I was a CAET

When I worked for the animal shelter, I became certified to be an animal euthanasia technician. That means I was one of the people who put the kill in the "kill shelter".

I honestly have no clue how many animals I euthanized. Roughly 30-40 a month for 3 years, plus when I would be on call and have to euthanize, probably 1,550 animals? Somewhere in that range. Every one of them was alone. They didn't have a family crying for them. They didn't have an owner holding them, comforting them. I held each one I could in my arms, told them I was sorry. I told them they were good boys/girls. I told them they would be ok now.

Now, I work in a veterinary clinic. We see healthy animals for check ups, sick animals for treatment. Occasionally we have a client come in and their pet is at the end of its life. So far, I have not had one come in and the owner was not there with them in those moments.

After everything I saw and did as an animal control officer, all the lives I took as an animal euthanasia technician, I have a wall. I can see things that would leave many others broken. Not much gets to me when it comes to those things, not in the way that I have to walk away or that I actually cry. I see it, I process it, I think about what caused it, how to prevent it, how to fix it...but I don't cry, I don't break down.

I've noticed, though, that if the door is open when there is a euthanasia, I can't keep that wall up. Seeing families saying goodbye pulls forward all those animals who didn't have anyone, all those kittens who were so sick they couldn't lift their heads, all those dogs so covered in mange that their skin was like an elephant's hide, all the cats who just couldn't beat the upper respiratory infections or who had been attacked by animals and left to die covered in gore and maggots.

I and the person helping me were often the only kindness some of them ever knew, and that kindness was death. Right now, I am hearing people speak of the shelter I worked at, they talk about how we never cared for the animals, how it was just neglect and abuse while they are there. I think about the things I saw, the animals I picked up, the people who discarded these lives like they were old clothes. I really wish everyone could spend a week actually inside an open admission animal shelter. I wish they could see how hard the employees work, how no matter how many animals are adopted out, there's always more coming in.

I remember kitten season, with pregnant feral cats and kittens coming in ten or twenty a day. Nobody wants to adopt a feral cat. Once in a while you'll get somebody looking for a barn cat, but for the most part, if they are that wild they will never go anywhere. And there's always more.

I remember euthanizing 35 cats and kittens in one day. That's just the cats and kittens. And there were still so many. All of the kennels full, and still portable kennels with cats and kittens.

Working at the clinic, there are so many people who "don't believe in" altering their pets. They think it's unmanly to neuter a male dog. They want "just one litter" out of their female. And I remember the deaths.

My Life as an Animal Control Officer

I worked as an ACO for almost 4 years. Growing up, I was always an animal lover. I was always interested in helping, observing, nature, behavior, genetics, and rescue. One of my favorite memories with my grandmother was when I learned what the ASPCA was, and how she told me about Tennessee Walking horses and their beautiful movement. She planted the seed that would grow into an anti-cruelty activist, an anti-Big Lick activist, and the choices to sacrifice my own health and safety to save animals. I wanted to be a veterinarian. 

I was also raised in a rural environment. My mother raised meat rabbits. If not for rabbit meat, we probably would have starved some winters. My grandmother’s husband was a cattleman, and summers would be for shucking corn, snapping peas, prairie oysters, fish fries and braised rabbit. I knew the cycle of life and that death is an important part. I learned that death was not evil, and that humans have the responsibility to be humane in our actions, and that an animal’s sacrifice for our food should be respected with humane treatment and dispatch. 

When I was in high school, I fell in love with law. The details, the semantics, the way you have to choose every word to tell your story, how every detail matters and one missed detail can mean everything. I played with the idea of being a lawyer. 

Life happened. I grew up. I had different jobs. I didn’t finish high school and law and medicine moved out of reach. After four children, 18 years of marriage, and a full life, we landed here and I took the leap to apply for a job with the local animal control. I didn’t think I’d get it. I had no experience, I pretty much screw up everything I attempt. 

