I stumbled upon a curious place in my recent holiday travels. While driving through the rolling hills of Pennsylvania, there in a small storefront on a lazy highway that led through an old worn-out town, was a bright neon sign. It looked new amongst the rusted poles and burned out lights of the adjacent signs. This had to be a well-funded organization. It read simply — wait, let me tell another part of the story first.

My mom, sister, Aunt Joan and my family all decided we wanted to enter the blissful world of puppy ownership. We had not thought much of it before but my daughter’s friend brought over her Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. He was only 2-years-old and was a fun little guy. His fur was mostly white with just enough brown splotches to make him irresistibly cute. His visit led to past childhood stories from mom and my aunt of the dogs they once owned. The crazy idea was then suggested that we all go out and get a puppy. Sarcastic laughs ensued and all types of banter was voiced on the work involved in owning a pet. We left the house without really concluding anything definite.

A week later, to our surprise, my sister sent us all a group text saying that she’s been really thinking about getting a dog for her kids. Unknowingly, the rest of us had also been thinking about getting a dog since the ‘King Charles’ had entered our lives and had never really left our minds. She told us she found a woman who owns a dog that was about to give birth to a litter. The puppies were pure-pedigree Maltese and the owner was giving us a great deal. We all agreed to buy one each. An appointment was set to go meet our new furry family members.

The exhilaration and tingling was almost tangible. Our goosebumps were at full attention. We were about to become the proud owners of incredibly delightful dogs. My kids were ecstatic as our caravan of four vehicles pulled up to the owner’s home.

When the woman answered the door, our excitement was arrested and replaced with shock. She verbally doused us all with a cold bucket of water as we heard the shocking news that she has taken the mama dog to “Planned Pethood.” It’s a place to take your dog and cat for an abortion. This was the same establishment that I had seen on the shiny bright sign in Pennsylvania. It must be a chain organization.

My kids and nephews were devastated. How could this woman have killed these precious unborn canines, especially when she knew we were responsible families who would pay her for them, not to mention how we would care for the pups. She explained that we only wanted four of them, yet there were six in the litter. The other two were unwanted, doomed to an existence of hardship, squalor and abandonment. She didn’t want to care for them so it seemed logical to simply get rid of the inconvenience while in utero before she could be charged with a crime post-birth. Afterall, they were not yet really puppies.

It’s possible this tall ‘tail’ actually happened. But maybe not. Can you imagine a well-funded organization that uses the term ‘Pet’ in their name yet they destroy most of the ones that enter their doors? Hard to believe, I know. Surely no such gas-chamber-type shop would be permitted to exterminate “man’s best friend” and other such domestic pets.

I am thankful that no such place exists for human babies. Imagine a friendly depot where a pregnant woman could enter to get rid of her “unviable tissue mass” as though she needed a tooth pulled? The absurdity of such a thought!

And this is the main business of ‘Planned Parenthood’ and other such “respectable establishments.” Abortion is their religion. Woe to us as a society.

jrw

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