For the human that dog left behind, a heavy burden

In college, the country veterinarian who owned the clinic where I worked said to me, “Son, go grab a bag and meet me at the freezer.” It was his way of communicating that it was time to “put down” a dog or cat. I hated it.

Animal clinics have a way of accumulating friendly strays that over time evolve into permanent residents. Those dogs and cats, living in cages or kennels far in the back, became de facto pets for the staff. For instance during my time at the clinic, there was Blackie. His humans left him there and never came to retrieve him, so he became the “kennel dog,” offering energetic, unconditional love to anyone willing to pause work and scratch him behind the ears. And there was Charlie, a beefy, club-footed cat who walked on his knee and thus bled from a permanent leg wound. He had an outgoing, affable disposition. I adored him.

Every few years, a creek that ran through our small town flooded. A neighboring animal clinic was within the flood plain, so the staff of that neighboring clinic would evacuate the various dogs and cats in temporary residence, the pets of paying customers. For whatever reason, the destination for that clinic’s periodic evacuations was our clinic.

Typically, we had space to accommodate — it was rare that the many cages and kennels in our facility were full. But one spring, huge storms rolled through on the odd day in which our clinic was packed. As the floodwaters rose, our front-desk staff got the phone call from the neighboring…