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How Could You? 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. 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 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. 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. Also see anniversary update at the end of this page. Sample intro a friend used for sending around is included too. 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 America's 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 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, Director, The Tiergarten Sanctuary Trust, accredited
member of The American Sanctuary Association, and Program Coordinator, International
Society for Animal Rights Contributions to our general and property acquisition funds should be made payable to Jim Willis and sent to: Jim Willis, Director The Tiergarten Sanctuary Trust 8 Carter Lane Avella, PA 15312-2242 USA Please note: We hope to establish The Tiergarten Sanctuary somewhere in northeast North America. We are currently looking for donated or low-cost property (such as a restorable farm) suitable for horses, rescued wolves and wolf-hybrids, farm and companion animals, somewhere between southwest PA and Nova Scotia, Canada. We welcome suggestions; please contact Jim at jwillis@bellatlantic.net. Your contributions will be an important part of helping to make The Tiergarten Sanctuary a reality, as well as supporting the more than 40 animals already in our care, the animals we rescue and place in good homes, and our education and advocacy efforts. Jim's new Christmas story: http://cats.about.com/library/guest/ucfeature23a.htm
For complete information: http://www.crean.com/jimwillis/ See the above site for a special fundraising discount offer; you can also download "How Could You?" from this site. For the poem "Father of All
Shepherds," see: http://www.geocities.com/tiergartenjim/Landseer.html
Back to: http://www.therealmartha.com/adopt/index.htm ~ Meet the Shelter Sweeties or use back button (this page is linked several places). What rescue is about ~ http://www.therealmartha.com/rescue/index.htm Critter pages index ~ http://www.therealmartha.com/CritterIndex/index.htm The Journey, companion animal tribute ~ http://www.therealmartha.com/journey/index.htm S/he's NOT just a dog ~ http://www.therealmartha.com/justmydog/index.htm ~ includes a piece that was very comforting to me, written by a vet, about halfway down the page. More from Jim: Three years ago this month, I wrote and
distributed an essay, "How Could You?" inspired by a rescued (from a "kill
shelter") elderly Basset Hound, "Holly Golightly." I bid good-bye to Holly
last Valentine's Day, but I've received mail every day for the past three years that
reminds me that her legacy lives on. How Could You: http://www.crean.com/jimwillis/hcy.html
I'd appreciate it if everyone would distribute
"HCY?" once again to your address books and lists. We never know where our mail
might land and perhaps it will inspire one more person to adopt an animal, or not give up
on an animal. It can be read at the below and you'll find a Ask the shelter staff about what they need; even a donation
of used towels and blankets, or a bag of dog/cat food might help their efforts. They
deserve our support for the hard job they do and the animals need each of us to speak out
for them. Warning - This one made ME cry! I was lucky enough to grow up in a home where our pets were always loved and well cared for, it was unthinkable to welcome a pet into our family, and then at some later date to stop loving them, it still is! Sadly, I've learned that not every home, or person, has the same regard and respect for the cute puppy or kitten they bring into their home, but maybe, just maybe, by reading this and passing it on, together we can remind a few more people to be kind, loving, and responsible. Follow-up note, when I asked to use the intro: My three cats are part of the reason I'm still "stuck" where I am. Finding a new apartment is a tough job. The ones that accept pets often have a two-per-unit limit, and/or require a security deposit so high I can't afford it. Still, there's no way I'd ever just give them up or put them to sleep. I have had cats put to sleep before, but only due to illness, to end their pain and suffering. Watching my mother dying of bone cancer many years ago, she and I both wished her suffering could be ended in the same way. So you see, I'm not at all against putting an animal to sleep ... for the right reason. My (Martha) two cents, twice: Some years ago when it was just Libby and me, and times were pretty tough, everybody said, "Get rid of the dog." My shut-that-crap-up-right-now reply was a suggestion to get rid of their kids. Not so long ago when Lib seemed to be going downhill fast, I was almost to the point of making the big sleep decision. Suddenly, new medication looked like it was doing some good - there was hope. It was just too late though, she died in her sleep. I was devastated, swore I'd never have another dog - couldn't take the pain. Then along came Buster. I knew he was past his prime but according to all I'd read, he was due a few good years for his breed. And have them he did, we all did. When he began to slow down a little, no real worry until he started falling. He went though all kinds of weird symptoms, including "mini seizures" but then he'd be fine for a while. So, back to the vet to try something new. One more time, the decision was going to have to be made, but as long as he was eating like a pig and picking himself up ... we had time. One morning, he tended his business as usual, and went back to bed. Just a few hours later he couldn't stand up. It was a stroke, the end to decent quality of life - no question about the decision. As above, compared to human life, euthanasia is the one kind thing left we can do for our beloved companions. I've heard about and known countless animals suffering needlessly because their people can't bring themselves to let go. No matter how much time we have together, it's never enough. It will always hurt, but we, as the so-called higher life form, must learn to stand the pain for doing the right thing. Maybe somewhere down the grand scheme road, someone will ease our way too. A year later, I still haven't been able to finish Buster's good-bye page. Just like Jim, I still get mail about his and Libby's pages. They're both out there doing their jobs, on here educating and spreading good will ... and I'm quite sure they both had a paw in arranging for Scoopy to be in the right place at the right time. Check their individual links with lots of pics and the rest of the stories: http://www.therealmartha.com/CritterIndex/index.htm |