By Jim Willis
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
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 ag oand 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.
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.
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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. Anyone
is welcome
to distribute
the essay for a noncommercial
purpose, as long as it is properly attributed with the copyright notice.
Please use it 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 and neuter campaigns
in order to prevent unwanted animals.
