by Lyle Howard
“Returns?” Lance nodded. “Yeah, returns, you know, pets that don’t work out for one reason or another.”
The woman seemed perturbed by the thought. “Mr. Cutter,” she said sternly, “pets are not like can openers. One doesn’t merely return them because they don’t work out, as you put it.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what?”
Lance rolled his eyes. “I just meant that maybe someone finds out that they’re allergic to the animal, or maybe the pet is just unmanageable. Haven’t you ever had someone return an animal for that reason?”
The old woman’s eyes narrowed. “We frown on that sort of thing. We try and fit the person to the pet. Those allergy questions are things we try to solve at the time of adoption. We try to discourage a person from taking home a pet that isn’t suited to their environment.”
Lance scratched his head. “I can’t believe you go through all of this for just some stray animals.”
Uh, oh, wrong thing to say, Lance immediately knew. If he could have thrown a rope out of his mouth and lassoed the words back in, he would have.
“Just some stray animals, just some stray animals!”
Lance held up his hands in forgiveness. “Sorry, wrong choice of words.”
“Have you ever owned a pet, sir?” the old woman demanded to know as she tapped a pencil sharply on the counter top.
“No ma’am.”
“Thank God!”
He guessed he deserved that. “How about the pets you put to sleep?”
“Put to sleep?”
This was Lance’s chance to get even with the old witch for all of her kindness. He held an imaginary noose around his neck and pulled up on the rope. “You know … echhhhh!”
Esther’s face contorted. “That’s not funny, Mr. Cutter. You mean, put to death. We haven’t called it ‘put to sleep’ in years.”
“Okay, put to death. Do you keep a record of those?”
She shook her head. “No, sir.”
“But you do perform that function here, am I correct?” The old woman pointed to herself. “I don’t, personally, but yes … we do euthanize animals here.”
“Do the animals have to meet some qualifications before you’ll kill them?” Lance asked.
The woman frowned. “Why, when you say it, does it sound so cruel?”
Lance shrugged.
Esther pulled her glasses off her face and let them dangle around her neck. “We have a set limit for the length of time we may keep an animal before it is put to death.”
“That’s the only qualification?”
Esther crossed her arms across her matronly bosom. “Of course not. If an animal is terminally ill, or if it has some disease such as rabies or distemper, we would put those animals to death as well.”
Lance looked around the empty office as if he was searching for something. “Do you ever keep the animals in plastic cages?”
“Plastic?”
Lance tried to sound ignorant, displaying the shape and size he was trying to describe with his hands. “You know, it has a mesh door and you use it to transport animals. It’s about this big and this wide.”
“You mean, like a pet carrier?”
Lance naively pointed his finger at Esther. “That’s it, a pet carrier! Do you ever use those here?”
Esther shook her head. “We don’t provide them, but a lot of customers bring them with them when they come here. You know, to carry their pets home.”
“Those are the only ones you ever see around here?”
The old woman’s eyes narrowed. “What are you getting at? What’s so important about pet carriers?”
Lance ignored her questions. “How many people are employed here?”
Esther suddenly became very tight-lipped. “I don’t think I like you, Mr. Cutter.”
Even though it gratified him, the furthest thing from Lance’s mind was smiling to show his indifference. “How many employees?”
“Ten, on two separate shifts of five each.”
“Could I get a list of them?”
Esther’s fingers began racing over her keyboard again. “Sure, it’s a matter of public record.” Within a few seconds, a stream of green and white bar paper began flowing out of the printer behind her. “It should only take a few more seconds.”
Through the front door, a young woman entered and began looking at the charts on the wall. She was bedecked with more gold than Esther had ever seen on one person. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” Esther announced to her.
The young woman turned her gaze from the chart while leaving her finger pointed at one of the cats on the display. “Do you have any of these here?”
Paulsen craned her neck and saw that the woman was pointing at a drawing of a blue-pointed Persian. “No, honey. We don’t get many strays of that variety.”
