I got a call one day from our dog walker and friend, Kerri. She was in tears. “Sam,” she said, “There’s a Jack Russell Terrier at the pet store at Roosevelt Field. He’s 10 months old.” There was a silence. “I think if you call the manager and tell him you’re with a rescue group, he’ll let you have him for free.” There was more silence.
I agreed to make a phone call the next day to speak with the manager, but I insisted that I could make no promises. The next morning, I called the manager, and he confirmed that the Jack Russell was still there. When I asked if he would be willing to let me take him – free of charge, he said he couldn’t do that.
Later that day, I drove up to the mall, to see the dog. I hate pet stores that sell dogs. There’s no reason to put a price tag on a life. Not only that -- most, if not all, pet store dogs come from puppy mills. If you want to read about puppy mills, prepare yourself with a box of Kleenex. You won’t believe your eyes when you read about the atrocities (and see the photos) of puppy mills.
The pet store at Roosevelt Field smells so badly. It’s worse than smells – it stinks! It stinks so bad. All of the dogs are extremely expensive. They live in their own excrement. The mall has no yard – obviously – so the dogs never go out for walks, never see the light of day, never feel the sunshine on their coats, or the wind blow through their hair. Instead, they’re confined to tiny cages where hoards of people come in and out tapping on the Plexiglas window that is there only connection to the outside world.
The pet store, like most others, also has expensive leashes, collars, clothing, toys, and treats.
When I arrived, I saw him – the Jack Russell --immediately. To my surprise, he wasn’t in a cage, but in a tiny gated area with a woman playing with him. “Thank God,” I must have said outloud. He’s finally getting out of this hell hole. I stuck my head over the edge and smiled at the lady who was petting the JR.
She looked up at me and smiled back.
“Are you buying him?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“But I know he’s been here for so long, I just had to see if he was still here today.”
“Are you interested in buying him?” she asked.
“Well,” I said, “I volunteer with a rescue group, and it would go against their principles for me to BUY a dog. I came here today with the hopes of the manager giving him to me so I could find him a good home.”
The woman, whose name I do not know, stood up and said, “What if I bought him and gave him to you? Would that be acceptable?”
I thought for a moment. I thought that this woman, a woman with whom I had never met, was willing to shell out money for this dog that had been trapped in this pet store for months -- must be a true animal lover.
“I guess that would be all right. Technically, I wouldn’t be buying him,” I told her.
The Jack Russell had been marked down to $99.00. I hate to say, “marked down,” as though he was a materialistic item, a pair of shoes or jeans. But the truth is, that’s exactly what he was: an item of merchandise that had been MARKED DOWN to $99.00.
The lady bought the dog, handed me the paperwork, and the man who was working there looked back and forth between us as though he didn’t understand the transaction that had just taken place.
I bought a leash and a harness for the little man I had decided to name Stanley. I began to put the harness on Stanley when the man behind the counter started to laugh at me.
“That dog won’t be needing a harness,” he said laughing. “He’s been in that cage so long, you’ll never get him to walk.”
It took all the strength in the world that I had not to lash out and smash this guy in the face with one of my fists.
I took in a deep breath, finished putting the harness on Stanley, attached the leash to the hook, put him on the ground, and turned to the salesperson and said, “You may not have the heart to understand the care and love animals need. And you may think it’s funny that he’s been trapped in that cage all these months, but I do. This place is nothing more than a shit hole, and you’re a piece of shit for working here.”
With that said, I said, “Come on, Stanley.” And to the entire amazement of the store, he walked out of United Pet Supply with his head held high and never looked back.
This blog is the intellectual property of M. Samantha Kinsley, 2006.
I agreed to make a phone call the next day to speak with the manager, but I insisted that I could make no promises. The next morning, I called the manager, and he confirmed that the Jack Russell was still there. When I asked if he would be willing to let me take him – free of charge, he said he couldn’t do that.
Later that day, I drove up to the mall, to see the dog. I hate pet stores that sell dogs. There’s no reason to put a price tag on a life. Not only that -- most, if not all, pet store dogs come from puppy mills. If you want to read about puppy mills, prepare yourself with a box of Kleenex. You won’t believe your eyes when you read about the atrocities (and see the photos) of puppy mills.
The pet store at Roosevelt Field smells so badly. It’s worse than smells – it stinks! It stinks so bad. All of the dogs are extremely expensive. They live in their own excrement. The mall has no yard – obviously – so the dogs never go out for walks, never see the light of day, never feel the sunshine on their coats, or the wind blow through their hair. Instead, they’re confined to tiny cages where hoards of people come in and out tapping on the Plexiglas window that is there only connection to the outside world.
The pet store, like most others, also has expensive leashes, collars, clothing, toys, and treats.
When I arrived, I saw him – the Jack Russell --immediately. To my surprise, he wasn’t in a cage, but in a tiny gated area with a woman playing with him. “Thank God,” I must have said outloud. He’s finally getting out of this hell hole. I stuck my head over the edge and smiled at the lady who was petting the JR.
She looked up at me and smiled back.
“Are you buying him?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“But I know he’s been here for so long, I just had to see if he was still here today.”
“Are you interested in buying him?” she asked.
“Well,” I said, “I volunteer with a rescue group, and it would go against their principles for me to BUY a dog. I came here today with the hopes of the manager giving him to me so I could find him a good home.”
The woman, whose name I do not know, stood up and said, “What if I bought him and gave him to you? Would that be acceptable?”
I thought for a moment. I thought that this woman, a woman with whom I had never met, was willing to shell out money for this dog that had been trapped in this pet store for months -- must be a true animal lover.
“I guess that would be all right. Technically, I wouldn’t be buying him,” I told her.
The Jack Russell had been marked down to $99.00. I hate to say, “marked down,” as though he was a materialistic item, a pair of shoes or jeans. But the truth is, that’s exactly what he was: an item of merchandise that had been MARKED DOWN to $99.00.
The lady bought the dog, handed me the paperwork, and the man who was working there looked back and forth between us as though he didn’t understand the transaction that had just taken place.
I bought a leash and a harness for the little man I had decided to name Stanley. I began to put the harness on Stanley when the man behind the counter started to laugh at me.
“That dog won’t be needing a harness,” he said laughing. “He’s been in that cage so long, you’ll never get him to walk.”
It took all the strength in the world that I had not to lash out and smash this guy in the face with one of my fists.
I took in a deep breath, finished putting the harness on Stanley, attached the leash to the hook, put him on the ground, and turned to the salesperson and said, “You may not have the heart to understand the care and love animals need. And you may think it’s funny that he’s been trapped in that cage all these months, but I do. This place is nothing more than a shit hole, and you’re a piece of shit for working here.”
With that said, I said, “Come on, Stanley.” And to the entire amazement of the store, he walked out of United Pet Supply with his head held high and never looked back.
This blog is the intellectual property of M. Samantha Kinsley, 2006.
No comments:
Post a Comment