"I abhor vivisection with my whole soul. I detest the unpardonable slaughter of innocent life in the name of science and of humanity so-called, and all the scientific discoveries stained with innocent blood I count as of no consequence."

Little Paws Prayer

"This is a prayer for little paws
All up and down the land,
Driven away, no friendly voice
Never an outstretched hand.

For weary paws of little beasts
Torn and stained with red,
And never a home and never a rest,
Till little beasts are dead.

Oh God of homeless things look down
And try to ease the way
Of all the little weary paws
That walk the world today."

Anonymous

This reminds me of when William Holden was shooting "The Wild Bunch" and told the story of when he went on Safari in Kenya. He went down there as a sort of macho thing to do and upon his first day on Safari he wondered how anyone could kill these beautiful animals. He then went on to establish the Mount Kenya Game Ranch to protect the wildlife. Upon his untimely death in 1981 this Ranch was renamed the William Holden Wildlife Foundation and Wildlife Education Center. It is still thriving today in his memory.

A Prayer For Animals

"Hear our humble prayer, O God, for our friends
the Animals, especially for animals who are suffering ;
for animals that are over-worked, under-fed and cruelly
treated; for all wistful creatures in captivity that beat
their wings against bars; for any that are hunted or lost or
destroyed or frightened or hungry; for all that must be put to
death. We entreat for them all Thy mercy and pity, and
for those who deal with them we ask a heart of compassion
and gentle hands and kindly words. Make us, ourselves, to be
true friends; to animals and so to share the blessings of
the merciful."

By Albert Schweitzer

The Stray Cat

Oh, what unhappy twist of fate
Has brought you homeless to my gate?
The gate where once another stood
To beg for shelter, warmth and food
For from that day I ceased to be
The master of my destiny.

While he, with purr and velvet paw
Became within my house the law.
He scratched the furniture and shed
And claimed the middle of my bed.

He ruled in arrogance and pride
And broke my heart the day he died.
So if you really think, oh Cat,
I'd willingly relive all that
Because you come forlorn and thin
Well....don't just stand there,
Come on in...

By William Waltham

Forgive Me if I Weep

Forgive me if I weep-he was so sweet,
That little cat who scampered through the house,
Or curled asleep upon the window ledge,
Though still alert to stir of leaf or mouse.
But now he's gone, whose soft paw often touched
My cheek at the first glint of day;
Or with arched back, skipped through the room,
Enticing me to enter in his play.
Oh God of little cats-my earnest plea
Is that while things are strange to him You may
Scratch his ears sometimes, let him chase
Celestial mice along the Milky Way,
Just for a little while until he finds
Some chosen spot upon the Outer Gate
When he is weary of his running, where he may
Curl in the sunshine, there to sleep-and wait.

Anonymous

Little Cat Lost

Tiny


He was scary-looking. Standing about
six-foot, six inches tall, he had shoulders
the width of my dining room table.
His hair hung to his shoulders, a full beard
obscured half of his face; his massive arms
and chest were covered with tattoos.
He was wearing greasy blue jeans and a
lean jacket with the sleeves cut out.
Chains clanked on his motorcycle boots
and on the key ring hanging from his wide
leather belt. He held out a hand the size
of a pie plate, in which lay a tiny, misshapen
kitten.

What's wrong with Tiny, Doc?" he asked
in a gruff voice.

My exam revealed a birth defect. Tiny's
spine had never grown together, and he
was paralyzed in his back legs.
No amount of surgery, medicine or
prayer was going to fix him. I felt helpless.

The only thing I could tell this big,
hairy giant was that his little friend
was going to die. I was ashamed
of my prejudice but I felt a little
nervous anticipating the biker's
reaction. Being the bearer of
bad news is never pleasant,
but with a rough-looking character
like the man in front of me,
I didn't know what to expect.

I tried to be as tactful as possible,
explaining Tiny's problem and
what we could expect, which was a slow,
lingering death. I braced myself for
his response.

But the big fellow only looked at me with
eyes that I could barely see through
the hair on his face and said sadly,
"I guess we gotta do him, huh, Doc?"

I agreed that, yes, the best way to help
Tiny was to give him the injection
that would end his poor, pain-filled life.
So with his owner holding Tiny,
we ended the little kitten's pain.

When it was over, I was surprised to
see this macho guy the size of an oak
tree just standing there holding Tiny,
with tears running down his beard.
He never apologized for crying,
but he managed a choked "Thanks, Doc,"
as he carried his little friend's body
home to bury him.

Although ending a patient's life is
never pleasant, my staff and I all
agreed that we were glad we could
stop the sick kitten's pain.
Weeks passed, and the incident faded.

Then one day the oak-sized biker
appeared in the clinic again.
It looked ominously like we were
about to repeat the earlier scenario.
The huge man was wearing the
same clothes and carrying another
kitten in his pie-plate hand.
But I was enormously relieved
upon examining "Tiny Two" to
find he was absolutely, perfectly,
wonderfully normal and healthy.
I started Tiny Two's vaccinations,
tested him for worms and discussed
his care, diet and future needs
with his deceptively tough-looking owner.
By now, it was obvious that Mr. Oak Tree
had a heart that matched his size.

I wonder now how many other Hell's Angel
types are really closet marshmallows.
In fact, whenever I see a pack of
scary-looking bikers roaring past me
on the road, I crane my neck to see if I
can catch a glimpse of some tiny little
kitten poking its head up out of a sleek
chrome sidecar or maybe even peeking
out from inside the front of a black leather jacket.

Dennis K. McIntosh, D.V.M.