I found this on a message board I belong to. Being the animal person that I am, it absolutely broke my heart to read this. In fact, I'm sitting here crying as I'm posting this to my website. I had to give my cat away a few months ago, and even though I know he's in a wonderful home now and he's very happy (I know the people that have him and I get frequent updates! :) ), it broke my heart to give him away. He was a stray when I found him, a skinny little thing, malnourished and had fleas and ear mites. Now, he's a huge cat, very healthy, and very happy. Please, please, please, if you want a pet, go to your local animal shelter to find one first. Take in the strays, or even if you don't want the animal yourself, find someone who does. They're the ones who need our help.
"HOW COULD
YOU?"
A man in Grand Rapids, Michigan took out a $7000 full page ad in the paper to
present the following essay to the people of his community:
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 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've 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
directed at you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of you. I will think of you
and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you so much
loyalty. ---------------------------
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 & 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. Please use it to help educate, on your websites, in newsletters, on
animal shelter and vet office bulletin boards. 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 and neuter campaigns in order to prevent unwanted animals. -
Jim Willis