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Pedigree has seen my classified ads....

Discussion in 'Anything goes' started by printdust, Feb 26, 2007.

  1. printdust

    printdust New Member

    That TV ad makes you want to go out and adopt about six dogs, doesn't it?

    Never put an ad in the paper that says "Free dogs to good home." Never works. Has to be "I'm 6 weeks old and have already seen more heartache than most grownups. I watched my six brothers and sisters get mauled by a big dog. They just sat there still and I wanted them to play, but they never moved. For hours, I hid in the bush and thank goodness, someone found me. But they say I can't stay here forever. Don't let me face that big dog again! 555-5555."

    You have to speak to the hearts of pet lovers. Guilt works great.
  2. CentralIllinoisan

    CentralIllinoisan Active Member

    My name is Murphy, and I am a good dog.
  3. Buck

    Buck Well-Known Member

    I taste good with kim chee or corn.
  4. westcoastvol

    westcoastvol Active Member

    I am a good-tasting dog...and I just want to simmer...
  5. JBHawkEye

    JBHawkEye Well-Known Member

    I switch the channel every time it comes on, because I do feel guilty. Sadly, I can't have a dog where I live (and I'm on the road too much anyway).

    A friend of mine adopted her dog from the pound. She picked him up the day he was supposed to be put down. He'd been abused by a previous owner, but he was still a friendly, trusting dog.

    Eight years later, he's still alive and has a great life.
  6. Rusty Shackleford

    Rusty Shackleford Active Member

    Quite possibly the saddest thing I have ever read:

    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
    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.
  7. Rusty Shackleford

    Rusty Shackleford Active Member


    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.
    The End

    A note from the author:

    If "How Could You?" brought tears to your eyes as you read it,
    as it did to mine as I wrote it, it is because it is the composite
    story of the millions of formerly owned pets who die each
    year in American and Canadian animal shelters. Anyone is
    welcome to distribute the essay for a noncommercial purpose,
    as long as it is properly attributed with the copyright notice.

    Please use it to help educate, on your websites, in
    newsletters, on animal shelter and vet office bulletin boards.
    Tell the public that the decision to add a pet to the family is
    an important one for life, that animals deserve our love and
    sensible care, that finding another appropriate home for
    your animal is your responsibility and any local humane
    society or animal welfare league can offer you good advice,
    and that all life is precious. Please do your part to stop the
    killing, and encourage all spay & neuter campaigns in order to
    prevent unwanted animals.
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