Knee Deep: Southeast Missourian columnists clean cages at the Humane Society

Part IV in an occasional series

By Bob Miller and CALLIE CLARK MILLER

We arrived at the Humane Society of Southeast Missouri on a Thursday morning not long ago, another assignment in our Knee Deep series, the one where we don the boots and gloves and get ourselves dirty.

Let me begin by offering a warning: This project did include scooping you-know-what, and I understand that the issue may offend some.

But let me also make this clear: This Knee Deep assignment was so much more than a nose-pinching, hold-your-breath, wrinkle-your-nose kind of job.

It has to be one of the most humbling and self-sacrificing tasks in all of Southeast Missouri. For four hours on that Thursday morning, Callie and I sprayed, scrubbed and scooped. And we came away with a wonderful impression of the workers who do this every morning before 11:30 when potential adopters arrive.

All for the love of the animals.

When we pulled up to the Humane Society, the first thing I noticed was the noise. The dogs were all riled up, barking and howling, responding to the employees who were already there. We donned our borrowed rubber boots, grabbed some gloves and got down to business (Literally. Our first task was taking the puppies outside to do their business.)

The precise process that goes into cleaning the kennels every day amazed us — every inch is scrubbed down.

It all starts with enticing the dogs into the outside portion of the facilities. There were around 54 dog kennels lining both walls along a concrete hallway, some built for smaller dogs, others for larger ones. Some of the kennels had multiple dogs, some held a sole canine. In each cage is a door that leads to an outside run. The doors are opened, the dogs are called out and contained in the runs. The doors are then closed, and all of the dogs' belongings — food dishes, toys, sleeping rugs — are collected and taken to the laundry room. The dishes are all soaked in bleach water and the soft items are thrown into a washing machine.

Then begins the prerinsing of the runs. Every inch of every cage is washed down with a pressure-hose. Callie and I were split up; she took the north end, I stayed on the south. I figure that was a good call by the society folks, as I'm sure at some point Callie would have been tempted to turn the hose on me. At any rate, it seemed to take forever to hose down all of the cages, but we weren't nearly finished.

Next, one of the workers hooked a device to the end of the hose that allowed bleach to be dispersed through the hose. Every inch of every cage was sprayed down again to kill germs and diseases that dogs could bring in to the facility. The thought of this made me admire the Humane Society workers even more, knowing that animals can come in with ringworm, fleas or God knows what else, yet they go about their business, protecting themselves when possible but otherwise impervious to the risks.

Once we sprayed the cages with the bleach solution, we rinsed with water again, because the bleach could be harmful to the animals. By the time we were finished with this step, I had rinsed myself quite a bit and our photographer a little bit, too. Sorry, Aaron.

But we weren't done yet. Not close. Next came the brushes. Scrub, scrub, scrub, every inch of every cage. We did this, just like the Humane Society folks do every morning, to get potential debris off the cages. Dogs sometimes walk in their own you-know-what and scrape it off on the cage doors. We saw some evidence of this and scrubbed our hearts out. God bless poor Callie, she did this assignment a week before she was to have shoulder surgery. Her shoulder was barking. (Sorry, bad pun.)

Both out of shape, by the time the last cage was scrubbed, Callie and I were left panting. (Sorry, can't help myself.) We were working like dogs, I tell you. (OK, OK, I promise I'll stop.)

Anyway, the staff helped us with the scrubbing. I assume they saw the pace at which we were working and figured we'd never get the job done if they didn't pitch in. After the scrubbing, we got the hoses out again and rinsed away all that was left. Then we took big squeegees and pushed all the excess water to the floor drains to make the area as dry as possible for the dogs who would be returning indoors soon. Then we cleaned out the floor drains. We retrieved the food bowls from the wash room, filled them with fresh water and coaxed the dogs back in.

Then came the fun part. The outside runs.

We won't get too graphic. We understand you may be eating breakfast. Suffice to say the scooping and dumping portion of the job was the dirtiest and smelliest chore of the morning. When I was finished with my half of the job, I went to Callie's side where she complained that she had to dispose of a dead bird that had somehow ended up in one of the runs. (The cage run, not the other kind.)

Anyway, a young lady named Brandie Peterson showed me the ropes of the Humane Society's morning routine. She's an animal care specialist, and she's been doing this as her paid job for the last four years. The morning routine is only part of it. She also deals with keeping the animals fed, tending to litter boxes, doing dishes. She helps walk the dogs, gives them attention. She even has to put some of the animals down. She's one of the workers who makes the tough choices on which animals stay and which ones go on.

Brandie's introduction to the Humane Society was simple. She said she was looking for a job, and she wanted to work with animals. Callie and I didn't get a chance to interact too much with any of the animals; we didn't have time. But we were struck by how much all of the animals — cats and dogs alike — simply wanted some attention. They begged in universal languages, some whining, some wagging tails, some resting paws on the cages as if wanting hugs.

The Humane Society is a heartbreaking place in many ways. So many of the animals you meet there will not live, the result of poor decisions by humans who could not or would not take care of them. Yet these misfit animals, all of them innocent, all of them desperate, have friends at the Humane Society.

The work is admirable, hard and dirty. And, sadly, somewhat pointless. Spay and neuter your animals, people.

Callie and I got our cat, Scoop, from the Humane Society. She's the sweetest of our three cats, the one who likes to cuddle and purr.

A lot of work is going into these animals. Lots of work, indeed.

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