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'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.
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
& 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.
-(c)
Jim Willis
