A sad dog's story

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 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!"
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 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.
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.