HIS NAME IS SAM

"His Name is Sam"

After I was discharged from the Navy, Jim and I
moved back to Detroit to use our GI bill benefits to get
some schooling. Jim was going for a degree in
Electronics and I, after much debating, decided to
get mine in Computer Science.

One of the classes that was a requirement was
Speech. Like many people, I had no fondness for getting up
in front of people for any reason, let alone to be
the center of attention as I stuttered my way
through some unfamiliar subject. But I couldn't get out of
the requirement, and so I found myself in my last
semester before graduation with Speech as one of my
classes. On the first day of class our professor
explained to us that he was going to leave the
subject matter of our talks up to us, but he was going to
provide the motivation of the speech. We would be
responsible for six speeches, each with a different
motivation. For instance our first speech's purpose
was to inform. He advised us to pick subjects that
we were interested in and knowledgeable about. I
decided to center my six speeches around animals,
especially dogs.

For my first speech to inform, I talked about the
equestrian art of dressage. For my speech to
demonstrate, I brought my German Shepherd, Bodger,
to class and demonstrated obedience commands.
Finally the semester was almost over and I had but
one more speech to give. This speech was to take
the place of a written final exam and was to count
for fifty per cent of our grade. The speeches
motivation was to persuade.

After agonizing over a subject matter, and keeping
with my animal theme, I decided on the topic of
spaying and neutering pets. My goal was to try to
persuade my classmates to neuter their pets. So I
started researching the topic. There was plenty of
material, articles that told of the millions of dogs
and cats that were euthanized every year, of
supposedly beloved pets that were turned in to
various animal control facilities for the lamest of
reasons, or worse, dropped off far from home,
bewildered and scared. Death was usually a blessing.

The final speech was looming closer, but I felt well
prepared. My notes were full of facts and statistics
that I felt sure would motivate even the most naive
of pet owners to succumb to my plea.

A couple of days before our speeches were due, I had
the bright idea of going to the local branch of the
Humane Society and borrowing a puppy to use as a
sort of a visual aid. I called the Humane Society and
explained what I wanted. They were very happy to
accommodate me. I made arrangements to pick up a
puppy the day before my speech.

The day before my speech, I went to pick up the
puppy. I was feeling very confident. I could quote all the
statistics and numbers without ever looking at my
notes. The puppy, I felt, would add the final emotional
touch.

When I arrived at the Humane Society I was met by a
young guy named Ron. He explained that he was the
public relations person for the Humane Society. He was very
excited about my speech and asked if I would like a
tour of the facilities before I picked up the puppy. I
enthusiastically agreed. We started out in the
reception area, which was the general public's initial
encounter with the Humane Society.

The lobby was full, mostly with people dropping off
various animals that they no longer wanted. Ron
explained to me that this branch of the Humane
Society took in about fifty animals a day and adopted out
only about twenty.

As we stood there I heard snatches of conversation:
"I can't keep him, he digs holes in my garden."
"They are such cute puppies, I know you will have no
trouble finding homes for them." "She is wild, I
can't control her." I heard one of Humane Society's volunteer explain to
the lady with the litter of puppies that the Society was filled with puppies and that these puppies, being
black, would immediately be put to sleep.Black
puppies, she explained, had little chance of being adopted.
The woman who brought the puppies in just shrugged, "I
can't help it," she whined. "They are getting too big. I
don't have room for them." We left the reception area. Ron
led me into the staging area where all the incoming
animals were evaluated for adoptability. Over half never
even made it to the adoption center. There were just too
many. Not only were people bringing in their own animals,
but strays were also dropped off. By law the Humane
Society had to hold a stray for three days. If the animal
was not claimed by then, it was euthanized, since there was
no background information on the animal.
There were already too many animals that had a known
history eagerly provided by their soon to be
ex-owners. As we went through the different areas, I felt more
and more depressed. No amount of statistics, could take
the place of seeing the reality of what this throwaway
attitude did to the living, breathing animal. It was
overwhelming. Finally Ron stopped in front of a
closed door. "That's it," he said, "except for this."

