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The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

Homeless Pets Healed By Free Vet Twice Monthly Clinic In Seattle May Be One Of A Kind

New York Times

Every second and fourth Saturday dozens of people go to the basement of the Union Gospel Mission to see Dr. Stanley Coe. They carry oddly sagging duffel bags or push grocery carts covered with blankets. They have cats that will not eat unless the owners are next to them and dogs that have chewed hindquarters until no hair remains.

The Doney Memorial Pet Clinic, in its 12th year, may be the lone free clinic for pets of homeless and indigent people in the nation. Situated near the original Skid Row, the clinic has served more than 7,200 animals.

The legends include one about Irish Jack, who drank himself to death, leaving behind his dog, and another about Joe and his dog Freeway, who died together in a burning abandoned trailer. Coe had to remove one of Freeway’s eyes after an accident, and Joe’s other dog, Theresa, was hit by a car when Joe was in jail drying out.

The nicer stories include one about Kadatha, a shepherd-rottweiler mix who protected his owner, Jeani Coolbaugh, through two and a half years on the street.

Another is about Umista and Tyger, pit bulls who keep people from sitting next to Norma Harris.

When Harris took the dogs for vaccinations, she followed Coe’s instructions, scratching behind their ears to distract them while he vaccinated them. He laughed when they licked his face.

Pet ownership can be an incentive for homeless people to get back on their feet, to provide for their animals, said Coe, a colleague of the late founder of the clinic, Dr. Charles Doney. The people, Coe said, often take better care of their animals than they do of themselves.

“It’s unconditional love they get from their pet,” he added. “It doesn’t matter if they’re an alcoholic or have a problem with drugs. I’m sure that keeps them going longer than they would otherwise.”

Many visitors are no longer in touch with their families and spend 24 hours a day with their animals, who become particularly sociable. “That bond between them is really strong,” the veterinarian said.

Every other week he and helpers deliver eight cartons of donated medical supplies and bags of donated food to the mission, a center for the homeless. The volunteers see up to 70 patients in the two hours they work. Coe refers animals with broken legs or other serious ailments to Elliott Bay Animal Hospital, his regular practice, where he usually renders free treatment.

The requests to the clinic can include the unusual.

“One lady came in and said, ‘Do you see rabbits?”’ recalled a volunteer, Don Rolf. “She had a very large backpack on her back and unzipped it. There must’ve been eight rabbits in there. We looked them over. They were fine.”

The clinic also sees occasional birds and pot-bellied pigs. The animals have names like Major Pain, BoBoe, Cuddles and Alvin. The dogs wear spiked collars, stars-and-stripes bandanas or, a few years back, handknit sweaters made by volunteers from a nearby church.

The dogs look like they are chosen for their beseeching eyes. They are not decorative, but edgy guardians who protect their owners on streets where the homeless are frequent victims of violence.

Donovan Wright, a man in his 20s with tattered thermal underwear showing through torn jeans, had Eek, a 3-year-old rottweiler-pit bull cross with a sore ear. “She’s my best friend and companion,” Donovan said. “She won’t turn her back on me like, like all the others.”