chance for exercise is especially problematic for us. The man who murdered my mother opens our cage and grabs me by the scruff. He carries me over to a small moving truck full of dogs and throws me in. I will never see my brothers and sisters again. The heat inside the moving truck is scorching. It is made worse because we are huddled close together, and the additional body heat adds to the problem. We are being transported to a pet shop in Florida. The thousand mile journey begins to take its toll after a few hours. A few of the dogs lie down and don’t wake up. Several others begin to convulse uncontrollably because of all the stress. I am surrounded by death and filth. My future is uncertain at best. I am crippled with fear.

About fifteen hours later we arrive at an old barn outside Tallahassee. I am hosed down and forced into a crate at the back of a pick-up. A man drives me into town and drops me off at a local pet store. The employees there are very nice to me, but because of my bad experience with humans I can’t help but be terrified of them. Whenever one of them leans down to pet me, I begin trembling uncontrollably. My tail spends all of its time between my legs. The employees wonder what made me this way.

I have been at the pet store for a month now, and my fear has been replaced by chronic apprehension. Every time a human walks by I get nervous and start twirling. A little girl thinks my spinning is cute and begs her father to take me home. The father acquiesces, and they buy me. My new owner leads me out into the parking lot. This is the first time I’ve ever really walked anywhere, and I’m nine months old. When we get outside the store, I make a break for it. My escape attempt is quickly thwarted when my new owner yanks back on the leash, causing me to yelp in pain. We arrive at their house a few minutes later, and they let me out to the back yard from the garage. I run out to the end of the fence. This is the first time I’ve ever felt the earth beneath my paws. It’s so soft and inviting, much different from the chicken wire and metal grating I’m used to. I am so excited that I begin digging. I don’t even know why? I suppose it’s simply because I can. My new master comes up and bats me hard on the nose and yells at me for a while. What did I do wrong?

Summer is beginning to give way to the fall. It’s now late September, and things have gone south with my new human family. I am no longer permitted in the house. Every time I get around a group of people I try to herd them. First, I begin barking. If they don’t respond to that, then I begin nipping at their heels in an attempt to move them along. I find it difficult to control this primal urge. Now, they only let me live outside. Why am I being punished for expressing myself? The humans give me food and water, but no attention. This is the loneliest I have ever been. I am deeply depressed.

The month is now November, and my master has decided to give me up. I nipped the little girl one too many times. The last time she started wailing and demanded that her dad get rid of me. I get to the front of the shelter, and can feel the tension in the air. My instincts tell me that something is terribly wrong, and I go dead weight. My master starts to drag me with the leash. Once he gets me close to the front door he talks to some lady there and hands her the leash. He didn’t even say goodbye. I have just been thrown away like a piece of garbage.

Shelter life is not as bad as I thought. I’m in a cage most of the time, but it’s large, and I have one to myself. This is so much better than my first home! The best part is one of the people that comes and plays with me a few times a week. She takes me for walks, feeds me, and gives me lots of attention. She found this one spot right behind my ears that makes me start to itch. She is the best thing that has happened to me since my mother was killed.

I have been living at the shelter for six weeks now, and no one has adopted me. Every time someone shows interest, they read a sign posted on my cage saying that I bit a child. All I did was nip at her heels. This is the way my creator has made me. I can’t help it. Why will no one love me! What did I do! I am a product of my environment, just like everyone and everything else. I am incredibly frustrated and desperate. Just as I’m about to lay down for a nap, my friend shows up to play with me. This is very strange, because it’s not the usual time for us to be together. We play for what seems like an eternity. I got to play tug of war, fetch, chew on a kong, and even run through some sprinklers while they watered the lawn. This is the best day of my life. My tail is wagging so much that I am afraid it might fall off. I am totally unafraid for the first time since infancy! After what appeared to be hours of fun, my friend puts me on my leash and begins leading me back to my cage, but she takes a wrong turn. She escorts me into a room at the far end of the shelter. I can sense that something is wrong, and when I look up at my friend, I can feel she is upset. Everything about this room is cold. There is nothing on the walls, the floor is concrete, the ceiling was leaky, and there were too many dog scents to count. A man wearing a white coat appears with something in his hand. I begin to look up at my friend, who is openly weeping now. She takes off my leash, and gently picks me up and places me in her lap. This is the type of delicate touch I’ve been yearning for my whole life. She begins lightly stroking the top of my head, and works her way down to the base of my tail. It is so soothing. I am instantly relaxed, almost hypnotized. The man inches closer to us, but I am too distracted to notice. Then, I begin to get a familiar feeling. It was difficult to place. As I feel a prick in my right forearm, I notice that my friend has a spotted pattern on her belly that reminds me of my mom. I nuzzle up against her shirt, and she gives me a kiss on my nose. I slip into darkness. I am thirteen months old, and I am dead.

Much like humans, I never asked to be born. All I wanted was a chance at life, a chance to be happy. I never asked for this life, and no child should have to suffer so much at a young age. I am man’s best friend. It’s about time that man return the favor. It was once said that the only thing needed for evil to prevail is that good men do nothing. There are still plenty of my brothers and sisters out there. What are you going to do to save them?

Word count: 2,512

Image list:
1. http://www.zimfamilycockers.com/Abbys2004Litter-Nursing-25DaysOld.jpg
2. http://www.pets4homes.co.uk/pets4homes/home.nsf/79EF0D797D8449EB802570A1004EF712/$file/Border-Collie-Puppies-Dogs-Sale.jpg
3. http://mbdethloff.files.wordpress.com/2008/10/puppy_mill_cage_1184223143_std3.jpg
4. http://funnypuppy.org/puppy/2009/03/AggressiveDog/01.jpg
5. http://sheepdogsforsale.com/puppies/Untitled-45.jpg
6. http://www.canen.me.uk/herding/images/canen_dawn_2_by_NT-475.jpg