I read the sign on the door. "Euthanasia Area." "Do
you want to see one?" he asked. Before I could decline,
he interjected, "You really should. You can't tell the
whole story unless you experience the end." I
reluctantly agreed. "Good." He said, "I already cleared it and
Peggy is expecting you." He knocked firmly on the door. A
middle-aged woman in a white lab coat opened it
immediately. "Here's the girl I was telling you about,"
Ron explained. Peggy looked me over. "Well, I'll
leave you here with Peggy and meet you in the reception
area in about fifteen minutes. I'll have the puppy
ready." With that Ron departed, leaving me standing in front
of the stern-looking Peggy. Peggy motioned me in. As
I walked into the room, I gave an audible gasp. The
room was small and spartan. There were a couple of cages
on the wall and a cabinet with syringes and vials of a
clear liquid. In the middle of the room was an
examining table with a rubber mat on top. There were two doors
other than the one I had entered. Both were closed.
One said to incinerator room, and the other had no sign,
but I could hear various animals' noises coming from
behind the closed door. In the back of the room, near the
door that was marked incinerator were the objects that
caused my distress: two wheelbarrows, filled with the
bodies of dead kittens and puppies. I stared in horror.
Nothing had prepared me for this. I felt my legs grow weak and
my breathing become rapid and shallow. I wanted to run
from that room, screaming. Peggy seemed not to notice my
state of shock. She started talking about the euthanasia
process, but I wasn't hearing her. I could not tear
my gaze away from the wheelbarrows and those dozens of
pathetic little bodies.

Finally, Peggy seemed to notice that I was not
paying attention to her. "Are you listening?" she asked
irritably. "I'm only going to go through this once."
I tore my gaze from the back of the room and looked
at her. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing
would come out, so I nodded. She told me that behind
the unmarked door were the animals that were
scheduled for euthanasia that day. She picked up a chart that
was hanging from the wall. "One fifty-three is next,"
she said as she looked at the chart. "I'll go get him."
She laid down the chart on the examining table and
started for the unmarked door. Before she got to the
door she stopped and turned around. "You aren't
going to get hysterical, are you?" she asked, "Because
that will only upset the animals." I shook my head. I had
not said a word since I walked into that room. I still
felt unsure if I would be able to without breaking down
into tears. As Peggy opened the unmarked door I peered
into the room beyond. It was a small room, but the walls
were lined and stacked with cages. It looked like
they were all occupied. Peggy opened the door of one of
the lower cages and removed the occupant. From what I
could see it looked like a medium-sized dog. She attached
a leash and ushered the dog into the room in which I
stood.

As Peggy brought the dog into the room I could see
that the dog was no more than a puppy, maybe five or six
months old. The pup looked to be a cross between a
Lab and a German shepherd. He was mostly black, with a
small amount of tan above his eyes and on his feet.
He was very excited and bouncing up and down, trying to
sniff everything in this new environment. Peggy
lifted the pup onto the table. She had a card in her hand,
which she laid on the table next to me. I read the
card. It said that number one fifty-three was a mixed
Shepherd, six months old. He was surrendered two days ago by a
family. Reason of surrender was given as "jumps on
children." At the bottom was a note that said "Name:
Sam."

Peggy was quick and efficient, from lots of
practice, I guessed.
She lay one fifty-three down on his side and tied
a rubber tourniquet around his front leg. She turned
to fill the syringe from the vial of clear liquid.

All this time I was standing at the head of the
table. I could see the moment that one fifty-three went from
a curious puppy to a terrified puppy. He did not like
being held down and he started to struggle. It was
then that I finally found my voice. I bent over the
struggling puppy and whispered, "Sam. Your name is Sam." At the
sound of his name Sam quit struggling. He wagged his
tail tentatively and his soft pink tongue darted out and
licked my hand. And that is how he spent his last moment. I
watched his eyes fade from hopefulness to nothingness.
It was over very quickly. I had never even seen
Peggy give the lethal shot. The tears could not be contained
any longer. I kept my head down so as not to embarrass
myself in front of the stoic Peggy. My tears fell onto the
still body on the table. "Now you know," Peggy said
softly. Then she turned away. "Ron will be waiting for you."

I left the room. Although it seemed like it had been
hours, only fifteen minutes had gone by since Ron had left
me at the door. I made my way back to the reception area.
True to his word, Ron had the puppy all ready to go.
After giving me some instructions about what to feed the
puppy, he handed the carrying cage over to me and wished me
good luck on my speech. That night I went home and spent
many hours playing with the orphan puppy. I went to bed
that night but I could not sleep. After a while I got up
and looked at my speech notes with their numbers and
statistics. Without a second thought, I tore them up and threw
them away. I went back to bed. Sometime during the night
I finally fell asleep.

The next morning I arrived at my Speech class with
Puppy Doe. When my turn came, I held the puppy in my arms,
I took a deep breath, and I told the class about the
life and death of Sam. When I finished my speech I became
aware that I was crying. I apologized to the class and
took my seat. After class the teacher handed out a critique
with our grades. I got an "A." His comments said "Very
moving and persuasive."

Two days later, on the last day of class, one of my
classmates came up to me. She was an older lady that
I had never spoken to in class. She stopped me on our
way out of the classroom. "I want you to know that I
adopted the puppy you brought to class," she said.

"His name is Sam."

by Chris Benton
Please Spay or Neuter your pet.