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 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.13.5pt"">

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 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 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.

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 shelters. Anyone is
welcome to distribute the essay for a non-commercial purpose, as long as it is
properly attributed with the copyright notice. Please use it to help educate,
on your websites, in newsletters, on animal shelter and vet office bulletin
boards. I appreciate receiving copies of newsletters which reprint "How
Could You?" or "The Animals' Savior," sent to me at the last
postal address below. 

Tell the public that the decision to add a pet to the family is an important
one for life, that animals deserve our love and sensible care, that finding another
appropriate home for your animal is your responsibility and any local humane
society or animal welfare league can offer you good advice, and that all life
is precious. Please do your part to stop the killing, and encourage all spay
& neuter campaigns in order to prevent unwanted animals. If you are a
member of an animal welfare organization, I encourage you to participate in the
Spay/Neuter Billboard Campaign from ISAR (International Society for Animal
Rights); for more information, please visit: http://www.i-s-a-r.com

Thank you, 
Jim Willis 
Director, The Tiergarten Sanctuary Trust, accredited member of The American
Sanctuary Association, and Program Coordinator, International Society for
Animal Rights e-mail: jwillis@bellatlantic.net