I find it important once in a while to step outside the normal realm of my typical editorial undertaking and offer a more personal and intimate perspective. Call it “getting to know your columnist” if you will, but I prefer to think of it as advocacy hewn from experience and compassion. So, this week, I will move away from politics and tell you a story — a parable drawn from reality — that I hope will inspire action.
Just this past week as I was walking outside the College of Fine Arts, I noticed a small beagle, much like the one I used to have, sitting patiently by the door. The brown, black and white pattern of his fur and the gentle slope of his forehead as I reached down and petted him brought back instant memories of my little Jersey, who passed away three years ago.
I didn’t write this story as part of some 12-step program toward self-realization or cathartic release of pent-up emotion; my intent is to make you realize that Jersey, though he died young, was very lucky. He was lucky to have a family that cared for him — something that can’t be said of all animals.
This reality has been brought to the forefront in the past few months through the animal-cruelty case of Michael Vick and the animal-adoption fiasco of Ellen Degeneres. The talk show host was at the center of media attention when the dog she had adopted from a shelter was “repossessed” when she gave it to a friend, a violation of the adoption contract. Having been a pet owner, I can feel the anger and empathy so many people have experienced watching these stories unfold. Given these events, it felt appropriate to reflect on my own story, and I hope you will reflect on your own personal tales of furry friends and childhood memories.
Perhaps I’m a bit maudlin, but I still get choked up thinking of the dog I raised from puppy to full-blooded hound — we grew and matured together through many years of friendship.
It was at the end of my freshman year that my Dad broke the news that Jersey had passed away from a genetic condition that led to a heart attack. It wasn’t unexpected, but it was still devastating. He was only 12 years old, and he promised me he would live to at least 15 so that he could greet me at the top of the stairs after I graduated college.
Wishful thinker that I am, I still sometimes expect to see his floppy ears or to hear his skittering paws on the linoleum after I open the garage door. It’s a hard reality accepting the death of a loved one — pet or person – especially when you never got the chance to say goodbye.
I loved my dog and I hope I gave him enough attention and care, but self-doubt always creeps in following a premature death. As anyone who knows me will tell you, I don’t cry with regular frequency. And I held out well after Jersey’s death before my lip began to quiver.
I had just gotten home from school. My birthday was coming soon, and traditionally my parents had given me a card from Jersey (usually a Snoopy card — the most famous beagle of them all) signed with a paw print. I asked my mother, for no particular reason other than to break a moment of silence, if Jersey was “getting me a birthday card this year.” I was shocked at my own voice: It had returned to a stage of pre-adolescent timidity, with no pretense or confidence, only vulnerability. It was then that the dike broke, and my eyes began to flood with tears stronger and heartier than any I had experienced before or have since.
I’ve come to terms with Jersey’s death, and I still make sure to say “hi” to the little dogwood tree we planted near his favorite grassy spot in the backyard. He was a great dog, and for his shorter-than-expected lifetime, I know he had a great home.
According to the ASPCA, 8 to 12 million pets enter shelters each year, deprived of a great home. Innumerable amounts are abused, beaten or killed by their owners and never know the simple joy of having someone rub them behind the ears. This column is not meant as a trite and saccharine ploy to galvanize the animal rights troops, but rather a genuine call to action for anyone who has ever cared for or loved a pet.
The message I hope you take away is this: Be vigilant of abuse and do what you can to keep animals safe and secure. I may adopt a pet after graduation, and I only hope he can live as happily as Jersey did. I will always miss my little puppy, but extending compassion to other animals, I believe, is the best way to let him live on in spirit for many years.
Neil St. Clair, a senior in the College of Communication and College of Arts and Sciences, is a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. He is also the host of butv10’s On That Point. He can be reached at [email protected] or [email protected].
Readers are invited to write short rebuttals to the column to be sent to [email protected]. Chosen authors will be invited to debate St. Clair and other panelists live on On That Point during a special segment.