DOGS DON'T HAVE SOULS, DO THEY?
By Chuck Wells
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 that 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 you were
old and tired and that after all
these
years of not asking for anything, you
had to ask me for one last 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."
~AUTHOR UNKNOWN~
~PAGE DESIGN BY FANCYLADYRIDER~
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