Ever since I was a little girl, animals and flying creatures have been very special to me. Although they do not have an everlasting soul or spirit to live on forever, I truly believe they do feel and express emotions... and they can be great companions.
Because animals are sensitive and have feelings, I feel we, as the highest of God's creation, should take the responsibility to care for the animals God gave to us for companions.
As a little girl, I always had a natural instinct to care for animals. If a bird flew in front of my father's car, it would make my heart flip, afraid it wouldn't get out of the way in time. And I instinctively wanted to help and protect all animals...even more so as I realized my God-given responsibility.
And now it seems as though, in my awareness, I see many animals that I could help.
A sad truth about the day in which we're living is that most people don't want to be bothered, even if another person needs our help on the street, much less an animal. Most folks seem to just drive right by. But we mustn't allow ourselves to become so calloused that we don't care. I believe if we can ignore an animal in need, we'll ignore people in need. If we abuse animals, we'll abuse people.
In fact, the Michigan Humane Society released a study which indicated that often animal abusers become child abusers! So if one finds himself becoming callous and indifferent to animals, he'd better watch himself.
One day I was driving to the store and, at a very busy intersection, I found the most beautiful white police dog. Cars were honking and screeching around him, and the poor animal was frantically going back and forth in the middle of the traffic. I realized if someone didn't rescue the dog, it would be killed. I stopped, put on my car's blinker lights, and went over to the dog. When I called, he came immediately, tail wagging. I led him to the car and he jumped in the back seat.
My new friend had a collar on, so I knew that someone had cared for him. By making a few inquiries, I soon found that his home was about a mile from where I'd found him. And when I took him home, his owners were absolutely elated that I had found their dog. He had gone out of the fenced backyard through an open gate. By the time they had realized he was out, he'd gotten lost. I'm not sure who was happiest that he was home -- the dog, his owners...or me!
On several occasions, I've rescued stray cats, fed them, and either returned them to their owners, or found a new home for them. Also, Jack and I give regularly to our local humane society to help in this work with animals.
If everybody would be willing to get involved a few times in their lives, think of how many animals could be helped. And I believe if we are tenderhearted toward animals, we'll love people more, also. If we're willing to do something for someone -- who can't do anything in return for us, it says something about the kind of people we are...it says something about our character.
Recently, I saw an essay in the Detroit Free Press Magazine that moved me so much I asked permission to share it with you. I pray it will touch your heart and motivate you to get involved first with needy people and then, with needy animals. Don't be like those who did not care, but be a good samaritan. (See Luke 10:36,37).
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See Spot Die by Javan Kienzel I had your dog put to sleep the other day. You gave me little alternative. It was in the midst of one of Michigan's April weather-by-the-hour blizzards. I saw her -- a pitiful heap on the edge of the Eight Mile median. Lots of other drivers had to see her, but traffic was heavy and the weather, as I said, was bad. I don't know who you are, but she was once your dog. She was wearing a collar (but no tags, so you can't be identified) and, as I learned later, she had been spayed. As I approached her, I could see she was a small, mixed breed. She pulled herself to her feet, backed up, and bared her teeth. I used my folded coat as a shield and tried to get closer. She continued to retreat, snarling. I tried a different ploy. I opened the front and rear doors of my car and walked off a distance. After some hesitation, she finally clambered up into the front seat. She was alternately baring her teeth and barking as I approached. I spoke quietly, in what I hoped were reassuring tones, as I inched closer. Finally, she retreated to the passenger seat. Still holding my coat as a buffer, I slowly slid into the driver's seat and carefully put the car in gear. As we entered traffic, she shook herself, giving me and the car's interior a muddy shower. She must have been out in the sleet for a long while. Gradually, she settled down, although she whimpered every so often. She didn't seem able to get comfortable. Time was short. I was headed for a medical appointment that had taken me some time to get. I continued to speak quietly to the dog, who now accepted my touch. I patted her head cautiously, and when I stopped for a light, ran my hand over her body to check for injuries. She winced as I came to a huge swelling and a raw, jagged wound. I stopped at two veterinary clinics, but neither could locate a convenient animal shelter. Mercifully, the second clinic agreed to keep her while I kept my appointment. When I returned after my appointment, the dog came to me willingly and entered the car without problem. She obviously needed help. But where to get it? The last time I had picked up a stray, I had thrown myself on the mercy of our neighborhood vet. He had accepted the animal, kept it overnight, and phoned the shelter for a pickup the next day. I would throw myself -- and my passenger -- on their mercy again. No prodigal was ever given a more caring welcome. Dr. Chang, aided by Dr. Muns and one of the staff, with the aid of a rabies stick, finally removed the now near-frantic dog from the car and carried her into the examining room, all the while speaking gently and reassuringly to the terrified animal. An X-ray, blood test, and examination told the story. The dog was somewhere between six and seven years old. It appeared she had been a stray for some time: she was thin to the point of emaciation, and burrs were matted in her coat. She had a variety of skin tumors and cysts. She bore evidence of battles, some old, some more recent, probably with cats and other dogs -- but one unhealed laceration looked as if it might be a gunshot wound of some kind, with the possibility that a BB or shot was still lodged in her. There was suppurating ear infection; her eyes were reddened, and she had a temperature of 104 degrees. Her stool consisted largely of bones -- evidence that, without decent food, she had barely survived by scavenging. Her heart was enlarged; there were growths in the abdominal/lung area, and arthritis of the spine. Even had the immediate problems been healed, and even had she been fed and cleaned, her life expectancy was undoubtedly only a very few months -- and wretchedly agonizing months at that. "Please put her out of her misery," I said. They led the little dog in from the X-ray room. Seeing me, she wagged her tail feebly and, as I knelt, she crept to me and rested her head trustingly in the curve of my arms. One of the assistants had told me once, "I always try to be there and hold an animal whose owner isn't there when it has to be euthanized." I was glad she was there with me now. Both of us held and petted and spoke to the little dog as Dr. Chang inserted the merciful needle. It was over in a minute. Peacefully and quietly she relaxed and went limp. As she lay there on the towel, we stroked her battered body. She was out of her misery. She was a good little dog. With decent care, she could have lived a long life. You gave her about six years. You cared for her once upon a time, to some degree. You had her spayed. Did it trouble you at all to abandon this friendly little dog? Did her friendship mean nothing at all to you? Or is this the way you treat your friends? When you last saw her, she was a frisky, healthy pet, trusting, secure, and happy. That was when you discarded her. I thought it of some importance that you know what happened to her after you dumped her. I'm projecting a bit now, but I think she waited for you to reclaim her. I think she knew you'd come and rescue her. She could not have fathomed how you could do otherwise. I think that's one of the reasons she resisted my first efforts: She was still waiting for you. She'd been thrown on her own in a hard city -- frightened, cold, harried, bewildered. Hunger drove her to rummage through garbage that ravaged her insides. Larger dogs attacked and mutilated her. She fled from bullets. But she kept coming back to where you'd left her. Her spirit and flesh were almost dead when I found her. She was living only for your return. I had your dog put to sleep the other day. You gave me little alternative. Reprinted from Detroit Free Press Magazine (April 29, 1990) by permission.
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