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
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 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 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:
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.
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