Saddest Story (True story from Knoxville)?
When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you snigger.
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
be "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 burglary took a little longer than expected, because you were
terribly engaged, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights
of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and clandestine
dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went
for long walk and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I
solely got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs," you said), and I
took long nap in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the
light of day.
Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and
more time searching for a human mate. I wait for you patiently,
comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you
about bad decisions, and romped beside 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 domestic, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy
because you be happy.
Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was
fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I looked-for 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 become 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
give or take a few them and their touch - because your touch was now so infrequent -
and I would own defended them with my life if involve be.
I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret
dreams, and together we waited for the nouns of your car in the
driveway. There had be 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 long-gone few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the
subject. I had gone from being "your dog" to "lately a dog," and you
resented every expenditure on my behalf.
Now, you have a new career opportunity contained by 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 be a time when I was your
only family.
I be excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter.
It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness.
You complete out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good home
for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They infer 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 scream "No, Daddy!
Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and what
lessons you have just taught him about friendship and loyalty, approximately love
and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You give me a
goodbye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take
my collar and leash next to you. You had a deadline to meet and now I enjoy
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 moral
home. They shook their heads and asked "How could you?"
They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their engaged 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 be you
that you had changed your mind - that this was adjectives a bad dream...or I
hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might pick up me.
When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of
happy puppies, oblivious to their own chance, I retreated to a far corner
and waited.
I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the running out 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
verbs. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there
be also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As
is my nature, I be more concerned about her. The burden which she bears
weighs heavily on her, and I know that, indistinguishable way I knew your every
mood.
She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a scratch ran down her
cheek. I licked her hand contained by the same way I used to comfort you so tons
years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I
felt the sting and the cool soft coursing through m
Oh gawd, I'm crying.
nice story.
thats the sadist thing i hate ppl that do that why they cordit find the time to find him a home i cant belive that and immediately iam so sad on thanksgiving i hate ppl thats why i love dogs and word naver kill them
That breaks my heart, knowing that it so true. And the people that turn their dogs loose to live free, don't they know that dogs are not feral enough to live contained by the "wild" anymore.
Answers: That is so sad.
One of my dogs, a poodle, was given up because the stupid woman that bought her needed a solid white dog. As Pinky got older she had a shaky Apricot stripe down her back. The woman said she didn't want her anymore because she wasn't solid white. Her loss is my gain, Pinky is a wonderful dog.
