The Bible tells us that there is a time and place for everything under the Sun. And since Jesus was a carpenter, I’m sure that all his tools were in the right place when he needed them. I don’t know if you’ve ever worked with an accomplished tradesman, but if you have, you know that a sure-fire way to hear them cuss is to put the tools they are handing you back in the wrong place, or, even worse, not put them up at all. We’ve all been to Wal-Mart and headed to the aisle where our item of interest is commonly located only to find that the entire aisle has been relocated to some nebulous place in the store that makes sense only to upper management at Wal-Mart. I feel like they are unusually concerned about our health. They seem to like to keep us walking. Try to find the garden fertilizer in late-August and you will see what I mean. There will already be Halloween candy in that spot.
As human beings, we like to have continuity. We need to have confidence that things are where we left them. We need to feel like we have a reasonable amount of control over the things we care about. We put our car in the garage because we want to protect it from the weather, theft, and vandalism. We put our gold, cash, and precious items in a safe that only we can open. I don’t shoot my Grandaddy’s old guns, but you can bet that I protect them like the priceless items that they are. Upon death, we put the bodies of our precious loved ones in a casket or urn and keep them in a cemetery or other special, designated place in order to maintain their dignity and our connection with them. We can’t tolerate the idea of throwing away precious items just because we rarely or never use them anymore. They have a place, and we need to know that they are in that place.
Not long ago, my family had the difficult experience of having to put down our dog, Caesar. Caesar was an enormous black Labrador Retriever, and he was the very definition of a good boy. Caesar lived for his family and when he got too sick to carry on with comfort and dignity, his family made the right choice for him. Caesar was not just a dog. He was part of our family, and his memory still is. Caesar is buried right behind my house in the designated pet cemetery where all our furry family members eventually end up. Caesar didn’t become trash the moment he drew his last breath. Like my deceased human family, Caesar is in his place.
As many of you know, I was born to be a funeral director. Like my mother, grandparents, and great-grandparents before me, my career chose me at conception. As much as I fought to do what I wanted to do, I was always led back to where I belong. And now, I am in my place. Being in my place has taught me about what we value and what we expect from those we entrust with things that are precious to us. When a family leaves the remains of their loved one in my care, they expect me to understand that what I am caring for is more than just remains. I am caring for the hands that stroked their forehead when they were sick. I am entrusted with the face that was there when they awoke every day. I am sheltering the arms that held them when they couldn’t hold it together themselves. It’s more than a body. It’s a precious, valuable connection to a relationship that will never die. I am entrusted to make sure that everything ends up where it’s supposed to go. Everything has a place.
It should come as no surprise to anyone at this point that we have an animal problem in our county. There is a never-ending supply of unwanted, lost, or stray animals that must be dealt with by someone. Most of us don’t like thinking about what happens to those animals, and I can assure you that if you investigate it, you won’t like what you find out. What you will find out is that we don’t have as much of an animal problem as we do a people problem. Out of sight, out of mind is a powerful motivator to do nothing. So, when images recently surfaced of dead pets allegedly being dumped in the household garbage area of the local county landfill, many people were shocked and outraged, and naturally wanted to find out who is at fault.
The truth is that this is a common practice in many cities and counties. The truth is that it is not the animals, but the humans who are the problem. The truth is that the least among us have no place. When they are gathered up and summarily killed because they are unwanted or euthanized by a caring family that doesn’t have the space or ability to properly dispose of these animals, the bodies pile up and have nowhere to go. The humans don’t value them enough to even have a designated area of the landfill to humanely and hygienically dispose of them. They become, in effect, garbage.
We immediately try to blame the animal rescues, the veterinarians, and law enforcement, but that blame is misplaced. The blame is ours. Our elected officials make the decisions about these issues, and we, the voters, have chosen these people to represent us. Our elected officials are a reflection of our own values. It wouldn’t cost anything to designate an area for proper disposal of animals. We have a gigantic hole in the middle of the county that we already shove old refrigerators, furniture, and construction waste into. We already have the backhoes, dump trucks, and bulldozers to move the dirt. What we don’t have is the understanding by those in control that this matters to us. And until we, as voters, make our concerns known, nothing will change. We can, and must, do better. Everything has a place, including the least of us.