I am a Afrikaans male in South Africa. When I was 12, I bought my first dachshund, and a year later, I got him a female friend. They ended up being very fruitful, having 30+ babies in their lifetime, it was good money, good fun and good dogs to put into the world. But I've killed one.
In one of the later batches, the female had about a litter of 6. One of them turned out to be disabled, lame. No movement or control in his hind legs. I've known about one in the past that was also lame, but my father dealt with him. He had put the puppy underwater, went for his morning jog, came back an put the body in a plastic bag, to be put in the trash truck once it came.
I understood why this was my father's method, he was a farmer, as all my friend's father's or grandfather's were. If a kettle was blemished, he would put it out. I understand this was a tragedy in their time, one of your few sources of resources coming out bad.
I was older now, it was my turn. I try to talk my father out of it, tell him that we could keep the lame dog, get a wheelchair, or get it a home of sympathetics. But this was not a possibility. I did the same as my father did.
I understand if what I did is a foreign notion to some of you, but in South Africa there are hundreds of bruised and starving street dogs in each town I've been, leaving this dog to someone had a high chance of making this dog crawl around the streets, dying in weeks. I get that if your family weren't farmers for 7 generations, that it seems evil. It's prevalent in western media, dogs being killed is a higher taboo than humans. That abortions of human fetuses are more acceptable than killing a disabled dog. I do not agree with this notion.
This is what I told myself when I was 15, but looking back. I was grateful for the opportunity. I wanted to prove that I was also a man now, that I had what it took to also be a masculine farmer. There were probably a 100 solutions for this puppy, but we chose the most economical one. The other day, I went fishing, I caught a mackerel, the fisherman put it into a bucket of water to use as bait later, I saw the mackerel slowly suffocation in its water, it reminded me of what happened long ago.
Sometimes I hear a word that reminds me of this dogs name, the name my younger brother gave it. Then I forget it, maybe subconsciously suppress it. Do you think my dog would still lick away my tears, if he know why I was crying?
Just food for thought, thanks for reading.