February 7, 2001

"Just A Dog"

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.!

 
 

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