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 newcareer 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 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.
 Please use this 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.

 

Please pass this on to everyone, not to hurt them or
 make them sad,
 but it could save maybe, even one, unwanted pet.
 
 Remember...They love UNCONDITIONALLY.

 

"The greatness of a nation and it's moral progress can be determined by the way it's animals are treated." -- Mahatma Ghandi