As a board member of a mobile spay/neuter clinic, shelter veteran Betsy Pullen can finally open boxes without cringing at what’s inside

Krista Hughes

I’ve changed my mind about cardboard boxes. For too many years, I couldn’t look at a cardboard box without seeing sets of frightened little eyes peering up from the depths. Because that’s usually how they came to us—hauled from the back of our rescue van, lifted from the trunks of cars in our parking lot, and, sometimes, when we came to work, left outside our gate the night before. In winter we would often find them huddled together in the bottom of the box, dead from exposure and frozen in their urine.

I worked in an animal shelter for nearly 23 years and, until recently, cardboard boxes reminded me, all too vividly, of the fear and helplessness of infant animals no one wanted. Boxes of infants with no place to go. And all we could offer an overwhelming number of them was a fast and humane death.

The puppies and kittens came to us relentlessly. On one morning in June, I stopped counting the numbers of kittens surrendered to us after the first half-hour because I was too busy taking them in. I remember I stopped at 45 in that 30-minute period and they kept coming all day after that. And the next day, and the next day. And the day after that. Animals pay a dear price when they are born unplanned.

And, to a lesser degree, so do their caretakers. Making that trip to a shelter isn’t easy, so denial becomes commonplace. Many bringing us puppies and kittens assured us there’d be no trouble placing them because they were cute. And they said this after having just signed a statement that they understood that the chance at adoption for these animals was somewhere between slim and zero. Yes, their animals were cute. But so were the ones we’d taken in the day before and the ones we’d be taking in the next day. Sure we’d place some, but we knew there wouldn’t be homes for them all.

Besides denial, there is guilt associated with unplanned and unwanted litters—guilt that people often transfer onto animals. It was not uncommon for people to blame their litters on a promiscuous female. “She keeps on having babies!” Or they transferred their guilt to shelter staff. “I left ten puppies there last week and you decided to kill them rather than find homes. And you call that place a shelter!”

These were not bad people. They had taken in a female dog or cat, fed her or sheltered her, and thought that that was enough. But it wasn’t. They failed to manage her capacity to reproduce. The same was true of those with fertile male dogs and cats, but we seldom saw them. These clients presumably were unaware of their complicity because they were spared the job of “getting rid” of unwanted litters.

Everyone working in or governing our shelter—staff, board, and volunteers—knew that spay/neuter surgery was the answer. We preached the need for sterilization to every animal caretaker we could reach, both in the shelter and in the community. National humane organizations and celebrities like Doris Day, Betty White, and Bob Barker echoed our message. And the community listened.

But there were people in the community needing more than a message. They wanted to do the right thing but could not afford prevailing surgery fees. They were desperate for an affordable answer to their dilemma.

This isn't the first time Betsy Pullen’s spay/neuter efforts have been highlighted in the pages of this magazine. As the executive director of the Humane Society of Kent County, Michigan, for 23 years, Pullen has been in the field even longer than Animal Sheltering and its previous incarnation, Shelter Sense. In June 1978, a few months after the publication debuted, Pullen appeared on page 5 under the headline “Adoptors [sic] forfeit fewer deposits.” The story described the case of a local family who had violated its contract by failing to spay an adopted dachshund. A subsequent lawsuit by the humane society spurred the family into action and got the dog spayed; the legal maneuver had served as fair warning to the community that spay/neuter surgeries and adoption contracts were not to be taken lightly. As we celebrate the 50th anniversary of The HSUS and the 25th anniversary of Animal Sheltering, we also celebrate the legacy of people like Pullen—who not only raised the consciousness of her community but also raised a daughter who, like her mother, is dedicating her life to animal protection. Kate Pullen, who directed animal shelters in Virginia and Maryland, has been the director of animal sheltering issues at The HSUS since 2000.

In March 2001, a group of us—former staff, board members, and volunteers of our local humane society—met their need. We began operating a reduced-fee spay/neuter surgical suite out of a 26-foot-long custom-made van. From that day to the end of 2003, we have sterilized well over 10,000 dogs and cats that otherwise would not have been sterilized. If we assume that each of these animals would have been responsible for producing just six unplanned animals in their lifetimes (a very modest figure), we could claim that we easily have saved 60,000 unplanned dogs and cats the grief of being born into an already overcrowded world.

We set up in the parking lots of churches, schools, businesses, and nonprofit neighborhood organizations in economically depressed neighborhoods throughout Kent County and adjacent counties. Our clinical teams are seasoned professionals who have earned C-SNIP a reputation for excellence. Referrals come from word-of-mouth, from animal control and welfare organizations, from social welfare organizations, and from veterinarians.

We received start-up funds from both local and national foundations.

We operate anywhere from three to five days a week, depending on the availability of clinic staff, and sterilize anywhere from 22 to 27 animals per shift. Mindful of our mission to serve our community and our companion animals through education, legislation, and the services of a reduced-cost spay/neuter clinic, we sterilize only. No shots, just surgery. Besides sterilizing animals for people living on meager incomes, we assist those with multiple animals such as farmers with barn cats, and those trapping and releasing feral cats. We do not require a means test and do not refuse anyone our service; however, we discourage “shoppers,” those who can afford the surgery and intend to have their animals sterilized but are looking for the lowest price. Along with our surgery, we dispense information on responsible pet care and refer clients to full-service veterinarians when our clinical team detects a medical problem needing attention.

We are saving thousands of low-income animal caretakers the guilt and helplessness they feel in allowing their pets to produce litters, and are giving them, instead, often for the first time in their lives, the authority to control their animals’ reproduction. We are relieving the burdens of shelter workers who have been overwhelmed with the enormous numbers of animals they are expected to care for and place. We’re easing the cost of animal control. Further, with every animal we sterilize, we are reducing the numbers of animals roaming the streets and roads, making neighborhoods cleaner, safer, and healthier for both animals and people.

But most importantly, we’re saving animals’ lives by preventing the births of unplanned litters.

C-SNIP spells prevention, a proactive and proven response to the challenges of dog and cat overpopulation. We all understandably enjoy the warm and fuzzy story of a puppy or kitten being rescued and placed in a caring home. On the surface, surgery is not warm and fuzzy ... until you meet the grateful Social Security recipient whose landlord would let her keep her kitten only if he were neutered. Or the farmer whose barn cat population exploded, leaving him with upwards of two dozen fertile cats and kittens. Or the old man living on a disability check whose only companion is the stray dog he befriended. These are the people who bring their animals to C-SNIP.

Prevention in the form of spay/neuter surgery addresses the pet overpopulation dilemma before it develops. C-SNIP is aiming for the day when there are no longer animals needing rescue, when every animal born gets a loving home. Think of it: no more rescues ... We’ll just have to find our warm fuzzies somewhere else.

C-SNIP is unique to West Michigan but not to the nation. Stationary and mobile spay/neuter clinics are everywhere. But there are still not enough to meet the demand. Every community calling itself humane and progressive needs a program of prevention. It might be a clinic like ours or it might be a voucher program with local veterinarians. Whatever form it takes, it must assure that, until we control pet populations, no animal caretaker is denied access to the sterilization of his or her companion animal.

As for cardboard boxes, they’re all over the C-SNIP office. These boxes are packed with promise: warm and fuzzy stuff like scrubs, drapes, surgical instruments, gauzes—and I can’t wait to open them.

Betsy Pullen is a board member and volunteer for C-SNIP. Her essay originally appeared in Healing Garden Journal.