HOW COULD YOU? By 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 belly rub. My house breaking 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
paper-work 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 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. 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
American and Canadian animal shelters. Anyone is welcome to distribute the
essay for a noncommercial purpose, as long as it is properly attributed with
the copyright notice.

Well, if this isn't just about the sadest thing I have read. We are still dealing with the after math of one of our now 15 month old "Return" Labradors only these heartless owners didn't have the courtesty to take him to the shelter, they thought enough of our boy to take him for a ride and dump him in the streets.

Thank god Buddy will be leaving our home to go live with his new family the first week in September. Thanks to some very good labrador loving friends, Buddy will live the rest of his life with a couple who thought enough to give another black labrador shelter dog a new lease on life years ago. This black dog lived to be 14 years old. They were thinking of adopting another shelter Labrador when they heard about our Buddy. Buddy doesn't know it yet but he will be able to swim every day of his life in his own private lake since his owners live on waterfront property in Bremerton. There are other labradors in the neighborhood for him to play and swim with.

So yes, this story you post here today is a reality and can and does happen to the best of breeders and the best of dogs. This is why it is so so important for all breeders to MICROCHIP all their puppies.

Someone recently took a ten year old dog to my vet and told him that she wanted to have it "put to sleep". He started to check out the dog, but found no apparent problems. "Oh no, nothing is wrong with him, the woman said, I don't have time for him anymore because my life is just so busy." My vet replied," We don't do that here. Why don't you just leave him with me." So she did and the sweet dog is still there, living at the vet's office during the day and adding to his menagerie at home in the evenings. Some people!

And sad to say...this kind of scenario happens more than we like to think. I know - I get the calls from the vets asking for help rehoming them.....

For awhile, every 4th of July, we'd end up taking some lost dogs down to our local shelter. While waiting in line each time we visited this shelter, there would be someone dumping their senior dogs off with the excuse that they are tired of taking care of their dog or "He is getting old"

What does getting old mean anyway ? Getting older means we hope that our loved ones will hold on to us tighter and make sure our old bones are taken care of, give us some joint medicine and yearly vet visits and extra hugs but most of all, those senior dogs need to feel secure and get the opportunity to grow old with some dignity .

When we went to pick Buddy up at the shelter, I couldn't help but feel admiration for all the volunteers and employees who take care of these shelter dogs, cats and an assortment of other animals. It was the Humane Society of Tacoma, one of the fanciets shelters I have laid my eyes on. All the donated money goes to paying all the employees and food for an average of 200 dogs on any given day. So of course they are forced to feed the dogs the cheapest food on the market.

I know I would have difficulty working at a shelter, having to be the one to say goodbye to each pet that was euthenized. It has to wear on each of the employee's emotions when they go by a familiar dog's kennel and his or her time ran out, leaving a vaccant kennel run, ready for it's next " Throw away dog "

While these shelter volunteers and employees don't run into a burning homes to save someone or catch criminals on the streets, all of who are worthy of being called a Hero, I like to think of the shelter workers and all the volunteers who go the extra mile as "Heros".

I have this letter in my puppy kits, its really good for potential puppy buyers to read it!

it is too bad we can't do this to the same people who discard their dogs as inconvenient. aren't old people and kids,and minorities and everything else that doesn't help us climb to the top of the heap ,
inconvenient....