Stupid Pet Adoption Tricks

On this morning’s news there was a short segment about a 62-year old woman who tried to adopt a puppy and was told she could only adopt a dog in the 6 – 10 year age range. The assumption being that she might kick the bucket before the puppy. It got me thinking….

Anyone might die at any age so, surely, it would make more sense for the shelter to discuss with prospective pet parents what provision they plan to make for such eventuality, rather than denying otherwise wonderful people the opportunity to save a life. You can designate a carer in your will and leave some money to cover your pet’s expenses. Or set up a life insurance policy for your pets and name a trusted family member or friend to care for them (Discuss it with them first, of course).

Local animal rescue groups or veterinary schools may be able to point you in the direction of groups who will ensure loving homes for your best friend. Try searching online for “pet retirement homes” and read this fact sheet from the Humane Society for some really helpful information.

In another instance of moronic, over-zealous administration, my own brother was refused a pup because he and his wife had never owned a dog before. Now, think about this. Someone who’s had a dog before can adopt another one. But every dog that is in need of rescue was once owned by someone…… who abused or neglected him! So what’s to say that the previous-dog-owner who adopted the puppy my brother wanted wasn’t one of those abusers? (Just what nitwits come up with these rules, anyway?). In the end my brother got a black lab from a breeder. Jessie is now nine, well-trained, in great health and still enjoys four-mile hikes twice a day.

I mean, I’m all for vetting (pun; get it?) future owners as thoroughly as possible and even making home visits as do Southern Hope Humane Society, who originally rescued our Angel. But don’t deny a pet a potentially wonderful home on the basis of some arbitrary rule. Instead, help the people to overcome any difficulties you foresee.

Having made my own wrong assumptions, I know whereof I speak. Let me tell you a little story….

A few years ago in Florida I was very active in pet rescue. One of my waifs was a young cat with her four new kittens. In the aftermath of a devastating hurricane season with thousands of abandoned animals needing help, finding good homes was next to impossible. My next door neighbor, who had adopted a kitten from me earlier (said kitten subsequently becoming the reigning princess in the home) told me her godson was interested in adopting. The neighbor was a little concerned that I might be put off by her godson because he’d never had a pet before and, what’s more, he was gay. “What do I care?” was my comment, “As long as he gives the pet a safe and loving home”.

So the godson arrived to see the kittens and it was love at first sight…… though not for me! Tony (not his real name) fell instantly in love with one of the little calicos. No surprise there as she was one of the most adorable little things you’ve ever seen. However, I was aghast at Tony. Dressed from top to toe in black leather, with numerous ear piercings and a nose ring, tattoos on seemingly every exposed body part, he arrived with his cousin and very annoying and badly-behaved three-year-old niece who wanted to chase our pets all over the house. Things notched down even further when Tony told me he rented a room in his cousin’s house in a very busy section of town and didn’t have a car but rode a motor bike.

I immediately had visions of Tony having to rush the kitten to the vet in a cardboard box strapped to the back of his bike after the mini-monster had tried to flush her down the toilet. Letting my little feline charge go home with him was just not an option, even though he did treat her very tenderly and she certainly seemed to take to him. So I lectured Tony on the responsibilities of ownership, told him that his living situation was inappropriate (there was also an older child; kids leave doors open, cats go out and get squashed in traffic and so on), asked how he planned to transport his pet and generally did everything to discourage him.

To Tony’s credit, he asked if I had information I could give him. Of course, I did. And we left it that he’d think things over for a week and get back to me. I never thought I’d see him again. However….

Exactly a week later there was knock on the door and there stood Tony. In his hand was one of the most plush cat carriers I’ve ever seen. In the seven days since he’d first seen the kitten he’d had an appointment with a veterinarian to discuss cat care, had moved out of his cousin’s house into his own apartment, sold the bike and bought a car, stocked up on food, toys and everything any little cat could desire. I was utterly and completely floored and humbly gave up the kitten to his care.

It was a couple of weeks later when I saw my neighbor and she told me she wished I’d never let Tony have the cat. My heart practically stopped and I immediately feared the worst. Turns out he was driving everyone at work nuts (he worked with his godmother) because every day he turned up with more pictures and stories of his “baby” who had become one of the most adored felines of all time.

So you see, you should never label people but take each case individually. Tony continued to be a proud and devoted pet parent. One of the other kittens – another calico- went to live with a lovely lady who already had two rescues, while the mother and two males were never adopted so they are a permanent part of my family. Amber, now five, is mom; Timi D and Leif are four.

The question is not, “Can they reason?” nor, “Can they talk?” but rather, “Can they suffer?”
Jeremy Bentham