Essay describes how much dogs give to their owners
Dear Ann Landers: Back in 1992, you printed an essay that made a lasting impression on me. I have saved it for six years, knowing one day I would ask you to print it again. That day has come. Today, we had to put our dog to sleep. She was nearly 14 years old and couldn’t hold on any longer. Taking her to the vet for the very last time was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
Please reprint this essay for my dog, Penny. She was part of our family and will be greatly missed. Thanks, Ann.
— D.J. in Wausau, Wis.
Dear D.J.: Here is the essay you requested. I did not grow up with pets, but I confess, when I first read this essay, I had a clearer understanding of what a pet can mean to a family, and my eyes moistened a bit, too. It was written by Chuck Wells of Palmyra, N.Y.
Dogs Don’t Have Souls,
Do They?
I remember bringing you home. You were so small and cuddly with your tiny paws and soft fur.
You bounced around the room with eyes flashing and ears flopping. Once in a while, you’d let out a little yelp just to let me know this was your territory.
Making a mess of the house and chewing on everything in sight became a passion, and when I scolded you, you just put your head down and looked up at me with those innocent eyes, as if to say, “I’m sorry, but I’ll do it again as soon as you’re not watching.”
As you got older, you protected me by looking out the window and barking at everyone who walked by. When I had a tough day at work, you would be waiting for me with your tail wagging, just to say, “Welcome home. I missed you.” You never had a bad day, and I could always count on you to be there for me.
When I sat down to read the paper and watch TV, you would hop on my lap, looking for attention. You never asked for anything more than to have me pat your head so you could go to sleep with your head over my leg.
As you got older, you moved around more slowly. Then, one day, old age finally took its toll, and you couldn’t stand on those wobbly legs anymore. I knelt down and patted you lying there, trying to make you young again. You just looked up at me as if to say that you were old and tired and that after all these years of not asking for anything, you had to ask me for one favor.
With tears in my eyes, I drove you one last time to the vet. One last time, you were lying next to me. For some strange reason, you were able to stand up in the animal hospital; perhaps it was your sense of pride.
As the vet led you away, you stopped for an instant, turned your head and looked at me as if to say, “Thank you for taking care of me.”
I thought, “No, thank you for taking care of me.”