The young woman frowned. “I’ll keep looking.” As she turned back to the chart, her bracelets clattered like a rattlesnake’s tail.
Esther rolled her eyes. “You do that,” she said, feigning politeness. Then, cupping her hand over her mouth, she whispered to Lance. “You see what we have to put up with here? She didn’t even ask to go outside and look at the cats … she’s shopping, for heaven’s sake! She thinks she’s at Bloomingdales!”
Lance stared sternly at the old woman. “How many of those ten workers are assigned to put the animals to death?”
“One.”
“One on each shift?”
“No, only one, just Eddie Dolan.”
The printer stopped it’s whirring, so Esther turned around and ripped off the four pages that it had generated. Lance took the records and scanned down the list to Eddie Dolan’s name. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He appeared to be an exemplary employee. “He looks like a good worker.”
The old woman looked past Lance at the young woman who was still engrossed in the chart. She spoke without taking her eyes off of the female customer. “Good? He’s great. Never misses a day and everyone adores him. He really loves the animals. An exceptional talent, too.”
Lance thought that the last compliment was an odd one. “I didn’t realize that you had to be talented to put animals to death.”
Esther broke her concentration from the young woman across the room and looked at Lance. “No, that’s not what I meant! I mean, he’s very talented outside of the shelter. He’s a brilliant photographer with a great eye. He did all of these photos on the walls,” she said as she pointed proudly around the room.
“They’re very good,” Lance admitted, “I was admiring them before.”
“You can see that he really cares about animals. He always photographs them running wild,” Esther said, her voice suddenly turning analytical. “I really think that he hates having to do what he does here. I’d bet that if Eddie had his way, he’d never have to kill another animal.”
“Then why does he do it?”
Esther looked at Lance like he was being silly. “Because he’s realistic. Everyone who works here is. If Eddie didn’t do his job, the city would be overrun by stray animals in no time flat,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s a sad state of affairs, but that’s just the way it has to be.”
“Is Eddie around? Can I talk to him?”
Esther shifted her weight so that she was staring at her jewelry-laden customer again. “Decided on anything yet, sweetie?”
The young woman shook her head. “No, not yet. I’m still looking.”
Esther shook her head. “Take your time!”
“So can I talk to him?” Lance persisted.
The old woman nodded. “Of course you can. He was just in here with his assistant, Jacob. I’ll page him for you,” she said, reaching over and pressing a lever on an intercom unit. “Eddie?”
Lance could hear her voice booming outside the back door to the office.
“Eddie?”
A muffled voice came back over the tiny intercom speaker behind the counter. “You calling me, Esther?�
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“Eddie, there’s someone in the office that wants to speak with you.”
“I’m in the middle of spraying down one of the kennels now. Can’t they wait?”
Lance shook his head.
Esther pressed the lever down again. “I don’t think so, Eddie. He needs to talk with you, chop-chop.”
“Come on, Esther,” the muffled voice pleaded, “I’m practically drowning in disinfectant out here. If someone needs to talk to me, then they’ll have to come back here.”
Esther released the lever. “You heard him,” she said, pointing to the back door, “he’s somewhere in the back.” Lance pointed at the door. “Just straight back?” The old woman smiled. “You can’t miss him. He’ll be the one that smells like a pine tree.”
After cynically thanking Esther for being so gracious and accommodating, Lance exited through the rear door of the office. As he stepped outside into the yard, he could only pray that Eddie Dolan would smell like a pine tree, because the rest of the place accosted his nostrils like a cesspool.
The kennel area consisted of six rows of concrete shelters, each perhaps one hundred feet long. Each of the six kennels was divided every three or four feet by chain-link fencing, thereby creating individual cubicles for each animal. It was a design that might have looked good to the county architects, but the only problem was that the population of the refuge had grown so enormous, that four or five animals were forced to inhabit each cell.
