I Found Your Dog Today…
(author unknown)
I found your dog today.
No, he has not been adopted by anyone.
Most of us who live out here own as many
dogs as we want, those who do not own
dogs do so because they choose not to.
I know you hoped he would find a good
home when you left him out here, but he
did not. When I first saw him he was miles
from the nearest house and he was alone,
thirsty, thin and limping from a burr in his paw.
How I wish I could have been you as I stood
before him. To see his tail wag and his eyes
brighten as he bounded into your arms, knowing
you would find him, knowing you had not
forgotten him. To see the forgiveness in his eyes
for the suffering and pain he had known
in his never-ending quest to find you…but I was
not you. And despite all my persuasion, his
eyes see a stranger. He did not trust.
He would not come.
He turned and continued his journey;
one he was sure would bring him to you.
He does not understand you are not looking for
him. He only knows you are not there, he only
knows he must find you. This is more important
than food or water or the stranger who can give
him these things.
Persuasion and pursuit seemed futile;
I did not even know his name. I drove home,
filled a bucket with water and a bowl with food
and returned to where we had met. I could see
no sign of him, but I left my offering under the
tree where he had sought shelter from the sun
and a chance to rest. You see, he is not of the
desert. When you domesticated him, you took
away any instinct of survival out here. His
purpose demands that he travel during the day.
He doesn’t know that the sun and heat will claim
his life. He only knows that he has to find you.
I waited hoping he would return to the tree;
hoping my gift would build an element of trust
so I might bring him home, remove the burr from
his paw, give him a cool place to lie and help
him understand that the part of his life with you
is now over. He did not return that morning and
at dusk the water and food were still there
untouched. And I worried. You must understand
that many people would not attempt to help your
dog. Some would run him off, others would call
the county and the fate you thought you saved
him from would be preempted by his suffering
for days without food or water.
I returned again before dark. I did not see him.
I went again early the next morning only to find
the food and water still untouched. If only you
were here to call his name. Your voice is so
familiar to him. I began pursuit in the direction
he had taken yesterday, doubt overshadowing
my hope of finding him. His search for you was
desperate, it could take him many miles in
24 hours.
It is hours later and a good distance from where
we first met, but I have found your dog. His thirst
has stopped, it is no longer a torment to him.
His hunger has disappeared, he no longer aches.
The burrs in his paws bother him no more.
Your dog has been set free from his burdens,
you see, your dog has died.
I kneel next to him and I curse you for not being
here yesterday so I could see the glow, if just for
a moment, in those now vacant eyes. I pray that
his journey has taken him to that place I think you
hoped he would find. If only you knew what he
went through to reach it…and I agonize, for I know,
that were he to awaken at this moment, and (if) I
were to be you, his eyes would sparkle with
recognition and his tail would wag with forgiveness.
(author unknown)
I found your dog today.
No, he has not been adopted by anyone.
Most of us who live out here own as many
dogs as we want, those who do not own
dogs do so because they choose not to.
I know you hoped he would find a good
home when you left him out here, but he
did not. When I first saw him he was miles
from the nearest house and he was alone,
thirsty, thin and limping from a burr in his paw.
How I wish I could have been you as I stood
before him. To see his tail wag and his eyes
brighten as he bounded into your arms, knowing
you would find him, knowing you had not
forgotten him. To see the forgiveness in his eyes
for the suffering and pain he had known
in his never-ending quest to find you…but I was
not you. And despite all my persuasion, his
eyes see a stranger. He did not trust.
He would not come.
He turned and continued his journey;
one he was sure would bring him to you.
He does not understand you are not looking for
him. He only knows you are not there, he only
knows he must find you. This is more important
than food or water or the stranger who can give
him these things.
Persuasion and pursuit seemed futile;
I did not even know his name. I drove home,
filled a bucket with water and a bowl with food
and returned to where we had met. I could see
no sign of him, but I left my offering under the
tree where he had sought shelter from the sun
and a chance to rest. You see, he is not of the
desert. When you domesticated him, you took
away any instinct of survival out here. His
purpose demands that he travel during the day.
He doesn’t know that the sun and heat will claim
his life. He only knows that he has to find you.
I waited hoping he would return to the tree;
hoping my gift would build an element of trust
so I might bring him home, remove the burr from
his paw, give him a cool place to lie and help
him understand that the part of his life with you
is now over. He did not return that morning and
at dusk the water and food were still there
untouched. And I worried. You must understand
that many people would not attempt to help your
dog. Some would run him off, others would call
the county and the fate you thought you saved
him from would be preempted by his suffering
for days without food or water.
I returned again before dark. I did not see him.
I went again early the next morning only to find
the food and water still untouched. If only you
were here to call his name. Your voice is so
familiar to him. I began pursuit in the direction
he had taken yesterday, doubt overshadowing
my hope of finding him. His search for you was
desperate, it could take him many miles in
24 hours.
It is hours later and a good distance from where
we first met, but I have found your dog. His thirst
has stopped, it is no longer a torment to him.
His hunger has disappeared, he no longer aches.
The burrs in his paws bother him no more.
Your dog has been set free from his burdens,
you see, your dog has died.
I kneel next to him and I curse you for not being
here yesterday so I could see the glow, if just for
a moment, in those now vacant eyes. I pray that
his journey has taken him to that place I think you
hoped he would find. If only you knew what he
went through to reach it…and I agonize, for I know,
that were he to awaken at this moment, and (if) I
were to be you, his eyes would sparkle with
recognition and his tail would wag with forgiveness.