Copyright 2001 © Jim Willis
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 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
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.
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 America's shelters. Anyone is welcome
to distribute the essay for a non-commercial 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. I appreciate receiving copies of newsletters
which reprint "How Could You?" or "The Animals' Savior," sent to me at the last postal
address below. 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. If you are a member of an animal welfare organization,
I encourage you to participate in the Spay/Neuter Billboard Campaign from ISAR
(International Society for Animal Rights); for more information, please visit:
Jim Willis Director, The Tiergarten Sanctuary Trust, accredited member of The American Sanctuary Association, and Program Coordinator, International Society for Animal Rights