My animal disposal career
By Mary Kathryn Dunlop
A friend of mine recently found a dead bird on her driveway. Unlike most of us who would likely throw the bird in the garbage, possibly without even bagging it, my friend hesitated and thought the issue through. She did not wish to breach any public health guidelines pertaining to disposal of dead animals, even a small bird that is low on the food chain.
A couple of incidents involving animal carcasses have hardened me, so I was amused by the consideration my friend afforded a dead bird.
Driving on Highway 15, my husband and I once saw with dismay that a dog was lying on the side of the road. I persuaded my husband to stop the car. The dog was dead, but I worried that children might get off the school bus and find their beloved pet. We got a blanket from the trunk of the car and fashioned a makeshift stretcher to carry the dog up the long driveway of the nearest house and deliver the sad news to the dog’s owner.
“Not our dog. Never seen that dog before.”
We carried the dog back to where we found him. My husband declined to try other houses. Reluctantly we left the dog at the side of the road and drove away.
We live on the river. Those familiar with the Rideau know it has an inimitable scent, but the odour that June was more pungent than usual. One hot summer day, I finally found the source – it was a ripe and rotting raccoon carcass lodged under the dock.
“After all it is Father’s Day,” said my husband as he handed me a bucket and shovel.
It took me a while to gather the bits of the racoon into the pail. Gagging, I gave the remains of Rocky a burial in the backyard, but it was by no means a spiritual ceremony.
I declined to take the raccoon’s tail. One of my regrets in life is that I did not take the tails from raccoons I found as roadkill over the years. I entertained this idea when I bought my first car and travelled the roads of Western Ontario as a child welfare officer. Had I followed up, I likely could have wall-to-wall raccoon carpeting throughout my house by now.
When I now see a dead animal on the road, I drive or walk around it. If I find a small creature (bird or chipmunk proportions), I bag it and throw it in the garbage. If it is medium-sized (squirrel), I bury it in the yard. If it is larger (raccoon or ground hog), I call the city. Mercifully I don’t find that many dead animals.
My friend is less cavalier than I and did not throw the bird away. Wearing disposable gloves, she carefully placed the bird in a plastic bag and telephoned the city to ask for advice on disposal protocol. The officer on the other end of the line indicated that the city would pick up bodies of larger animals but generally did not pick up birds.
“Maybe the Humane Society could help?”
The Humane Society was sympathetic and told my friend to bring the bird to their offices and they would dispose of the remains. They shared her concerns about public health but were also concerned that the bird be handled with respect.
When my friend told me her story, of course I joked. After all, it wasn’t as though it was her pet bird. I am ashamed to admit that I am that kind of person.
“Will they cremate the bird? What if they cremate the bird in tandem with some unclaimed cats? Will there be a ceremony? Did they invite you to attend?”
But then I stopped, and I was grateful for people like my friend and the officer at the Humane Society, grateful that there are still people who care and respect each other and all living things.
Kathryn Dunlop lives in Ottawa.
