The Wolf’s Den

The road to Pet Heaven is paved with the broken hearts of those who cared. The following is a true story that was written by my mom and bears a strong message that I would sincerely urge everyone to heed, and if you can find the time, share this piece with others as well. My 3yr old daughter and I only got a chance to meet this pup once while visiting for Halloween and could not help but cry when I read these following words last night.

 Walk in my Shoes

It was a brisk day well before Thanksgiving, the light wind biting enough to pinken cheeks and make one hurry about their business when Rascal came into my life. He was dodging traffic along the highway in front of my driveway and attempting to defend his chosen territory from all comers, including the truck and trailer pulling in to unload.

Dad tried to shoo him out of danger, then tried to catch him, but the pup dodged and darted all around him; wanting to come close, not quite daring to be caught. Fearing for the pup’s safety, Dad asked me to try and get him from around the vehicles while he attended the unloading. It only took moment for Rascal to decide I was his. He bounded into my lap and my heart without looking back.

I took him in, bathed him, fed him, gave him a bed. I let it be known I had someone’s lost pup as I always try to do. Meantime, Rascal romped through the house, the darling of the family. He played fetch the ball and flirted at giving it back, he delighted in tugging the rope and squeaky toys, snatching socks with a
mischievous light in his eyes as he darted out of reach. He tried rounding up the cats and herding the collie into his kennel, and he always barked at vehicles coming toward the house, but never the ones going away.

At night, he would snuggle close with his nose tucked into my neck until he was satisfied with the portion of loving it brought him, then he’d stretch out on his side of the pillow and stretch a bit farther until he moved me to the edge of the bed. Come morning, he would wiggle and nudge, bathing my cheek with puppy kisses until he had me roused and moving, then promptly steal the warm spot I vacated to preen and grin at me. Getting him up for his morning potty run became one of his fondest games. It was two full weeks of adventure.

Thanksgiving afternoon the neighbor down the hill came to the house and claimed Rascal. Being a reasonable person, I did not argue. It wasn’t the first of his family’s dogs I had ‘rescued’, just the first any of them had ever taken back. I hoped that meant he was special to them and would have better care than seemed normal from them.

Rascal came back Sunday night about dark. We called the neighbor and he hurried up to retrieve him, though it is a long walk between our houses and the night was in the mid 20’s. Rascal seemed glad to see him and still I hoped for the best.

My pup returned Wednesday morning and Dad let him inside. He was thin and he flinched at every loud noise or sudden move, but he was oh so glad to see us. Yes, we called the neighbor and when he arrived, we bought Rascal from him.

Though Rascal was lively and bright eyed, he wouldn’t eat. It was plain he wanted to, clear he had been hungry for quite some time. He would drink water, but the little bit he nibbled on came back up. I know you can’t feed a starved dog quickly or in great quantities, so I thought it was a rebellious tummy. It would pass with time and moderate feeding. He woke my in the early AM, ill again.

I took Rascal to the vet just as soon as I could that morning and was given the heartbreaking news. My so recently fat, happy, lively puppy had Parvo. The vet did the little bit he could, but Rascal died that evening, warm, safe, and loved.

I asked God “Why did you send Rascal to me just to take him away?” God leaned close and his voice fell softly on my inner ear. “I didn’t do it for you; I did it for him.” Thank you, Lord. I understand, but it is so hard.

This isn’t a plea for your sympathy. I don’t need or want it. Rascal isn’t my first heartache, nor will he be the last. I am writing this for him and Teddy Bear, and Miss Pretty and Tiger, and all the other ‘homeless’, abandoned, mistreated creatures out there. As I pen this, I turn to see what Rascal is into that he’s being so quiet, then I remember. Rascal is forever stilled.

Before you decide spaying and neutering cost too much; Before you shrug aside vaccinations and deworming regimes; BEFORE you drop that puppy, kitten, bunny, or reptile along the road somewhere and tell yourself he’ll be fine in the wild, or someone will take her in, you remember me. It is not only the animal you are abusing, and most likely giving a death sentence. You are shattering my heart.

My name is Tamara and my heaven awaits me, filled with your animals of inconvenience. May God Bless you, every one.

Where this true story originated:  http://penfury.deviantart.com/art/Walk-in-my-Shoes-105744747

More of my mom’s writings can be found here: http://penfury.deviantart.com/gallery/

Thank you for taking the time to read this. I hope you can find it in your heart to pass this on and give each animal you come across just a little bit more of your time and love.