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, especially 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.
|