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 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 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 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.
@ Jim Willis 2001
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.
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:
International Society for Animal Rights
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
I wanted to thank Jim for allowing me
to use this for my webpage.
I think it says it all and
I don't need to add any further comments.
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