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By Jim Willis,
2001
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 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 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
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:
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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.
Jim Willis |
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