Letters from North
America
It’s all my fault.
I should have known
better.
I wasn’t thinking when I
did it.
I won’t let it happen to
me again.
When I
walked into the dog
pound in
San Antonio
ten years ago and saw
that little gray dog
that looked just like
Tramp in the movie …
“Lady and the Tramp” I
should have kept on
going. But when he
raised his paw as if to
say… “Hi, I’m not really
supposed to be here…this
is a mistake…I’d like to
come home with you”. I
should not have paid any
attention; I should have
left the building.
I
remember it like it was
yesterday, but it was
nearly ten years ago. It
was a Saturday and he
was due to be gassed on
Monday. He was marked
down from sixteen
dollars to thirteen. We
took him and have kept
him and now he is in the
hospital and we don’t
know if he will live or
die and I have a big
hole in my heart.
It’s five
in the morning and the
vet hospital just called
and told us that he
needed a blood
transfusion to keep him
going. We are getting
dressed and have to go
in an hour or so. Soon I
will have to make a
decision. One that I
should have thought
about before I walked
out with him from the
pound ten years ago. One
that none of us enjoy
doing. I will have to
decide what to do next.
Do I keep on treating
him or do I let them put
him to sleep?
I hate
myself for allowing this
to happen. Why did I
give my heart to this
little animal and keep
kidding myself that he
was always going to be a
young dog who liked to
run and chase squirrels?
We never
knew how old he was, the
vet thinks he was about
four when we got him, so
that would make him
fourteen as of now.
That’s ninety eight in
human years, and up
until the last week he
has never had too many
health problems. Now his
heart is weak and his
immune system is weaker
and they don’t know
exactly what to do or
how to fix him.
So, it
will come to me to make
a decision. One that I
have pushed to the
furthest recesses of my
mind. One that I always
forced myself not to
think about. Do I tell
them to keep on trying
and put him through the
agony of another
operation or do I tell
them to let him go
gently into the long
night?
I cannot
even bear the thought of
driving back to the vet
hospital this morning. I
know his coal black eyes
will be looking deep
into my soul and asking
me… “When can I go
home?’ And I have no
answer. I know that
little tail will try to
wag as it has for
countless millions of
times when I pick him
up, but for how long?
How could I have allowed
this to happen?
The
events in my past as a
soldier, a cop and a
business person have
hardened me to a lot of
the ways of the world.
What confuses me is how
a little gray dog can
melt all of that
hardness away and manage
to steal your heart
without you even knowing
it is going on at the
time. How can we cry for
little animals and feel
the way we do while
remaining indifferent to
some people in our
lives?
The only
explanation I have is
that dogs (or cats) are
an example to us of
God’s perfect love. They
just love us with no
strings attached. No,
that’s wrong, they do
have strings attached.
The strings to my heart.
I’m sorry
if this week isn’t what
I normally put down on
paper for you to read.
I’m sorry if you have
ever lost an animal and
have gone though what
I’m going though at this
time. If you own an
animal I’m sorry if I
have brought up
unpleasant thoughts
about the future. I know
I will get over this, I
know I will. I just need
some time to think about
what to do and how to
get it done. Please know
that this is very hard
for me to write and that
I want to keep on going
and not become bitter
about something I should
have thought of years
ago. As I’ve always
said….. “God, please
make me the kind of
person my dog thinks I
am…”
Thank
you…
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