Post One: Humane Society Ads

Over Christmas break, while trying out the whole sedentary lifestyle and spending 10+ hours on the couch daily, I came across many of the commercials for the Humane Society. You know, the ones that play the Sara McLaughlin music lightly in the background, while flashing video clip of abused, forlorn, injured animals that you'd expect to see walking the streets of a third world country - not in an American kennel.

If my mom was in the room, she would make me change the channel - lest she start crying over the pitiful faces.

This got me thinking: the Humane Society is missing their mark. Judging by the toll free number at the bottom of the screen, the society is banking on the fact that good-hearted Americans, waiting for their sitcom to come back from commercial break, will get out their wallets and donate. That is the goal of the commercial, I believe - to get donated funds.

But if so many good-hearted Americans, like my mother, are shocked into changing the channel ... do they even get to see the number to call? I bet they have already changed the channel. Does the target audience even make it to the uplifting message at the end - where these animals are loved back to health and adopted by a 7-year-old girl who really really REALLY wants a kitty? No - because that part of the commercial doesn't exist.

Maybe it's just me, but when I'm waiting for Ellen Degeneres to return from commercial break, I would much rather see a few sad clips of animals (if I must see any at all), and then see all of the animals getting adopted out to loving families. Seems like that would be much more effective... Because when I see those Humane Society ads, I don't want to donate money... I want to adopt. All of the little pitiful faces. Right now. Because my money will not treat them as well as I will, I know it!

(Yes, I will be 'The Cat Lady' in life - I have already resolved myself to this fate)

Now let me get off my soap-box.


Note: The dog at the top of the blog is my very own, affectionately called Mister Man (although his name is Xerxes). Despite his forlorn look, he does not have much to be depressed about. He has quite the sweet life - filled with walks, treats, bones, more love and attention than he could ever need, and naps on a big, queen sized bed - and I would trade him places any day.