I got a call. They had gone with another applicant. Then I got another call. They had a temporary position to offer. I started. I trained. I struggled. But I improved. My supervisor recommended me for the permanent position. I kept trying. I kept learning. I failed. I succeeded. I saved lives. I failed lives. I kept going. I got bit. I got threatened. I learned the laws. I learned to read people, animals, situations. I improved. I failed more. I tried harder. 

Almost 4 years went by. Wednesday, I had a routine call for an owned aggressive dog. Owners let it run loose and harass pedestrians and other pets. I went to the residence, saw the dogs in the yard and two vehicles that appeared to be operational. 

I backed into the driveway, so I could get out easily. I wrote out the notice to comply. Keep your dogs confined, provide proof of rabies and license. When I got to the end of the driveway, the dogs were not out. I assumed there was somebody home who let them in. 

I got out of my vehicle with my clip board and my bite stick (a telescoping steel rod that can use as an arm extension or weapon depending on the situation.) I approached the door and knocked. A large hound/pit bull mix came out, charged at me. I pulled out the bite stick and kept it between myself and the dog, pushing him in the chest to keep him back. A smaller terrier type dog came out as well. Both barked and postured aggressively. I could tell that if I tried to move, one of them would come behind me and attack. There was no way to get out of there. I was trapped against the house. Every movement triggered another aggressive charge. 

I texted my supervisor. I need back up ASAP. Explained the situation. He and another officer left the shelter and called the Sheriff’s Office. I knew it was a race. If my coworkers got there, we would confine the dogs and impound. If the Sheriff’s deputy got there first, the dog would be shot. 

20 minutes passed. I told the dog he was a good boy. He was doing a good job, protecting his house. I’m not going to hurt anything, I just want to go to my truck. He’s a good boy and he’s doing a good job. Quiet. Calm. Praise and positive words. Soothing. The dog would bark and pace. He would charge. He bit my bite stick twice. The Deputy pulled up. The smaller dog ran out to the patrol car. The larger dog heard the door shut and ran out. I heard the deputy shout at the dogs. I heard the gunshot. 

I walked out, the dog was on the ground seizing. Cadaveric spasms. He had a single bullet hole in his head. I don’t know what I said to the deputies. I know there was a lot of blood. I know the dog was down. We discussed the spasm, and expressed regret that it happened the way it did. I expressed anger at the owners. I was overflowing with adrenaline and relief and anger and sadness. 

I waited for the dog to be still. We watched. The dog relaxed and sat up. He slowly got to his feet. He took a few wobbly steps then slowly walked toward the back of the property. The deputies and I exchanged exclamations. Mentions of zombies were made. The dog laid down near the swimming pool. I went to my truck and got my control pole. The one with the loop at the end, the quintessential animal Control Officer tool. 

I approached the dog and he got up and walked more quickly to the tree line. I followed, trying not to make him run, and he broke into a trot and then ran into the woods. I lost sight of him. I lost a dog that had been shot in the head. 

I went back to the deputies. My supervisor and coworker arrived. They looked for the dog. We found the shell casing, marked it’s location. I completed my statement  for the deputies. I annotated my notice to comply with the update that a deputy had discharged his weapon at the dog, and that it had run off. Neighbors showed up and wanted to know what happened. The owner was called, but they were far away and I don’t know if they said they were in their way or not. I had been there for over three hours, I still had three impounds and two other calls to do. My supervisor told me to leave, there wasn’t anything more for me to do there. 

I went on, picked up the animals I had to impound. Went to the shelter, vaccinated and impounded those dogs, went to my desk and started my notes and intake report. I got a call from the dog’s owner. She wanted to know what happened. Why did I kill her dog. Where is her dog. Dogs don’t just get up and run off after getting shot in the head. I tried to explain the situation. I tried to explain that her dog would have attacked me or the deputy. She was angry. I understood. By the time I got off the phone, I had gotten to the end of my professional demeanor and had said done things that weren’t completely professional. 

I finished. I checked my voicemails. The husband left two messages, calling me a murderer, worthless. Horrible at my job. 

I went home. 

