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| Category: Animal Care |
Date published: January 10, 2004 |
How Could You?
by Jim Willis
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, especially 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.
"How Could You?" Copyright 2002 by Jim Willis
All Rights Reserved. 2002 Reprinted by Permission.
Visit his site at: www.crean.com/jimwillis
For all reprint or foreign-language rights, please contact the author directly at:tiergartenjim@yahoo.com.
A Special Anniversary Message from the Author:
Three years ago this month, I wrote and distributed an essay, "How Could
You?" inspired by a rescued (from a "kill shelter") elderly Basset
Hound, "Holly Golightly." I bid goodbye to Holly last Valentine's Day,
but I've received mail every day for the past three years that reminds
me that her legacy lives on.
"HCY?" took on a life of its own, with foreign language translations and
broadcasts. My favorite messages have been from people who wrote and
said it inspired them to adopt a rescued animal. One of the best
experiences has been the number of likeminded people I've met because of
it, the new friendships, and the fact that all of our networking for
animals is making a difference. The reaction caused me to get more
involved in humane euthanasia issues (for more info on that, see:
http://www.crean.com/kindness ).
I'd appreciate it if everyone would distribute "HCY?" once again to your
address books and lists. We never know where our mail might land and
perhaps it will inspire one more person to adopt an animal, or not give
up on an animal. It can be read at the below and you?ll find a
downloadable print version at:
http://www.crean.com/jimwillis if you'd like to distribute hard copies
or post them on bulletin boards. (No permission required.)
I'd like to ask one more favor - that everyone who has never visited a
local animal shelter take the time to do so. Even if you don't have the
right circumstances to adopt an animal, we are better prepared to
educate the public and our legislators if we see the situation with our
own eyes. Ask the shelter staff about what they need; even a donation of
used towels and blankets, or a bag of dog/cat food might help their
efforts. They deserve our support for the hard job they do and the
animals need each of us to speak out for them.
Thank you. (Holly would thank you, too, I'm sure, but she's probably too
busy these days chasing rainbows and begging treats from angels.)
Jim Willis
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