HOW COULD YOU?.....

by Jim Willis ( http://vetmedicine.about.com/library/viewers/uchowcouldyou-a.htm )

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 bellyrub.

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, 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. 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 or cat, 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, 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 dogspeak, 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. 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 meant for 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.




How Could You? - Epilogue -
Farewell to the "How Could You?" dog, "Holly Golightly," Feb. 14

 

"How Could You?" - original article

 

I had to say goodbye to my elderly rescued Basset Hound "Holly Golightly." Holly was about 10 when I adopted her on her last day from a kill shelter and she was approaching 14. She had a stroke several weeks ago and hadn't made a good recovery. I knew she was in her last days and partially concerned about quality of her life, and partially spurred by an erroneous weather prediction that could have meant I'd be snowed-in on my mountain for several days, I made that difficult call yesterday. It was appropriate that the day commemorating love should be her last day on this Earth.



Photo insert is not of Holly



I drove 15 miles past the vet office to get to the nearest fast-food restaurant to order Holly two plain cheeseburgers, without a dill pickle. I was very clear about that at the drive-through order-intercom because they'd made that mistake before and Holly accused me of trying to poison her (and I'd had to go back inside and order her new cheeseburgers!). I made it to the pick-up window before the tears started to flow and the elderly woman working the window asked "Are you okay, Honey?" and I said "Not really. I'm on the way to have my old dog put to sleep and I wanted her to have some final cheeseburgers." The poor woman started crying, too, and refused to accept money for my order. (I think I'll take her a box of candy next week. I'll bet she paid for them herself out of her minimum-wage earnings.)

Holly never knew or cared how "famous" she was. She had inspired what has been called the most published animal-related essay in the world, translated into 25 foreign languages that I know of. She only wanted her homecooked dinner served on time and for me to play doorman for her 100 times a day. She'd been incontinent for the past year, and despite all proper precautions, and newspaper provided for her benefit, she felt the need to announce her incontinence to me at 3 or 4 a.m.

She never knew that "her" story, "How Could You?", when read by a drivetime radio DJ in Toronto, stopped traffic. And then it was repeated with similar results in other cities. Or that it encouraged some people to think, change their minds, get involved, and most importantly, for some to go to the nearest shelter and save a beautiful animal being who didn't deserve to die, who never deserved to be abandoned. I hope now, in a better place, she knows that. She changed a lot of lives, most especially mine, and I miss her so.

As much as I would appreciate anyone's sympathy, what Holly and I would appreciate more is that you download the story she inspired, "How Could You?", from the sample writings section, and distribute it where it can do some more good. That's the greatest tribute we could pay her:
http://www.crean.com/jimwillis

I gave her a final kiss and whispered "How Could You?" in her ear, and I think she understood.

Thank you to all independent rescuers for these wonderful photos of puppies they rescued and managed to rehomed and some of them may be waiting for a wonderful human like you to take them home. If you are interested to provide home to rescued pups, please visit the link below.

http://www.facebook.com/groups/169480346446878/#!/groups/169480346446878/