Veterinary School at Center of Cat and Dog Fight

In “Black Beauty,” it was easy to line up the sides in the cruelty-to-animals debate. Horses were either humanely treated or they were not. You cared about them or you didn’t.

Today, in eastern Washington, a small but vocal group of animal-rights activists argues against using dogs and cats from Spokane County Animal Shelter for studies at Washington State University’s School of Veterinary Medicine.

“There’s a lot of emotion here,” says Dr. Robert Wilson, dean of the university’s vet school.

Dr. Gherry Pettit, head of small-animal surgery at the vet school, calls it an unfair fight. “I’m uncomfortable being cast in the role of the villain,” he says.

Tammy Burrell, chairman of the Committee to End Pound Seizure, thinks it’s rather clear.

‘Pets Deserve Better’

“We are not talking about halting human progress in any way,” she says. “What we are saying is that our former pets deserve better than this.”

Marianne Niemczyk, director of the Spokane County Animal Shelter, thinks it’s all “so very sad,” but so is a lot of her job.

Last year the county shelter sold the university $8,915 worth of animals; 573 dogs at $15 each and 64 cats at $5 each.

All told, the shelter took in 3,176 dogs and 1,106 cats, had 785 dogs “redeemed” by owners and found others to adopt 316 dogs and 110 cats.

The rest stayed five days and then either went to the university or were killed.

“Euthanized,” it’s called. Niemczyk and her staff inject them with sodium pentobarbital for the work.

Without the university contract, Niemczyk says, the 85 dog pens and 25 cat cages would be full more often. Without it, the county would have to come up with more money for the drugs used to kill those not claimed in five days.

Just as important for her, says Niemczyk, is the fact that each dog or cat that goes to the vet school means “one less that I have to hold and shoot sodium pentobarb into.”

A vegetarian herself, Niemczyk finds some objectors hypocritical. “What do they eat for dinner?” she asks.

Such contracts aren’t new, says Pettit, who graduated from the University of California, Davis, in 1953.

Contracts Quietly Handled

“Historically, what has happened for the last 30 years or more, is that schools would go out to the pounds and contract quietly,” Pettit explains.

In the 1970s, the vet school asked for a contract with Spokane’s animal shelter. The issue was put to the voters in a referendum and was approved by a 4-1 margin.

In 1978, the city bowed to pressure from its humane society and the contract moved to the county.

This year, the county commission listened to the newly formed committee, then voted 2 to 1 to continue the contract for another year.

Commissioner-elect Pat Mummey will take the place of one of those who voted for it.

A terse phone call a week before the November election offered her 2,800 votes if she would agree to vote against the university contract, she says.

She turned it down.

Third-year vet students have a surgical lab class that uses seven dogs a semester for each group of three to four students. Senior vet students study cats.

Each animal undergoes two surgical procedures. In the first, a minor incision is made. The second is a more serious procedure, after which the dog is put to death with anesthesia.

Surgery students are entirely responsible for their lab animals throughout the two weeks each is at the vet school kennel.

‘Few Tears Shed’

“There are a few tears shed when they have to say goodby,” Pettit admits.

On a lab day at the school, the end of a furry black muzzle is barely visible at the end of the table as three third-year students move carefully through the day’s work.

The assignment is the shoulder joint; the goal, to understand the muscles and bones within. How they work together, how to fix them when something goes wrong.

An hour before the first cut, students start with the preparations now standard for all modern-day surgery. The patient’s left leg is scrubbed, shaved and scrubbed again. In the operating room, sterile drapes surround the incision.

Reed Holyoak, a student, monitors the dog’s vital signs and adjusts anesthesia accordingly.

Other students point out the patient’s crusty nose, which indicates that she has been ill recently. Another notes that the dog’s toenails are worn down to nubs--”She’s been on the street a long time.”

“You hate to use human terms to discuss dogs, but we do,” Tom Baldwin says.

They discuss the patient’s lineage. “She’s a Lab.” “No, a Newfoundland.” “I think she’s a Labrador-Newfoundland mix.”

This is the team’s sixth dog of the semester. Holyoak shudders, remembering the first time they came to the end of the second operation and had to give the injection that killed the animal.

“The hardest thing for these students is putting these dogs to sleep,” Pettit says.

Many Changes Since ’61

Dean Wilson says many things have changed since he graduated from the vet school in 1961. In those days, the operating room was in an abandoned chicken coop.

“The noticeable thing is that we are all more sensitive to recognizing pain in our patients,” Pettit says. “When I was in school--one, I don’t think we were as apt to look for it. Two, I think we were convinced it was a normal part of things.”

As at many schools, a campus committee with representatives from many departments must approve all research that involves animals. The point is to avoid unnecessary pain and suffering. Agencies that offer grants and journals that publish research results also check that area, Pettit says.

All first-year vet students now get a course in ethics and values, Wilson notes. Among the major lessons, he says, is the message that “there are a lot of things that are gray.”

A few of the animals are used in research and teaching in radiology and pharmacology. Videotapes have been a godsend in helping students learn about drugs and their effects, Pettit says.

Strychnine, for instance--a common animal poison and an ugly way to die. Muscle contractions, painful contortions. As horrible as it is, vets need to be able to recognize the symptoms quickly.

Training vet students in surgical procedures is crucial, Pettit says. “To study veterinary medicine without dogs would be like studying piano for four years without a piano until the night of your concert.

Human Benefits Cited

“There’s a litany of better health for humans” from animal research, Pettit adds. The discovery of insulin, open-heart surgery, polio vaccine, even sterile surgical techniques--all started with work that involved animals, he notes.

“These animals do not contribute to lifesaving experiments for humans,” Burrell insists. “Rather, they are used for veterinary students to ‘practice’ on. The animals are cut open twice, then killed.”

The alternative to pound animals is raising dogs and cats at the university. The cost would be $200 to $275 per dog, Pettit guesses, but there are other issues besides money.

“Right now, we’re using dogs that are going to be killed,” he says. “Here, they’re going to be used by future vets who are going to be helping animals for the rest of their lives.

“Raising dogs for this is something else.”