THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, January 1, 1995 TAG: 9412300204
SECTION: CHESAPEAKE CLIPPER PAGE: 02 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: Random Rambles
SOURCE: Tony Stein
LENGTH: Medium: 85 lines
Pretty soon now, the sign on Cook Boulevard will say ``Chesapeake Animal Shelter'' instead of ``Chesapeake Animal Bureau.''
Same building, new sign. There's a reason. Members of the city's Animal Control Advisory Board felt like ``bureau'' suggested a place for computers and filing cabinets. ``Shelter'' says what the building is - the place where unwanted animals get a share of care and compassion. All too often it's a final share. In November, 253 dogs and cats were humanely killed because there were no homes for them.
That's hateful business, gut-wrenching sometimes when the dog or cat stretches to nuzzle the hand that holds the fatal needle. Yet it's better than the slow death by disease or injury that unwanted animals otherwise face.
And it's truly sad because they would have made wonderful companions. Sure, very few of them had pedigrees, but if you think a dog needs a pedigree to be wonderful, let me brag on our Laurie.
When Animal Control Officer Laura Moreau found her in the Chesapeake boonies four years ago, she gave ``grungy'' a whole new definition. Even after the bath and the combing that Moreau administered, the dog looked like a badly made mini-mop. Still, she was the only puppy at the shelter the day we went there. Laurie rode home huddled and still against my shoulder.
Her six weeks of life on the streets had created some medical problems that a trip to the vet dealt with. Now, four years later, she is proof of my theory that if dogs were people they would all be living examples of the Boy Scout Law: trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent.
That she is named Laurie, like the officer who found her, is no coincidence. It was a salute to Moreau, who represents the kind of staff member Chesapeake is lucky enough to have at the shelter. ``They're a good crew,'' says police Sgt. Richard V. Williams, shelter supervisor. ``I'm real proud of them.''
Chesapeake's animal shelter hasn't always been a place for pride. A couple of decades ago, there was a shelter in the South Norfolk section that was cruelly cramped, filthy and without adequate protection from the weather. Dogs and cats were put down by stuffing them in a concrete box and flooding the box with carbon monoxide. An investigator from the Humane Society of the United States called the shelter the second-worst in the United States.
But 20 years of cooperation between the city and the Chesapeake Humane Society have changed all that. The new shelter, designed with Humane Society funds, opened in 1987. The staff is trained and compassionate. Good people doing a nasty job.
Nasty because there are just too many unwanted dogs and cats, and they still must die by the hundreds each month. The adoption rate at the bureau runs about 27 to 30 percent, Williams says. It could be higher if the shelter didn't have rules to enforce, but that would be senseless.
The primary rule is that animals adopted must be spayed or neutered. Otherwise, the one animal saved might be responsible for a whole litter of new animals. Puppies and kittens stop being cute when they have to be statistics in a shelter's euthanasia report.
That's why I get irritated at the way comic strips and TV shows treat pet reproduction. It's supposed to be unquestioned cute, har, har, har. Like on two television shows I have seen recently. One was ``Grace Under Fire.'' The other was ``Frazier.'' In both episodes, neutering a male dog was treated like it was an attack on the maleness of the men involved with the dog.
When it comes to pet acquisition, why not check out the shelter? Supervisor Williams has three dogs and a cat and says that the cat and dog who came from the shelter probably have the best temperaments. And if you're hooked on purebreds, some do come into the shelter. But American Kennel Club registration is no certification of the long-range health and quality of the animal. A dog from over-bred parents at a Midwest puppy mill or a ramshackle backyard kennel might end up with worse problems than the most humble mixed breed. All of the Stein pets but one have been mixed breeds, and all have been blue-ribbon buddies.
Which brings me back to Laurie. The rest of this column will be mushy enough to drive non-dog-lovers into watching ``Gilligan's Island'' reruns, but I won't apologize. Not when I hear her barking vigilantly as people approach the house. Or receive her soggy kiss as she leaps up on my lap in a sudden burst of affection. Or watch her continue her absolute devotion to my wife. They are connected. The bond between them is like a pair of happy handcuffs.
Never mind that they would laugh Laurie out of the ring at any self-respecting dog show. Like so many animals just waiting for a chance to prove it, she's a champion of the heart. by CNB