by Kristina K.Summers

Created on: March 29, 2009

A first hand account of tail docking:

I have owned dogs all my life, but never thought much about how certain breeds got their distinctive look until I actually owned a Boxer. She came to us as a rescue dog, having been severely abused and impregnated so many times that her belly hung to the ground even though she was only four years old. She came to us with a broken spirit and a belly full of puppies, which were soon born in our kitchen.

I didn't know much about the "proper" procedures for purebred dogs having only owned mutts up to that point. My husband insisted that the puppies would not be able to be sold unless they had their tails docked and reluctantly I agreed. I called our vet and turns out that this process has to be taken care of within the first 48 hours or so of life, otherwise the puppies may bleed to death. That news in itself was enough to give me pause. Nevertheless I packed up our eight tiny puppies and their exhausted mother and drove them to the vet.

The doctor ushered us into a room of wall to wall stainless steel that smelled of antiseptic. I saw the drain in the middle of the floor and my heart sank as I realized that it was put there to wash away blood and other fluids.

I was told to put the box of puppies down and to remove the mother from the room. I paused and looked at him and he assured me it was only a precaution, that some mother dogs become highly agitated at the sound of the puppies cries.

In my mind I was thinking, "well imagine that, a mother upset when her babies are in pain." I dragged my dog out of the room. She seemed to have developed a new kind of strength, despite just giving birth and was extremely anxious to be being taken away from her litter. I had to use both hands and physically restrain her to keep her from bolting loose.

An assistant of some sort, a pleasant looking older woman showed us to a waiting area just down the hall and as I sat down in the threadbare chair, this woman patted my poor dog and gave her a sad little look. Then she walked away. I concentrated on calming my dog.

She refused to be settled...and then the real trouble began. Even from down the hall I could hear the squeals and screams only made when an animal (or human for that matter) is in mortal pain. Poor momma dog went nuts, jumping and straining against her leash. As I tried to restrain her, she actually turned and snapped at me. She had such a look of crazed panic in her eyes. In that moment I understood her feelings, but of course it was too

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