Fist, Meet Wall, Part II

I hope this doesn't sound frivolous--but if it does, well, damnit, so be it. Guilty as charged. Yes, so many people have lost so much--loved ones, friends, family, or everything they owned in the storm. So many people are sick, suffering, and DYING, if not in New Orleans itself, then in strange cities, warehoused wherever there's space--after being ignored...Humans treated as so much cargo. Like animals.

And I'm writing a post about...animals.

NPR, the Pic blog (I think), and the WWL blog (reasonably sure) all ran stories about a particular child who was forced to abandon his pet as he boarded an evacuation bus today. The boy cried so hard he vomited.

That's not the only story I've seen about people being forced to abandon their pets. But I think this particular instance really stood out for me. It's a pretty safe bet this kid isn't exactly what you'd call a fortunate son--like a certain clown that carts his own canine on Air Force One. You know, I'll bet he didn't have so much as two nickels to rub together most of the time...but he did have one thing: a dog. You know, "man's best friend." I'll bet that kid and his dog were inseparable, in a way that only kids and dogs can be. And I KNOW that kid and his dog stuck together, through and through, for five days in the hell-on-earth in post-storm New Orleans, in that special way anyone who's ever had a dog or cat, or any variety of "little one" can relate to:

In one example reported last week by The Associated Press, a police officer took a dog from one little boy waiting to get on a bus in New Orleans. "Snowball! Snowball!" the boy cried until he vomited. The policeman told a reporter he didn't know what would happen to the dog.

At the hospital, a doctor euthanized some animals at the request of their owners, who feared they would be abandoned and starve to death. He set up a small gas chamber out of a plastic-wrapped dog kennel.

And yeah, call me sentimental, but that either makes me want to cry or slam my fist so hard into the wall that it's not even funny. (Full disclosure: yes, I'm a pet owner--a cat).

And yes, pets are small concern compared to the ocean of human suffering--Aaron Broussard's statement this morning is riveted in my brain right now--but this otherwise brush-off story of a little boy, who, in his formative years, has probably borne more pain--and demonstrated more strength--than the entire goddamn gang of criminals not even pretending to govern in the public interest--struck a chord in me. Tonight, he's probably in a shelter somewhere, in an emotional state beyond grief. His best friend is gone forever, thanks to the laziness, the utter disdain, and the callous lack of concern displayed by those running the show.

He won't even get an apology.

Fuckers.