— By Dr. Henri Bianucci, Board-Certified Veterinary Surgeon
Dr. Kathryn Taylor, one of the wonderful veterinary oncologists with whom I (Henri Bianucci) work, was performing an examination in her typical focused and precise manner. Her assistants were dutifully providing gentle restraint to the patient, who seemed calm and compliant. From where my view began, this looked like a small, but very puffy animal, like maybe a big pomeranian. But upon closer inspection, the appearance of fur gave way to feathers. Although all of the other actors in this scene appeared as usual, the one in the starring role, usually played by a cat or a dog, was a chicken.
This particular chicken was another victim of Hurricane Irma. She was one of a pair of hens that had been raised by a local elementary school where they are beloved, and all of the students participate in their care. When the school was going to be closed for the hurricane, the pair were evacuated to one of the parents' homes. There, unfortunately, the resident dogs broke into their cages and attacked them. One suffered some lacerations, but would heal on her own. This one had a painfully mangled wing, which had become gangrenous. Without surgery, she would likely become septic and die.
The bird was placed under general anesthesia, a tracheal tube was placed and she was monitored exactly as you or I would be. Her wing was surgically amputated, and her recovery was so smooth that the next morning she rewarded us with a beautiful, blue egg.
It was a scene filled with compassion and contradiction. This same medical team would be aghast at a menu serving parrot, not to mention dog or cat. Yet the species of animal for which they are presently and concernedly providing care, would receive no such consideration. Your consciousness can be informed from many, and sometimes unexpected, sources. The other day I read a quote by none other than Miley Cyrus. She said something to the effect that if you eat meat, you may well be a pet lover, but you are not an animal lover.
As a veterinarian I have spent a great deal of my life dedicated to the cause of helping animals. Whether they are the animals presented to me professionally, strays or wildlife, once they come into my sphere, I will do what I can to treat their illnesses and provide comfort and safety. If someone were to ask me if I would ever personally inflict pain on an animal, it would seem almost ludicrous. At least that is how I had always seen it. But, others observing my life have provided a very different view.
I am currently transitioning, with some difficulty, to life as a vegetarian. This change was really prompted by years of my vegetarian daughters looking on in bewilderment that their veterinarian “animal lover” father could support the meat industry. It was a contrast that they have never been able to reconcile. They see a very clear association between the meat in the store and the often horrific aspects of factory farming.
Every year 9 billion chickens are killed in the United States for meat. The vast majority spend their entire miserable existence in total confinement until they are killed. So why did the chicken in our story get a pass? What did this bird do to deserve to be treated with humanity and compassion, while the suffering of 9 billion others should be ignored? It was simply that it is recognized as an individual. Its identity was derived from the fact that this bird has meaning in the lives of the children. That her life means something to them sets her apart, and only then are we able to acknowledge that she also can feel pain, suffering and fear. Only then are we willing to afford her compassion.
I can imagine my readers' eyes rolling, but I am also reminded almost weekly that this situation may yet change. A recent patient was just an average-looking hound mix with a fractured spine. The required surgery was going to be very difficult and expensive. It was likely to involve a prolonged recovery period and a less than certain outcome. The client was a farmer in his eighties. Through his tears he explained that when he was younger, they would have just shot this dog, and gotten another one. “Back then, they were just another animal on the farm,” he said. “They had their purpose, but we didn’t get attached. But this one is special. He’s part of the family.”
I thought to myself that this dog isn’t really special. He’s no different than all of the dogs in the world, past and present. What makes him special is that he has meaning to his owner's life. And for that he merits care instead of a bullet. But does it make sense that whether an animal deserves compassion or not is predicated upon whether it means something to someone? To a pet lover, maybe, but not to an animal lover.
Dr. Henri Bianucci and Dr. Perry Jameson are with Veterinary Specialty Care LLC. Send questions to petdocs@postandcourier.com.
