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 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 dog speak, 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....
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