| Capable Canine Tips | Tips Archive | ||||||
|
Some
things to consider before committing to that puppy in the window.
|
|||||||
|
Consider your lifestyle. Are you on the go constantly? Are you or other family members gone eight hours or more each day? Puppies need a lot of exercise and socialization. Are you willing to train your dog so that he can go along for weekend trips? Do you have the time to play, feed, and house train your new companion? Is keeping your home spotless your primary focus? Puppies and dogs shed. Do you have a lot of patience (for chewing, jumping and digging)? Do you realize that puppyhood lasts up to two years and adulthood longer? Are you willing to provide shelter, exercise, and vet bills for 9 to 15 years?The decision to add a pet to the family is an important one for life. Animals deserve our love and sensible care. Life circumstances do happen, emergencies do arise, unforeseen changes do occur, when and if this happens to you, it is your responsibility to find another appropriate home for your pet.This article was passed on to me and I pass it on to you. 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 confidences and secret dreams, 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 to come 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, 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, obeyed her, and I was happy because you were happy. Then the human babies came along, 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. 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. 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 you 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, dad! Please don't let them take my dog!" I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship, loyalty, about love, 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 bust 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. 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 that 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 of 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 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 directed at her. It was directed at you. I will think of you and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.Author: Jim Willis, 2001 | ||||||
