Dear Friends – What follows is a new essay I’ve written, which I hope
will help change some minds among those who consider animals disposable. That’s not
you, of course, but if it only sits in your in-box, then it is just "preaching to the
choir." I hope you will post it where it can be read by those most in need of its
message, distribute it to your address books, and cross-post it to other lists.
You are welcome to distribute it any way you like, just please retain the title
and copyright line. You may delete the other information that follows, as you see fit, but
I do appreciate you spreading those messages as well. You can request an MS Word document
version of this entire text for use on your websites, in newsletters, or to print out as a
flyer. Please send me a request by e-mail, jwillis@bellatlantic.net, and in the subject
line, write "Send Word version." I may not be able to reply to everyone
personally, but I would like to hear how you’ve used it.
Nicole and I, and our animals, thank all of you for your continued support.
- Jim
"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 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 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 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
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.
I Thank you,
Jim Willis
Director, The Tiergarten Sanctuary Trust, accredited member of The American
Sanctuary Association, and Program Coordinator, International Society for Animal Rights
You have to think very carefully when you get a dog. Will you always be able to
care for it. If not, what then. A dog is for life, not for Christmas or
birthdays, etc.
