http://www.southdeltaleader.com/
photo
By Dan Ferguson
Black Press
Sep 21 2007
Delta Humane Society is bursting with pets in search of a home
Emma is a bright girl.
The eight-year-old Chinese Crested's ears go up and she snaps to attention when she hears the word "walk."
A staffer is offering to take one of the many dogs at the Delta Animal Shelter out for some exercise.
Emma presses up against her cage, eyes bright and hopeful, wagging her tail.
And when someone says "why not take Emma?" she begins to caper behind the bars, yapping in a reedy, barely audible bark.
She used to be someone's pet-a pretty, purebred lifestyle accessory that underwent surgery to cut her vocal cords to keep her quiet.
She lives here now, in a metal cage in shelter manager Sarah Lowe's cramped office because her owners, an older couple, decided to do some travelling.
They bought themselves an RV and before they left town they dropped Emma off at the 30-year-old small cinder block building at 7450 80 St. on the southern edge of Delta's Tilbury industrial park to await adoption.
It's been three months and she's still waiting.
Emma's age is against her and so is her health.
She recently had surgery (partially at the shelter's expense) to remove a tumour from her neck and her long-term medical prospects are uncertain.
On the leash, she prances with pride in perfect heel position as she follows the staffer across the parking lot.
Lowe looks on, sadly.
The shelter is increasingly becoming the temporary home to former pets, she says, as opposed to the strays and wild animals that would normally fill its cages.
Often they are difficult-to-place pets like Emma. Or worse, dogs that are vicious and cannot be rehabilitated.
Shelter staff try their best to rehabilitate aggressive animals, but if one cannot be reformed, they are reluctantly put down.
The last dog they had to euthanize had attacked a staffer, drawing blood.
"There is no such thing as a no-kill shelter," Lowe says.
New stewards
In 2004, the Delta Humane Society took over the day-to-day operation of the shelter from the SPCA after controversy erupted over the fate of a Rottweiler-Labrador cross named "Cheech."
Two SPCA workers had spirited Cheech away from the shelter to prevent the dog from being euthanized.
The municipality fired the SPCA and awarded the contract to operate the animal shelter and provide animal control services to the newly formed non-profit society.
There were other issues besides Cheech that had some Delta residents questioning the methods of the SPCA, including its housing of animals from other communities and a general sense the agency was not making local concerns a priority.
The Delta Humane Society promised it would operate in a "pro-humane" manner, devoting more effort to rehabilitating problem animals and only opting for euthanasia as a final resort.
The society was awarded a three-year animal control contract, receiving $225,000 per year from the municipality, plus dog licence fee revenues.
That contract has now expired. Council must decide whether to negotiate a new one with the humane society or put the contract out to tender.
Either way, it's clear someone has to look out for the animals.
On the day a reporter and photographer visit, there are about 20 dogs at a shelter that has kennels for 18 dogs.
There are 50 cats in a facility that can accommodate 30.
Plus two budgies and some guinea pigs.
To reduce congestion, as many animals as possible are placed in foster care outside the kennel, but there aren't enough volunteer homes.
Which is why Emma stays in Lowe's office.
Why a wild kitten is living in a cage in a bathroom.
And why other cats are double- and triple-bunking in cages stacked in the laundry room.
Among them, the un-adoptable Mystery, a handsome, long-tailed male cat with a thick mane of black fur whose stubborn refusal to be adopted out turned him into a permanent resident-the only live-in animal in the whole building.
"He just hid (when someone took him home)," says North Delta resident Bonny Tranter, a veteran volunteer.
"He'd go in a corner behind the furniture and he wouldn't come out."
Right now, Mystery is sharing his digs with several felines including Lightning, a skinny former stray who has calmed down since she earned her name for her ability to evade would-be rescuers.
There is also Rhino, an easy-going, well-padded 14-pound tabby who got his name from his big, slightly dented nose.
"He's not fat, Lowe insists. "He's solid."
A stressed staffer interrupts. He's looking for litter boxes, and looks even more frazzled when he's told there aren't any more.
A playful bunch
Meanwhile outside, in a roomy exercise cage, Diesel comes bounding towards Lowe, all big feet, flapping tongue and clumsy enthusiasm. A Rottweiler-St. Bernard cross, Diesel landed here because his owners claimed he was becoming aggressive. As it turned out, tests showed there isn't a mean bone in his muscle-bound body.
"He's a big goofy puppy," Lowe says as Diesel tries to squeeze through a gap between gate and post to lick her face.
Its an endearing moment only slightly spoiled when the big lug accidentally punches Lowe in the face with one oversized paw.
Lowe shakes it off and continues the tour.
Another dowager duchess of a dog, Molly, an elderly border collie cross, dances towards Lowe, her tail wiggling happily.
"You're lovely," Lowe coos.
And there are Nancy and Rocky, a brother and sister team whose closeness is a problem.
The litter-mates are Rottweiler-Doberman crosses, "bouncy" friendly dogs who, like Diesel, will need a lot of space to play in.
The staff have been trying to gradually separate the pair to improve their chances of being adopted as singles.
There are many others.
Too many.
"We need to find homes for these babies," Lowe says.
Note: Since the South Delta Leader's visit to the shelter, happily, some of these animals have since been adopted.