How Could You?
By Jim Willis, 2001
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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 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 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 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.
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
|
Joke. 
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