You can’t remember how
things got this far but you
clearly remember reading that animal control can euthanize dogs. Kill them!!!
You start to protest but the armed dog warden you learn is now called
"Animal Control Officer" has backup. A Police
Officer stands beside him and the local SPCA truck is in your driveway.
You begin to panic, thinking of the Group-winning bitch here to be bred
to your stud dog, oh no, and the 3-week old litter in the den. Your old
boy is nudging the back of your knees, his cold nose the only touch of
reality in this surreal nightmare. The AC officer is peeking around you
at something. He thunders “You have two adult dogs in the house with a
litter of puppies!” Oh My God! Another violation.
Suddenly you are running, running, gasping for breath, terrified, your
legs getting weaker. They are right behind you, there’s a cliff and you
leap – and it feels like your thumb is broken. You look down and see
your thumb being rolled back and forth by someone’s hand. What?! You are
being fingerprinted, just like on TV. Why didn’t you go get that kennel
license and let them do the criminal background check and fingerprint
you then? You had nothing to hide. But wait, now you are standing at a
counter writing check after check, paying stacks of license fees and
fines and your broken thumb won’t hold the pen right and they are coming
to inspect you.
You scream “Don’t take my dogs!!!”
And you wake up, right hand crumpled under your cheek, thumb twisted in
the necklace you forgot to remove. “Oh thank you Lord” you breathe
deeply, still shaken. There’s tapping on your bedroom door and your son
says “Mom, what’s wrong? Why were you yelling? Are you okay?” Groggy and
trying to make light of it, you tell him it was just a bad dream, “a
nightmare like you used to have… go back to bed honey. Everything is
fine.”
Oh but it’s not. You can’t sleep so you get up and go to the kitchen
for milk. On second thought, might as well make it coffee. Switch on the
pot, switch on the computer, switch on your brain.
It
will be daylight soon and you’ll call in sick. You can’t afford it but
you can’t afford to let another day go by without going to the
courthouse and asking for the kennel license application form. You can
probably fill it out right there and pay with a credit card. Right. Damn
the Humane Society, SPCA, Animal Control, all of them! You'll sell
Susie instead of spaying her to comply with that damn law. The
puppies will soon be ready to go and that pick male will have to be sold
too. You grapple with the per-dog fee on top of the yearly license,
and sighing, admit you just can’t afford the luxury of keeping three
males even if one of them is twelve years old. Illinois makes no allowance
for old dogs.
Pouring coffee, you realize if you don’t keep the male puppy, you’ll
have to ship Maggie because she can’t be bred to Skipper, too close. How
will you manage? And what will it be like, having inspectors come into
your home poking around? Will it bother the kids? What about the shows?
The handler has been wonderful to work with and Skipper has started to
do really well in the Groups. Oh well, he’ll just have to come home.
But what’s the point? Suddenly you are overwhelmed and stirring the
coffee, the tears finally come. You love your dogs. They are part of the
family. Your husband will soon be reassigned and be here with you. He
can fix anything. And then, dropping your head in both hands, sobbing
aloud, you realize there is not one damn thing he can do about a state
law! He can go off and fight a war, he can put a rocket together and
blow up things but he can’t fight city hall, Animal Control, the SPCA.
HSUS, and all the others with their hand out. Now they have
license laws, kennel laws, an endless list of ways to beat you down.
They have won.
It’s too late now. Gasping, tears streaming, your mind churning,
reliving your worst nightmare. There's no way to fight back.
Shaking your head, you admit to your own lack of initiative. You made
time for all the day-in, day-out things that seemed more important than
fighting animal rights whackos, writing letters, making calls, and
getting to know the council member who lives on the next block.
Wiping your eyes and absently blowing your nose on the napkin, you sit
alone with only your guilt to keep you company at 5:30 in the morning.
Well, it’s decision time. You get up and pour more coffee, reach for the
cream absentmindedly. What to do? The answer is hard but obvious. Forget
the courthouse today. Or any other day. Bring Skipper home, let the dogs
go, all but three which is all they allow without a breeder or kennel
license. Sell Skipper because the two old dogs have to stay. Sell a
bitch on co-own, get a puppy back later for the family but that’s it,
it’s over. They won.
You stir the coffee, take a sip, resolved now. Yes, you can do this
thing. It will hurt, like cutting off your arm but for your sanity and
your family, you have to get out of dogs. Then “they” will leave you
alone, no more hiding dogs, no more nightmares.
Standing up, you force a smile, telling yourself “I’ll be Miss
Compliance, I won't worry about animal control, the humane society,
SPCA, or any kind of animal rights legislation. No more crazy
laws, I have rights. They will leave me alone and everything will
be fine.”
Your nightmare is just beginning.
Get more information and dig for gold
below - Note some links will take you to another site
Little-Minded Littleton
breaks into Setter Rescue, seizes nursing litter
SPCA illegally enters home,
