Get out the tissue

[Gina Heitz <brier@oregonsbest.com>]

 > >
 > 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 our community. It
 > really touched my heart and I hope it will yours too.
 >
 > 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 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 1
 > 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 American and 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
 > & neuter campaigns in order to prevent unwanted animals.