The Wall of Wishes

Every now and then something hits me in a certain way and reduces me to the proverbial teary eyes and lump-in-the-throat. Such a moment just happened.

I don't expect that many people read this, and of those who do, I don't expect all to know what happens in Portland or the veterinary community. However, a rather famous (or infamous) event occurred and it made national news. It happened right here, just a few weeks ago.

On July 3 (or thereabouts) someone laced pieces of meat with the herbicide paraquat and left it under bushes in Laurelhurst Park, where dogs have been known to roam off-leash. One dozen dogs became extremely ill; eight of them died here. I will never forget Taro, or the look on his face. He stared at me from within the Kirschner oxygen cage, with sad eyes and the most bewildered expression I'd seen on any animal. It was as if he and I shared a painfully intimate moment and he was saying, "I cannot believe this is happening. Why is this? Is this how it ends? I think I am dying."

Taro's face quickly became famous as news staff parked outside the clinic and some came in to interview doctors and give the public a few quick glimpses of the patients. It was Taro's sad expression which made the local papers and the internet news pages as well. His tragic features said volumes about animals and their feelings. He became the face of the Laurelhurst Dogs.

The day following our brief meeting of the eyes, he died.

The Lucky Lab Brew Pub (a pet-friendly food-and-brew spot which features a do-it-yourself-Dog Wash) held fundraisers for the families of the dogs, and to help raise funds for a reward for turning in the offender. On one wall a large sheet of butcher paper was fastened, and people stopped and wrote notes to the families and patients themselves. One said, "All dogs go to heaven." Grieving owners of ill or deceased pets affixed photos of their beloved dogs as a memorial. It was called "The Wall of Wishes".

That poster eventually came down, and found a place to retire in our conference room, spread out over several tables. I noticed it as I walked past, and stopped to get a closer look.

Among the photos, a few stood out. One was a picture of a young man hugging an older, black Labrador Retriever. I could only see the back of the man, and it was the dog himself--head rested on his human's shoulder--which stared into the camera. He had a rather quiet, humbled expression on his face, which was beginning to turn white with age. Next to it was the photo which impacted me most: It depicted a pretty woman in her late 20s or early 30s with a large, fawn and white mixed breed dog. Her arms were around him in a wide embrace and she was beaming; the dog wore a look of pride, dignity and intelligence. Blue tags sparkled from where they hung on his collar. It was Taro.

At that moment, I felt the pain of these people and their losses. It was tremendous and yet very quiet. I had just witnessed a stark portrayal of man's evil and goodness in only a few moments. I felt as if I would cry just then, so I averted my gaze and walked back to my office. I considered things for a bit, and decided it was time to share this sorrow--not to manipulate or seek approval, but to hopefully convey a message.

I realize that the odds of any dog-killer reading my journal are slim to none, and yet I still must say this. Whoever you are, you should see the faces of your victims. They are not just dogs. They are humans as well, and these animals meant the world to them. You took that away. I challenge you to look at Taro's face and not feel a twinge of guilt for your selfish act of hatred. But lucky you. At least Taro would forgive you.