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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 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 anymore 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 understood the
realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with "papers." You had to
prise 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 realised 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 that 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.
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