The next day, it was euthanasia day. I was the animal euthanasia technician assigned. I spoke with the dog owner. She said the dog had come home, they took him to the vet and he was in surgery. I spoke with the deputy. I gave him all my notes, my report and my photographs. Then I got the euthanasia list and went to the back. 

At that shelter, the list is made in the morning. The front desk people check it against all the missing animal reports. All the animals are checked twice for any holds, owner notifications, of any other information. They were not euthanizing for time or space, so every animal on the list was either sick or had temperament issues that made them ineligible for adoption. 

I get my list, I have a handler assigned who will get the animals from their kennels and hold them for their injection. I get my drugs. Sodium pentobarbital is the euthanasia drug. Xylazine and acepromazine are the chemical restraints. 

The handler and I start. I tell him the animal’s is number, description and the kennel number. He brings the animal, we check it against the list, scan it for a microchip, and ensure that it is the same animal on the list. I have been certified for three years. I have euthanized countless animals. It’s a routine. We have forty something animals, mostly cats that are feral or have upper respiratory infections. Some ringworm. We have to be done by 3 pm because there is a staff meeting. 

We get through the cats. It’s lunch time. We come back from lunch. We get started on the dogs. I tell my handler: Black and Tan Shepherd mix, kennel kb18, id #. He brings in a dog. I know this dog. He’s dog aggressive. He’s unpredictable with people. He was surrendered by his owner a month ago. His time is up. He is Black and Tan. He doesn’t look like a shepherd but when an owner surrenders their dog, they say what they think it is and that’s what is put on the card. Especially for pit bull types, the term “pit bull” is avoided when possible, because of the stigma attached to the breed. 

It was not a surprise to see this dog in the list. We scanned him. No microchip. My handler lifted him up and held his leg. I found the vein and injected the drug. It was the easiest one that day. He relaxed. I rubbed his ears and told him he was a good boy. I told him I was sorry. We put him in the bag and went back to the list. I picked up his kennel card to put it on the stack and saw the picture. That’s not the same picture on the list. This was the wrong dog. The dog on the list was another dog in that kennel. This is bad. 

I texted the assistant director. She contacted the director and my supervisor and Human Resources. 

We finished the list. We went to the staff meeting. It was after time to go but I had to finish, I put the animals in the freezers. I cleaned the room. I cried. I went home. 

Friday, we didn’t hear from Human Resources. I took home most of my personal items. 

Over the weekend, I washed my truck. I got my uniforms together. I prepared myself. 

Monday, I had calls to do. I went out in the road. I posted citations. I did my job. I tried to make sure as much was done as possible. I tried to wrap everything up so that the others could follow up and knew where everything was. I came back to the shelter and went to my supervisor’s office. He told me that I had to be terminated. We did the paperwork. I apologized. I turned in my keys and my badge. I showed him my files, where my photographs and notes were, what cases were going to court. I apologized. 

I gathered my things. I said goodbye. My supervisor drove me home. 

Since then I have cried. I have cussed myself. I have considered ending my own life. I have prayed that I could wake up and have another chance. 

I failed. I let a dog down. I let myself down. I let my team down. There is nothing anyone can say to me that would compare to what I’ve told myself. 

I’ve had people tell me that I enjoy killing animals. I’ve had people insinuate that it wasn’t an accident. People have called me evil. 

You know what? I deserve that. I failed. 

I’m moving forward. I’m going to do better. I’m going to keep fighting. But I will not forget that I have failed in the worst way possible. 

I will not have to euthanize any more animals. Hopefully, I will never be trapped by an aggressive dog for 20 minutes again. Hopefully, I’ll never be bitten breaking up a fight in overcrowded kennels again. I will make more mistakes. That’s what I do. But I will do better. I will keep going. 

Being an ACO was an adventure. I grew in ways I never knew I could. I learned. I gained confidence. I strengthened my voice. And I ever gave in to the urge to take that bottle of fatal plus, a bag of IV fluids and an IV pack to the barn in the middle if the night, start the IV, cut a hole in the bottle, connect it to the bag, and let 250ccs of sodium pentobarbital stop my heart. 

I survived.