As I write this column, Marigold—my long-haired orange tabby who demands constant attention—is purring next to me. She’s a delightful creature that I adopted at a local shelter’s Five Dollar Fridays, where they adopt out vaccinated and spayed adult cats for that modest fee. I got her (and Fluffy) when my wife was out of town, so she’s now forbidden me from visiting a shelter alone.
I don’t blame my wife for setting some ground rules, given that I can’t wander through the aisles of forlorn animals and not bring at least one home. So I’ve been filled with disgust at California’s government-funded animal shelters, which claim to be models of compassion but really are killing fields that euthanize many healthy and adoptable animals.
In Orange County, critics complained that high euthanasia rates were the result of limited government resources. As a result, the county in 2018 opened a new $35-million Animal Care shelter in Tustin that includes all the cool features (dog runs, play areas) lacking at the decrepit former facility. One news report compared it to a five-star resort and noted that it had a paid staff of 140 plus 400 volunteers. That’s quite the operation.
Yet The Orange County Register‘s Teri Sforza reported on data analyzed by a former volunteer and found the “kill rate for adult dogs…has nearly doubled since 2018, and the amount of time they spend behind bars has jumped 60 percent.” During the pandemic, the shelter stopped walk-in visits and required appointments. That was understandable then, but even after the pandemic ended the shelter continued focusing on appointments and requiring accompanied visits.
Obviously, fewer people will fall in love with a purring or barking buddy if they can’t wander through the kennels and see which animal pulls at their heartstrings. You can no more pick out a pet based on a shelter’s photo than you can pick out a spouse solely on their dating website bio. Animal Care increased the number of walk-in visits amid criticism, but it’s still absurdly limited and I gave up trying to get info after a really long wait on its phone line.
The bureaucrats who run the facility—the largest municipal “animal-care” operation in the West—depict these customer-unfriendly, animal-harming policies as a means to protect the critters from stress and protect the public from animal bites. In reality, it’s just the latest instance of government putting the employees’ convenience above the public good—like the way public schools and teachers’ unions dragged their feet on school re-openings.
Hellbound and Down 