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
housetraining 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, 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. 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 or cat, 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 goodbye 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, 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. 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 meant for 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
“How Could You?”