When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child and despite the number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered scatter pillows, I became your best friend.  Whenever I was "bad", you would shake your finger at me and ask, "How could you?....but then you would  relent and roll me over for a belly rub.

My toilet training 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 on 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.) 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 the heartbreaks and disappointments, and never chided you about bad decisions. I romped with glee at your homecomings and the day 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. The the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smiled and I wanted to mother them too. She and you worried that I might hurt them and I spent most of my time banished to the 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, 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 so infrequent...and I would have defended them with my life if need be.  I would sneak into their beds at night 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, you would produce a photo of me from your wallet and tell them stories about me. These past years you just answered "yes" and changed the subject.  I had gone from being "your dog" to "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 have 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, cats, fear and hopelessness. You filled out the paper work and said, "I know you will find a good home for her". 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 really worried for him and the lessons you had just taught him about friendship, loyalty, love, responsibility and respect for all human 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 that you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and you had made no attempt to find another good home for me. They shook their heads and said, "How could he?"

They were as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allowed. They fed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago.  At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front in the hope that it was you and that you had changed your mind....that this was all a bad dream....or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared who might save me.  When I realized that I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy little puppies who were oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to the 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. She told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come. At the same time, 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. I know that in the same way I knew your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her face.  I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you 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 she understood my dog speak because she said, "I am so sorry." She hugged me and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place where I would not be ignored, 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 directed at you, my Beloved Master. I was thinking of you. I will think of you and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.

A note from the Author:

If "How could you?" brought tears to your eyes as you read this, it is the composite story of millions of formally "owned" dogs throughout the world who die each year in animal shelters.  Responsible dog ownership is a life time commitment.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A letter from a dog – "How Could You?"

by Jim Willis

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 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've 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. T hey 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 directed at you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of you. I will think 
of you and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you 
so much loyalty.

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 & Canadian animal shelters.

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