(In)humane Society

I was having a chat today and found out that it's tough to get a cat from the humane society. Apparently there's a whole red tape tap dance you have to do, at the end of which the adoption "agent" can decline your adoption for any reason whatsoever.

That sounded strange to me. I've watched enough late night TV to know that there's thousands of doe-eyed animals sitting behind cages, begging me to be their friend and companion. Barring that, they just want to get the hell out of that cage and away from the animal-loving weirdos that are protecting them.

I went on the Oakville Humane Society webpage to see what kind of bureaucratic nightmare would await a prospective pet owner. Turns out, the Humane Society is about as sanctimonious as any government agency, and then some.

First, I found out that dogs are worth more than cats. Way more. A cute little puppy will run you $275. (You get a $50 rebate if you go to training classes. Whether it's training for the dog or for you, I'm not sure).

Puppies are the king of the hill for the humane society. Everyone loves puppies, and the humane society knows it, which is why the stick it to you for $275. A full-grown dog will put you out $250, with another $50 rebate for the bogus training course.

Cats? Screw 'em. A kitten will run $160, while a grimy full-grown cat will cost a piddling $135. Plus tax.

It makes a certain amount of sense. Dog owners are the mammoth weirdos of the animal-loving trade (people who love polar bears but have never seen them are a close second). Dog owners will shell out any amount of cash to get another pooch. The humane society adjusts their prices accordingly. Cats get short shrift because cats tend to show you their asshole anytime you talk sternly to them, and they'll take off for a week at a time. "Thanks for getting me out of the cage. Later."

I downloaded the adoption application and had a good laugh. I'm sure the humane society agents consider themselves very thorough and righteous. As the Toronto Humane Society has it, "Providing a home and care for a pet is a lifetime commitment." Italics and boldface theirs.

Er, no. Adopting a Labrador might be a lifetime commitment for Fido, but it isn't a lifetime commitment for me. At least, I hope not. When Fido kicks the bucket ten or fifteen years down the line, I'm hoping to still be vertical. My commitment ends when the last spadeful of dirt fills in the hole in the backyard and I read a poem from Emily Dickinson.

That is, if I can even spring Fido from the pen. Here's a sample of the dog application (yes, there is a different application for cats; strangely, no applications for ferrets and mice). My answers follow.

1. How many adults in the household? How many children, and how old are they? On Friday nights, the place is loaded with strippers and drunks. The rest of the week, just me.

2. Explain why you want to adopt the pet? To pet it.

3. How much time will you spend with your animal? Depends if he's a whisky man or not.

4. How will you be spending time with your dog? Watching porno and drinking beer.

5. How active would you like your dog to be? I want him to place Best in Show at the New York competition. If he doesn't, it's curtains.

6. How active would you describe your family to be? Lazy bastards.

7. How large is your yard? Big enough for a patio bash, not big enough for a Zeppelin reunion concert.

8. What will you do with your dog if you plan to move? Tell him to pack.

9. What type of ID do you plan to put on your dog? A T-shirt that says, "I'm with stupid."

10. It may take your pet two weeks to adjust to its new home. Are you prepared for this? No. If he isn't whipping up cappuccino by the end of week 1, he's out of here.

That's just a taste of what they put you through. Then they tell you that they're going to do a background check, and then they tell you to take a number and they'll be in touch. After that, there's an interview session, where everyone from the house has to come down, sit in a room, and meet the dog, under the supervision of the "agent." Presumably Fido will ask for references.

You could do all this, I suppose. Or you could do like the person I talked to. When I asked her what she did, she said, "They took forever, so I went to the pet store and gave them $100. Ten minutes later, we were home."

So that's why there's so many late-night TV ads for helpless animals. They're not helpless. There's tons of people out there that would love to adopt them, if the Saviors would just get out of the way.