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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, and encourage all spay & neuter
campaigns in order to prevent unwanted animals.
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
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