art by Ufo reptil
Tonka
I worked as an animal technician in a research lab, and I spent most of my time caring for the beagles. I was told not to get attached because they weren't pets but, as a dog lover, how could I not? I thought, if anything, we owed them a little attachment.
A few months in, the recovery period from a multi-year study was ending. There were eight dogs in that room that the staff knew well, even if they tried to remain unattached, and one even had a name–Tonka. He was generally referred to by name instead of his number: 0128.
Tonka was an extremely high-energy yet very overweight beagle. When you approached the room and all the dogs got excited, he had the loudest screeching bark that cut right through the heavy ear protection we wore.
He was so hyper that it was hard to get him back in his cage after letting him out to play during cleaning time, because he would push past you so hard and get the zoomies. And if you sat on the ground, he ran full speed and threw himself into your arms like you were his favorite person ever.
Even vet treatments were a whole thing with him. He needed regular medicated foot soaks due to interdigital cysts, and if you weren't careful, he'd knock the bowl over while relentlessly trying to explore the anteroom. Keeping him still for the 5-minute soak every day was definitely a challenge.
This group of eight was scheduled to be euthanized–standard protocol for dogs who had reached the maximum number of studies the facility allowed. Tonka was about 3 or 4 years old.
Fortunately, two of the dogs were adopted, one of them by me. I was originally thinking about adopting Tonka but chose another dog instead for many reasons, and I could not take both.
Unfortunately, the adoption policy was limited to employees and their close friends and family, so finding a home for more dogs was extremely difficult. The vet previously tried to find a home but with no success, and my coworkers didn't seem as involved as I felt I needed to be. I didn't know why they suddenly seemed to not care so much, even about Tonka, but later I understood why.
Before the euthanasias started, a coworker and I brought every kind of dog-safe food we had from the enrichment room, lined up the treats on the ground, and let each dog out individually to pick whatever they wanted. Most of the dogs only chose one or two things, but Tonka was not picky in the slightest and practically inhaled every single piece without missing a beat.
I pictured him under someone's dining room table scavenging for crumbs or causing havoc trying to get onto the table itself. We even got each dog's paw and nose prints and Tonka's was of course a whole process. He would have been a hilarious handful for whoever adopted him.
I tried to spend all my free time after that giving them lots of treats, playtime, and love. But as time went by, and I was too afraid to risk bending the rules of the adoption policy, I began to burn out. I started to just sit in the office like everybody else, overwhelmed with trying to make the dogs feel seen and loved.
We had over a hundred other beagles that deserved extra care too, but instead of giving my best even for one dog, I stopped giving anything at all. I finally understood why my coworkers didn't do more. They'd been through this before. They may have even started out like me, but the weight of the system was heavy. Nothing we did could ever feel like enough.
When Tonka was taken away, I didn't know when, nor did I ask. It was like part of me had stopped caring. He was Tonka, but he died as 0128. I stopped showing up for him when it mattered, and for that I'll never forgive myself.
There was one moment that stays with me the most. Back before their study ended, I was sitting on the ground in the room playing with the dogs and Tonka was running around the cages. His door was open and when he came by, he hit his head on the corner of it and yelped. Then he ran straight to me and climbed into my lap seeking comfort. I checked him out, saw he was ok, then gave him a little kiss on the head and just sat there petting him and talking to him. He was like a child, and I felt so protective of him in that moment. He trusted me to keep him safe. I thought I would.
Artist Statement
Ufo Reptil
The whole time I was drawing this piece, I kept thinking about how painful it is—the “What if?”, the “What would have been different if only...?” If only the social structure was not forcing people to exploit animals.
It’s sad to know that everybody, at least once, has hurt someone or was not able to defend someone because of how the system is embedded in each of us and how it is designed to be indifferent to suffering, forcing us to hurt each other, between us animals. What makes it especially difficult is that these systems existed long before we were born, and many of us are taught to accept them as normal and comply.
I hope that we all have the opportunity to see how this happens, so it can be a tool to help us rebel and change, so we can be against animal exploitation and prevent it from continuing in the future.
Every time I look at this artwork, my eyes are drawn to the top right, where I see Tonka walking alone towards an ending he didn't deserve, looking back at the love and care he should have always known. It hurts, but it captures that part of his story so powerfully. At the same time, the image of me hugging Tonka reminds me that even though it wasn't enough, the time he was seen and loved still happened. Thank you to the artist for creating such a meaningful representation of his story.
AUTHOR OF tonka