This is pitiful, Lance thought to himself, as he toured the kennel. He would stop every few feet or so to kneel down and put his hand up to the cages so that the various animals could smell his scent. A cage full of playful cats who didn’t seem to mind dodging the lumps of feces lying on the concrete slab beneath their paws frolicked in their confinement, climbing the fencing and pouncing on their unsuspecting companions. Lance thought to himself that if they could only comprehend their impending predicament, they wouldn’t be so lighthearted. Perhaps their innocence was a gift from heaven, he mused, and he was an authority when it came to those kinds of gifts.
In the next three corridors of kennels, various canine breeds were segregated by size and temperament. While a single Saint Bernard lounged lazily in a back corner of the first cell Lance passed, two cages away, a handful of hyperactive Pekinese yapped and scampered around the same-sized pen, taking playful nips out of each other’s ears. The Saint Bernard sniffed at the air as Lance walked by, and then turned his attention back to finding a comfortable position in which to sleep.
Lance knew he was getting close. He could hear the forceful sound of water washing down concrete coming from somewhere nearby. As he turned the corner, he was treated … through a mist of water vapor … to the sight of a rainbow gracefully arching its way across the compound. At the far end of the ribbon of colors, a lone figure, muscular in stature, stood poised like a soldier armed for battle. But instead of a rifle slung over his brawny shoulder, this man was stocked with a pistol sprayer attached to an ordinary garden hose. Connected to the pistol sprayer was a feeder bottle which contained a concentrated mixture of disinfectant and cleaning agents.
Eddie Dolan wore a mask over his nose and mouth to protect his lungs from the unhealthy fumes. Keeping the kennels clean was a never ending battle and a filthy one, to boot. There just didn’t seem like there were enough hours in the day to do all he had to do at the shelter. He wore a brown baseball cap backward on his head, and his long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, which swung contrary to the direction of the hose’s barrage as he blasted another pile of dog crap into oblivion.
Lance tried shouting over the deluge, but Dolan was too preoccupied. A few seconds later, he was able to catch the man’s attention by waving his hands like a windmill gone berserk. Dolan looked back over his shoulder. “Jacob!” he screamed.
Lance thought he was talking to him, and shook his head trying to gesture that he couldn’t hear him.
“Jacob! Shut off the water!” From around the far side of the kennel, a scrawny Jacob Cohen sprinted over to the water spigot and turned the valve counterclockwise. Dolan continued to crush the pistol grip in his fist until the liquid coming out of the spray gun was little more than a trickle.
“Thanks, Jacob,” he yelled without giving the shriveled man a second look.
Jacob waved and began limping back to wherever he had come from. “No problem, Eddie,” the impassive little man said, “I’ll have the cages on this side emptied for you in less than fifteen minutes.”
Dolan unwrapped the hose from around his shoulder and threw it onto the nearby grass. “No rush, Jacob,” he said as he removed his thick, black rubber gloves, “it seems as though I have an unexpected visitor.”
Cohen stopped dead in his tracks and turned to examine Lance. It wasn’t often that someone came to talk to them. Sensing that the professional-looking intruder wasn’t an immediate threat to his job, Cohen cracked a mousy smile, waved respectfully, and went about his business of transferring animals out of their cages so that the cells could be cleaned.
“What can I do for you Mr. …?”
Lance moved closer, but made sure he stayed off the wet pavement. “Cutter.”
Dolan threw his gloves on top of the hose and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “What can I do for you, Mr. Cutter? What brings you out to our glamorous neck of the woods?”
Lance reached out into his wallet and pulled out his identification again. “I’m an arson investigator.”
Dolan didn’t bother to look at the credentials. He sat himself down on the cement and began struggling to remove his calf-high black rubber boots. “Arson, eh?”
Lance stepped out onto the grass and moved around to face Dolan. He stared down at him and studied his disinterest the way a scientist would examine a microbe. “Esther tells me that you’re the one that has to kill the stray animals around here when they’ve outstayed their welcome.”
