The End
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!" 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.