For years, our firm had been wooing this client, one who did not fit our typical profile. The chase was all about proving that we would be a great fit because we had designed similar projects for other clients. Our firm was finally granted an opportunity to propose renovations to a building with laboratory and office space. Despite the short schedule, low budget, and challenging conditions (the building was a difficult space in which to work), we were eager to prove our value.

During a tour of the site, we came upon row upon row of animals in cages. Labs keep animals in cages for one reason only.

Years before, my partner and I had discussed what we didn’t want to design: Prisons. Private homes (“marriage counseling,” in my mind). We never spoke of animal testing. Throughout my career, the projects I’d been involved with focused on basic life activities — work, learning, commerce. This was death, and its presence was chilling.

Proponents of animal testing would argue that it saves human lives. I couldn’t get past its cloak of death.

The prospect of designing an animaltesting lab touched off a debate in our office. Since we had never designed such a facility, some cited practical considerations for staying away from the project. Others cynically offered: “Someone else will do it if we don’t.” Many of our staff asked us to drop out of the running; they made clear that if we remained in contention and were successful, they could not in good conscience work on the project. Their passion was real, and it was compelling.

I began to think about the implications of removing the firm from contention. Would it put us at a disadvantage for future work? When you refuse a project, do clients come back? Was it a hollow gesture? Would doing so change anything?

We decided to pull out of the competition without issuing any grand statements. Nor did we try to make a larger point about the ethical treatment of animals. The project was ultimately designed by another firm. It would be a decade before we were awarded a project with this client, and this time, there was no animal testing. There were no rewards for what we did, nor should there be.

But I will always recall the talk around the family dinner table during that time, conversations with my children that revolved around our own dog and all the animals we loved. I also had silent inner conversations about the many ways humans are cruel to animals; wondering if society would one day be able to consider animal testing as a barbaric relic, unnecessary and hopelessly archaic. Most of all, I’ll never forget my daughter’s voice stating simply, quietly, and clearly: “You’re not going to do this, are you, Dad?”