You don't want to hear me. But listen...

I was an innocent little puppy. I was born a mongrel - I didn't choose it. I was a
good puppy with big bright eyes and if you got down on my level, I would
wiggle into your arms and kiss you and got into ecstasy if you gave me even a
tiny bit of love. A woman brought a little boy to see me. They thought I was "so
cute." She thought I would keep the boy occupied.

I rea!ly tried. The woman and her husband were so busy with their jobs they
didn't have time for me. They didn't have time for the boy. So they bought him
an A. T. V. and a snowmachine and bunches of fancy stuff. So he didn't have
time for me either. I got food once a day and sat at the end of my chain. And
cried.

And nobody heard. Months upon months. I grew up. I wanted to be a good
dog. But I wasn't cute anymore. The pain in my soul got so bad I couldn't help
but get a little crazy. If a person actually got near me I would just lose it and
jump all over them. A little toddler came over--I didn't mean to hurt her. I was
just kissing her. I was so happy, at last somebody wanted to touch me! I guess I
scared her. Anyway, the isolation got worse. I knew that my time was about up.

Don't kid yourselves. We dogs know. When you take us on that that last ride,
we know. We were born thinking you were some kind of god and suddenly
you're treating us like some unpleasant garbage you're taking to the dump. We
don't hate you for it. We love you all the more desperately. The pain of
rejection is beyond all words. You, who are our whole world now hate us for
making you confront your selfishness.

Anyway, my end was better than most. I knew of one dog, whose people didn't
want her anymore, so they dumped her by the road in the middle of nowhere.
In the winter. As the car sped away and disappeared in the distance, she was so
frantic she ran after it. And ran and ran and ran until her lungs were frostbitten
and she crawled into a snowbank and slowly died of pneumonia. Terribly
alone, and not knowing, WHY?

Going to the vet to be "euthanized" isn't so great either. The vet and the
assistants may be kind and gentle, but we know. Our true love, our god, our
world, coldly casts us off. You're at home with tea and crumpets when the
needle goes in.

My people wouldn't face up to the reality. They dumped me at someone else's
house. Nobody would give a good home to a neurotic adult dog. So the other
woman put me on a lead and took me out in the woods that night. It was a
beautiful walk in the snowy forest with all the bright stars like candles all over
the soft black sky.

She tied me to a tree and sat down with me and started a story. It began, "The
Lord is my Shepherd. . . ." She was crying. She put a flashlight in front of my
face to hold my attention, but I felt the muzzle of the pistol against my head.

I am at peace now. And far away from your world.

But how many millions of puppies are in that living hell, through no sin of their
own? Don't kid yourself, look in their eyes -- they know.

Dogs will always love, no matter what.

Fletcher