a sad doggie story...

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Drover- Deputy Of- Security

Mr. Pudge
Barked: Sun Mar 7, '10 5:03pm PST 
not sure where to post this, but I thought this place was the best.

How Could You?
By Jim Willis, 2001
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've 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. 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 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.
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 directed at you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of you. I will think of you and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.

Orville aka- "bones"- R.I.P.

A little love- goes a long way
Barked: Wed Mar 10, '10 11:11am PST 
hopefully you were met at rainbow bridge by several friends. I would live on the street with my dogs b4 I could take them to a shelter. i shed a tear for you and hope you are in the arms of the angels. your story tells the stories of so many other dogs. Some of whom, never get to even know what a good home is. you're last days alone in a shelter are very sad. My mom has volunteered at a shelter, and altho it hurt to know that the dogs she seen one day may not be there another, she know our heartache is worse than hers. She would make sure to pet everyone of us, because she wanted us to know that before we left for the bridge, which would probably be our fate, that there was a kind and gentle had out there that did care. she would also spend time with the real shy ones, getting them to trust her, only to know that they would only be there a short while. But at least before they left, she thought they should go knowing someone out there did care. she would take us all home if possible. Life through a dogs eyes can sometimes be pretty sad. But u r with then angels now and you know what love is.little angel
Max (aka- Sebastian)

Lovin Life
Barked: Thu Mar 11, '10 9:04am PST 
This reminded me of all the sad stories of people giving up thier dog because thier having a baby.
I just don't understand people, really.
I ( Max's mommy) work full time, I have 3 kids right now ( 11, 3 and 6 months) and expecting baby #4, so I have a very busy, stressful life; but I will never understand a human giving up thier pet because they're having a baby. It's just laziness. I was pregnant when we adopted Max, he has been wonderful with all the kids. As humans we have to teach the kids to respect our dogs and we have to supervise them all together, and even though this may be work, it's worth it. I can't imagine robbing my kids the oppurtunity of loving a dog. Dogs are thier friends to play with and thier protectors when they are scared, they are also a sholder to cry on when they've had a sad day. There isn't a creature more loyal, and forgiving as a dog, and to be blessed with such a loyal companion is the best thing in the world.
Max is teaching my son responsibilty, he walks, feeds and waters Max daily and in return has a best friend, I can't think of a more rewarding way to learn responsibility.

Sorry for my rant, I guess I will never understand people like that, or people who will own a dog and not train it to act properly, but that's a rant for another day.

Sallie Mae

Sallie Mae
Barked: Sat Mar 13, '10 5:20pm PST 
Well said, Max's Mom. And you are so right. That situation makes me sad also.