There was a bit of an argument last week between the RCMP and people in Campbell River.
In early November, an 11-year-old girl in Kyuquot Sound was attacked and seriously bitten by some stray dogs. (The remote First Nations community is suffering from a feral-dog problem.)
The officers who responded to the situation chose not to destroy the animals immediately, but to capture them and release them farther away from civilization. The RCMP defends this as a typical decision, up to the discretion of the officers at the scene.
Some Campbell River residents, however, were appalled by this treatment of the animals, and are condemning the RCMP’s decision to abandon the dogs on the beach.
Last Friday, RCMP Chief Superintendent Ray Bernoties responded to criticisms in the Courier Islander newspaper by writing a letter to the editor, in which he stated: “I can’t help but think that if an 11-year-old girl in an affluent neighbourhood in your area had been attacked by dogs, you would’ve shown at least some concern for the girl as well as the dogs.”
The Campbell River resident who rescued and is caring for the animals argues that it was inhumane.
I have nothing to add to the bones of this narrative, but I’m fascinated by how it’s being framed. Were the dogs left in the wilderness to die of starvation and exposure, or were the feral animals relocated to save their lives and protect public safety in Kyuquot Sound?
Those who criticized the police have emphasized the plight of the dogs and the outcry on their behalf; the officers’ decision to “abandon” them on a cold, desolate beach is only contextualized later. Obviously, I took a different angle in my third paragraph: I presented the dogs’ relocation as preferable to killing them, making the whole thing sound sensible and responsible. The way I’ve framed this story clearly indicates where I stand on the matter.
I am uncomfortable about the choice to focus on the dogs’ well-being, because the RCMP didn’t abandon them arbitrarily — they responded to an attack on a child. (A human child, in case we’d forgotten.) I don’t necessarily believe in the equation that a dog that bites must be destroyed, but to remove the attack (she was seriously bitten, guys) from the decision-making process is disgusting, and I don’t care how cute the dogs are.
I’m reacting so vehemently against the “poor widdle woggies” reading of this story because it smacks of typical white-person-itis.
Why is there so much more outrage on the dogs’ behalf than sympathy for the First Nations girl who was attacked? Seriously — why do we do this?
One detail that has been reported is the Campbell River resident’s observation that she can find no signs of aggression in the dogs.
That would be great, except that someone else did find signs of aggression in the dogs, i.e., the child they attacked.
The RCMP’s decision on the dogs’ treatment had everything to do with putting human welfare first, and it’s ugly to see how that got lost. Heck, maybe the people who saved the dogs didn’t become aware of that until later — but now that we know, we should be able to adjust our opinions accordingly.
At the end of the day, animals are easy — especially the domesticated ones, the ones we anthropomorphize. They’re capable of feeling, but not morality, and that means they’re without sin. They can’t knowingly do wrong and that puts us in a very comfortable position, because it’s our responsibility to love them, care for them and take responsibility for them. That’s an easy relationship to wrap our heads around.
Human beings are harder. We’re far more comfortable extending sympathy to animals, because of course animals can’t know any better, while every human has the potential for culpability. We can’t think of each other as guiltless in the same way as our pets, and wow, isn’t that messed up when it takes us to a place where we have more sympathy for a dog than a child?
Do I wish these dogs a happy rehabilitation and a good home? Of course. But I find it disturbing how quickly we forget that the welfare of a child trumps the welfare of a dog any day.