HOW COULD YOU?
By Jim Willis, 2001
When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you
laugh. You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed
shoes and a couple of
murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend.
Whenever I was "bad," you'd shake your finger at me and ask
"How could you?"
-- but then you'd relent and roll me over for a belly rub.
My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you
were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those
nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and
secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect.
We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for
ice cream (I only got
the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs"
you said),
and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come
home at the end of the
day.
Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your
career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you
patiently, comforted
you through heartbreaks and disappointments,
never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your
homecomings, and when you fell in love.
She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" -- still I welcomed her
into
our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was
happy
because you were happy. Then the human babies came along
and I shared
your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness,
how they smelled,
and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and
you worried that I might
hurt them, and I spent most of my time
banished to another room, or to a dog
crate.
Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love."
As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur
and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes,
investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved
everything about them and their touch -- because your touch was
now so infrequent --
and I would've defended them with my life if
need be.
I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries
and secret dreams,
and together we waited for the sound of your
car in the driveway.
There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that
you
produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories
about me.
These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed
the subject.
I had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you
resented every
expenditure on my behalf. Now, you have a new career
opportunity in
another
city, and you and they will be moving to an
apartment that does not allow pets.
You've made the right decision
for your "family," but there was a time when
I was your only family.
I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal
shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness.
You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good
home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They
understand
the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with
"papers."
You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar
as he screamed,
"No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!"
And I worried for
him,
and what lessons you had just taught him
about friendship and loyalty,
about love and responsibility, and
about respect for all life.
You gave me a good-bye
pat on the head, avoided my eyes,
and
politely
refused to take my collar and leash with you. You
had a deadline to meet
and now I have one, too. After you left,
the two nice ladies said you
probably
knew about your upcoming
move months ago and made no attempt to find
me another good
home. They shook their heads and asked "How could you?"
They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy
schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite
days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the
front, hoping it was
you that you had changed your mind -- that this
was
all a bad dream... or I hoped it would at least be someone who
cared,
anyone who might save me.
When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for
attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a
far corner and waited. I heard her footsteps as she came for me at
the end of the day,
and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate
room. A blissfully quiet
room. She placed me on the table and rubbed
my ears, and told me not
to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation
of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The
prisoner of love had run out of days.
As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which
she bears weighs
heavily on her, and I know that, the same way I knew
your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg
as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used
to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic
needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing
through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and
murmured "How could you?"
Perhaps because she understood my dog speak, she said "I'm so sorry."
She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make
sure I went to a
better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or
abused
or abandoned, or have to fend for myself -- a place of
love and light so very
different from this earthly place. And with
my last bit of energy, I tried to
convey to her with a thump of
my tail that my "How could you?"
was not directed at her.
It was directed at you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of you.
I will think of you and wait for you forever. May everyone in your
life continue to show you so much loyalty.
A Note from the Author:
If "How Could You?" brought tears to your eyes
as you read it,
as it did to mine as I wrote it, it is because it is
the composite
story
of the millions of formerly "owned" pets who die
each year
in American & Canadian animal shelters.
Please use this to
help educate, on your websites, in newsletters,
on
animal shelter and vet office bulletin boards. Tell the public
that the
decision to add a pet to the family is an important one
for life, that
animals deserve our love and sensible care, that
finding another
appropriate home for your animal is your
responsibility and any
local humane society or animal welfare
league can offer you good
advice, and that all life is precious.
Please do your part to stop the
killing.
Please pass this on to everyone, not to hurt them or make them
sad, but it could save maybe, even one, unwanted pet.
Remember...They love UNCONDITIONALLY.