How Could You?
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 I 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 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 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. 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
& neuter campaigns in order to prevent unwanted animals.
Order Pieces of My Heart: Writings Inspired by Animals and Nature by Jim Willis from Amazon.com
