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How Could You?
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 housetraining 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, 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. 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 or cat, 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 goodbye 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, 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. 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 meant
for 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
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Copyright Jim Willis 2001 |
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