"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 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 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 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 websites, 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. Please do your part to stop the killing, and encourage
all spay & neuter campaigns in order to prevent unwanted animals. If you are
a member of an animal welfare organization, I encourage you to participate
in the Spay/Neuter Billboard Campaign from ISAR (International Society for
Animal Rights); for more information, please visit: <http://www.i-s-a-r.com/>com <http://www.i-s-a-r.com/>
Thank you,
Jim Willis
Director, The Tiergarten Sanctuary Trust, accredited member of The American
Sanctuary Association, and Program Coordinator, International Society for
Animal Rights e-mail: jwillis@bellatlantic.net