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Haunted by memories of Animal Abuse
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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. — This columnist can be reached at collegian@csufresno.edu |
