The Outside World

Give Me Shelter: The Recession’s Furry Victims

February 24, 2009

I learned yesterday that the MSPCA will be closing three of its Animal Care and Adoption Centers due to lack of funds. Within the next several months, the shelters in Brockton (“our” shelter in Metro South), Martha’s Vineyard and Springfield (Western New England) will all be closed.

This news is a death knoll for many, many unwanted household pets because, like the signs of foreclosure some see in their neighborhoods, this is just one scary red flag of what could come in the years ahead.

What will become of the small-town shelters that are often overrun with pets needing homes? When I worked for a small-town shelter, the salary paid to the Animal Control Officer was pitiful. Here is the person expected to scrape up roadkill, corral loose livestock, break up dog fights, get a skunk out of a fireplace, investigate your neighbor’s dog who is out all all night. . . (I could go on and on); this person is expected to do this at any hour for a salary that many of us would find insulting. And, yet, towns are struggling to cover so many projects with too little money. “ACO” is just another line item on their budget and I imagine that some will scratch it out to fund other things like schools, road repair or town salaries.

What will become of the cats? We’ve been fortunate up here in New England with the success of the spay/neuter programs for dogs. In fact, many people need to adopt their Shelter Dogs from the south since there are so few in the area shelters. Indeed, the first time I walked into the Brockton MSPCA, I was stunned that there were only 3 or 4 dogs up for adoption. Even ten years ago, when I worked at a town shelter, we were full all the time.

But cats? Oy, they are still overrun with cats. Old cats, kittens, fat, skinny, long-haired, short-haired. The Brockton location has two areas to accommodate all the cats. The back room is filled with the traditional metal cages for the “more adoptable” cats: the cute, little, young ones. But, in the front of the shelter, there is a room filled with light and soft couches, chairs, cat toys and little “nooks” for hiding. This is where the older cats go: the ones who have been beloved pets for years before being surrendered. I can attest that these older cats usually do poorly in a noisy, cold metal cage. I love that they have this space to just “be cats”, and that people could come in, sit on the couch, and give these creatures some affection.

Where will the “others” go? The rabbits, hamsters, gerbils, guinea pigs and especially the “exotic” pets that some people adopt because they are “cool” but then realize they stink, or need to eat expensive food, or have insane vet bills. Many town shelters do not accept ANY of these animals; the MSPCA was the one place that did accept some. I’m doubtful that someone in Springfield who is under great financial strain will pack up their parrot, iguana, rabbit or 25 guinea pigs and drive them out to Boston to be surrendered.

As the recession gets worse, there will be more families who realize that they have to make a choice: feed and care for themselves, or for their pet. My heart goes out to them.

But, mostly it goes out to the people who work in the closing MSPCA shelters and to those animals who need it now and will need it in the months and years to come.

Sad times.

When you wonder: “what can I do?”, here’s something

January 28, 2009

“I wish Opa could come back”, Jilly said the other day at the table where we were seated coloring pictures.

“Yeah, me too.” Both Belly and I nodded our heads and kept coloring. Jilly says things like this all time.

“Are you going to die, Mommy?” This time I put down my crayon and looked at her.

I always dread this question. I want to say, “NO! I’m going to live a long, long life and die when you are an old, creaky woman”.

Except, what happens if I DO die? A car accident, a hair dryer falls into the bathtub, Freddy Krueger. . .all the creepy ways. Or, maybe just an illness like the cancer that took my father.

I tell her the truth—that I don’t know when I’m going to die, that no one really knows. She should make sure she loves the people around her as much as she can because we don’t know.

Then, jokingly, I tell her not to worry and that I’ll do my best to live until she’s super old.

This conversation came back to me this morning as I was catching up on Lisa’s blog. Yes, we all know we are going to die, but she KNOWS. She’s had to tell her two girls, the worst possible thing a mother must have to tell her children. You must check out her story and feel inspired by her strength and grace.

Her story has made me even more committed to a group I joined as a volunteer last year. The groups is called Chemo Angels, but before you click away with the thought that this must be the most depressing group ever, let me tell you about them.

Chemo Angels matches volunteers with a person undergoing chemotherapy. Volunteers can choose to send this person cards or small gifts to let them know that someone is thinking of them.

I chose to be a “Card Angel” and at least once a week (twice is preferred), I write a short note in a card and send my “angel mail” to a woman who doesn’t know me. I know only a few things about her: her name, age, type of cancer, her favorite color and that’s about it. I send her drawings from the kids, stories of our week, a few photos from our vacation, always ending my cards with a note of hope.

I never expected to hear back from her. This is a one-way relationship—think of yourself as bestowing little bits of hope and kindness to someone who may be scared and sick. I once received a note from a coordinator to tell me that L. was getting my notes and loved hearing about the kids.

Then I got a note a few weeks ago that made me cry. It was from L. telling me her doctor had pronounced her “cancer free”.

I plan to send her cards every now and then, even though she has officially “graduated” from the program. But I’m also about to sign on for my next patient. I’d like to get a parent of young children this time, so that the kids can send notes to the family as well.

It’s not enough to bring back my dad or to save Lisa’s life, but it’s something I can do while I’m still here.

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Chemo Angels is free to join and raises money in very quiet, no-pressure ways. If you cannot volunteer your time, please consider making a donation so that their work can continue.

And, if Lisa’s story touches you, please consider donating to her family’s fund. The last thing they need to worry about right now are medical bills.