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 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