Dolan stopped tugging on his boot, but didn’t look up. “That’s a terrible way of putting it, Mr. Cutter. If it was up to me, I’d keep these animals around as long as they lived.”
“Are you qualified to put these animals to death, Mr. Dolan?”
Dolan shook his head and mumbled something under his breath. “Yes, sir. I am.”
Lance shaded his eyes from the sun which was rising over the roof of the kennel. “Do you want to explain the process to me?”
Dolan leaned back casually on both of his arms and stared up at Lance. “I don’t understand what this hassle is all about, man, but I resent it if you’re implying that I’m doing something wrong.”
Lance reached into his shirt pocket and slipped his sunglasses on. “This has nothing to do with you, Eddie. I’m just asking for my own information.”
Dolan looked up skeptically into his reflection in Lance’s glasses. “Why the arson squad? I don’t understand the connection. Am I missing something here?”
The muggy morning was turning into a tepid afternoon and Lance could see the sweat dripping out of Dolan’s pores. “Come on, Eddie, just answer my question, okay? Tell me what you do to kill the animals.”
Dolan closed his eyes, leaned his head back and spoke as though he were reading the process out of a textbook. “Depending on the size and weight of the animal, I inject him with the correct dosage of Buthinasia-D. That’s it, end of story.”
“Painless?”
Dolan leaned forward and intensely glared at Lance. The humidity didn’t seem to be affecting the arson investigator at all. “Only for the animal.”
Lance nodded at the subliminal undertone. “Yeah, I don’t envy your job.”
Dolan toyed with his ponytail. “I don’t think that I’d care too much for foraging through burned-out rubble either, so I guess we’ve each got our own crosses to bear.”
Lance frowned. “The only difference is I’m involved after the fact. I’m not trying to sound like a preacher, but doesn’t your conscience ever bother you?”
&n
bsp; Dolan reached down and plucked a blade of grass and meticulously tore it lengthwise as he spoke. “Yeah, I’ve had a few sleepless nights, but then I come into work and someone gives me a pep talk on how it’s the only logical solution. Trust me; there are times when I think I hear their spirits howling in the night.”
Lance took a deep breath. “I saw your photographs. That kind of outlet has to help you.”
Dolan nodded. “I don’t know where I’d be without it. Every time I snap an animal running free, it cleanses me … I don’t know … I can’t explain it.”
Lance looked over his shoulder at another kennel filled with barking dogs. “I can’t believe how many there are in there.”
Dolan wrapped his arms around his bended knees. “It’s not so much the ones that get picked up running loose without collars that bother me. It’s the ones that get returned for no good reason. I mean, what if it was like that for people?” he asked, extending his hand out to lead an imaginary person. “Well, here’s grandma and since we’ve had the baby, there’s just no more room for the old broad in the house. What do you say, we take her back to the hospital for a lethal injection?”
Lance disagreed. “Animals aren’t like human beings.”
Dolan shot him a solemn gaze. “Oh yeah? Tell that to the people who go into mourning when their twenty-year-old cat that they’ve raised from a kitten dies of liver or kidney dysfunction! I’ve seen it! These people cry for days! They would rather cut off their arms than lose the animal,” he debated, shaking his head. “Don’t tell me that animals aren’t like humans! I’ve known some dogs that I’d trust more than some people!”
Lance smiled. “Well, I can’t disagree with you there.”
Dolan removed his baseball cap, wiped his forehead, and then slipped his ponytail back into the slot of the cap as he situated it back on his head. “Well, Mr. Cutter, since I think that I’ve answered all of your questions thoughtfully and honestly, would you mind telling me what this is all about?”
Lance adjusted the sunglasses on his nose. “In a minute. I still have a few more questions.”
Dolan grabbed one of his boots and slapped it against the concrete to shake off some grass clippings that were clinging to it. Without looking up, he slipped the boot back onto his leg. “You know, Mr. Cutter, we’re very understaffed here. I’m having to do more than my share of work just to keep this place semi hygienic. I really don’t have the time…”