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<td width="343" valign="bottom"><p class="date"><!-- InstanceBeginEditable name="date" --><a href="../default.html">11/19/03 • Vol.
127, No. 37</a><!-- InstanceEndEditable --></p></td>
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<td align="left" valign="top"><!-- InstanceBeginEditable name="sectionheadlines" --><a href="haunted.jsp">Haunted
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<h1>Haunted by memories of Animal Abuse</h1>
<p class="byline">By Nick Berman</p>
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<p>As I wait in my philosophy class for it to begin, I am haunted by memories
of this very science building that this course is held in. Mentally tortured
by the events of a past summer that cannot be forgotten.</p>
<p> In my younger days of Fresno life, I became involved with—and later
mentally entangled by—a summer program that exposde local high
school kids, to the world of medicine in action. I leapt at the opportunity,
as I love science and the impending Matlock reruns held nearly zero interest
for those younger than 60 without cable. </p>
<p> The program started earnestly enough. I spent quite a few hours counting
white blood cells from slides, familiarizing myself with neutrophils
and others WBCs. Things were wonderful, learning about blood, its reaction
to injury and many other subjects in relation to blood cell counts, until
we took a field trip to Fresno State. </p>
<p> Fresno State—the place of learning, of higher education, and the
lab where research was occurring. Entering a room in the Science Building,
there were rows of cages and the smell of cedar shavings. The many cages
contained rabbits and rats, and though I had seen many animals like this
before at pet stores, this place did not have the feeling of Whitie’s.
It felt like the animals were aware of something impending. </p>
<p> For those who might dispute that animals have a sense of danger, I
ask who is the first creature to jump ship with something is wrong? The
rats. </p>
<p> It was not until after we moved to the lab and saw what had been done
that made me gasp. I saw in the laboratory cages, two rats sitting
in the far corners of their enclosures. Having always liked rats, I approached
only to stop with my mouth clinched in horror.</p>
<p> I gasped when I saw the rats with a rectangle of skin on their back
that had been ripped off on three sides and then sloppily stapled back
together.
The rat’s skin was unhealthy, discolored and festering. Parts of
their skin were black, a blotchy red from the blood and fleshy matter
that lie underneath, and a slight greenish hue. </p>
<p> I thought from the physical condition that I observed that these rodents
must be dead, so I moved closer still considering how these poor rats
had to die. It was when I stood about three feet from the enclosure
that the rat nearest to me rose from its slumber and made its way to
its water
bottle, very sluggishly and in anguish. </p>
<p> Still beheld by the poor mammal, I approached the cage ever so slightly
only to have it observe my movement, register that I was there and
move as hastily as it could away from myself in its terrified state with
a
sorrowful squeak. </p>
<p> The rat was so tremendously terrified by my presence—because I
was human like its doctors—that it pushed itself as far back in
its cage as possible, pushing what uninjured skin it had against the
bars, only able to whimper if I dare come any nearer. I dropped out of
the program immediately.</p>
<p> These rats were part of the trial to reproduce the results of another
study, in an effort to show others how to attain precision in experimentation. </p>
<p> They were not saving lives, they were just a part of something that
was grotesque and horrifying. It was not until this year that I decided
to
talk with the head of animal testing here on campus, to get answers
to some issues, which will be discussed next week.</p>
<p> <strong>— This columnist can be reached at collegian@csufresno.edu</strong></p>
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