And, if at all possible when thinking of adopting that dog or cat, please take a look at the older ones and not just the cute kittens and puppies...
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 anymore
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--
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 understood the realities facing a
middle-aged dog, even one with "papers." You had to prise 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
realised 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 seperate 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 that 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: Jim Wills, 2001 -- 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 every year in Animal Shelters around the world. Anyone is welcome to
distribute the essay for a noncommercial purpose, as long as it is properly
attributed. Please use it to help educate, on your websites, in your
newsletters, on animal shelters 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.
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