Ambrose Maltese

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. 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 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.

The End