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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 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 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, 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 de serve 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. |
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