My wife and I have always had a pet dog. When
we moved to Val Therese in 1974, one of the things that impressed us most
was the fact that our new house already had a dog house for Major, our
German Shepherd. He lived with us for 13 years and died a peaceful death
in our basement. Shortly thereafter we bought Colonel, an Alaskan Malamute
puppy, who lived with us for another 13 years. Major and Colonel helped
raise our three sons. But we were a very busy family and there was often
very little time to pay attention to our pets. We took them for walks and
talked to them when we passed by, but they were outside dogs and spent
most of their time chained to the dog house, lying in the driveway,
waiting for the next opportunity to wag their tail when one of their
humans came out.
A year and a half ago, we picked up Sarge, a
husky/shepherd mix - the first dog we ever had without ‘papers’. Sarge
spent the first night in our home sleeping ‘on the bed’ with our
oldest son. As he grew, and grew to the point where he is now over 100
pounds, Sarge still sleeps on the bed - usually whichever bed he feels
like - and is allowed to do all those things we never allowed Major and
Colonel to do. Sarge is never tied (and usually stays in the yard). Sarge
is usually in the house and has learned to steal socks, papers, and a host
of other items when he wants attention. Sarge has captured our hearts.
I’m not quite sure why our ‘dog-rearing’
methods have changed with Sarge. Perhaps it is that we are getting older
and want to shower Sarge with all of the love that we wish we would have
given Major and Colonel. Whatever the reason, I am now convinced, after
having read “How Could You?”, written by Jim Willis, that Sarge will
never wonder about our love for him. Let me share part of the article
written by Mr. Willis, but let me warn all people who own dogs that it may
not be an easy article to get through.
“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 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 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.
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. 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.”
I have to go now. Sarge just nudged his wet
nose against my arm, reminding me that I have spent enough time ignoring
him. It is time for a walk.
Have a good week.!
