"If
you pick up a starving dog and make
him prosperous, he will not bite you;that
is the principle difference between a
dog and a man." -Mark Twain
"Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax
and get used to it." -Robert A. Heinlein
"A dog is a friend
who knows us, but loves us anyway."
People who live with
animals value muteness. It can be a real pleasure to know when
the cat walks into the room that he won't mention any of your
shortcomings or that you can tell your grievances to your dog without
his repeating them." -Ursula K. LeGuin
No relationship is
without its ups and downs. The good and pleasurable parts of
having a dog far outweigh the unpleasurable times. Next time your
dog does something that irritates you, just picture in your mind all
those times he makes you smile, what a comfort he is when you are
feeling down, and how happy he always is to see you when you come home.
He is forgiving of your mistakes, be forgiving of his.
All I need to know about life... I learned
from my dog.
When
family members come home, drop what you're doing and run to greet them.
Run, romp, and play daily.
Never pretend to be something you're not.
If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
When you're
happy dance around and wag your entire body.
No matter how often
you're scolded, never pout.
Run right back and make friends.
The Pet's Bill of Rights
We have the right to be full members of
your family. We thrive on social interaction, praise, and love.
We have the right to stimulation. We
need new games, new toys, new experiences, and new smells to be happy.
We have the right to regular exercise.
Without it, we could become hyper, sluggish...or fat.
We have the right to have fun. We enjoy
acting like clowns now and then; don't expect us to be predictable all
the time.
We have the right to quality health
care. Please stay good friends with our vet!
We have the right to a good diet. Like
some people, we don't know what's best for us. We depend on you.
We have the right not to be rejected
because of your
expectations that we be great show dogs or show cats, watchdogs,
hunters, or baby-sitters.
We have the right to receive proper
training. Otherwise,
our good relationship could be marred by confusion and strife - and we
could become dangerous to ourselves and others.
We have the right to guidance and
correction based on understanding and compassion, rather than abuse.
We have the right to live with
dignity...and to die with dignity when the time comes.
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 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 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. 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 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.
C.A.R.E
is a nonprofit
501(c)(3), no-kill
animal shelter and sanctuary that specializes in helping injured,
abused and neglected animals in the Ozarks. Unfortunately, the
associated medical costs, along with the cost of spaying or neutering,
vaccinations, and deworming, are expensive. We do not charge enough in
adoption fees to offset
these costs. C.A.R.E. relies entirely on
donations. You can save a life. Make a difference!
