How Could You?
By Jim Willis, Copyright 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 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 dog speak,
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.
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 America's
shelters. Anyone is welcome to distribute
the essay for a non-commercial purpose, as
long as it is properly attributed with the
copyright notice. Please use it to help educate,
on your web sites, in newsletters, on animal
shelter and vet office bulletin boards. I
appreciate receiving copies of newsletters
which reprint "How Could You?"
or "The Animals' Savior," sent
to me at the last postal address below. 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.