HOW COULD YOU?
 Copyright
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 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.
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