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....

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 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.

Live each day as if it is the last day of your life.
Be thankful for every blessing.