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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 bellyrub.
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 would have 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 fer." 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 dogspeak, 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, tried to convey to her
with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not directed at
her. It was you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of. I will think of
you and wait for you forever.
May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.
The End
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 and
Canadian animal shelters.
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