MAN IS A DOG'S WORST FRIEND...

Not long after our dog TARA died, a friend asked me to

look after his four-legged friend for a while, so I did.  Some time

later, after my dog-sitting term had ended, I bought a puppy, ZARA,

who was the last dog out of three that my family had over a nearly 26

year period.  Let me tell you something - people who don't like dogs

- or any animals, in fact - and are untouched by an animal's death,

are unnatural.  There is something missing in them and they're

very probably latent serial killers.

But that's another subject.  When Zara was a few months old

and still in the process of getting her jags, I was sitting in the vet's

one evening and a dog could be heard whining behind a door.  The

vet came out to speak to me, and I caught a glimpse of a black dog

which must've been tethered to a table leg or something.  As I was

speaking with the vet, the whining increased and the dog started

scratching at the door and yelping.  I asked what was wrong

with it and the vet replied "It's getting put to sleep."

Anyway, after my business was completed, I made my way

home feeling a little sorry for the dog, but too delighted with my

own pup to dwell on it.  A few years later, I ran into a friend, who

mentioned that he had been given the very canine that I had once

looked after, because its owner couldn't keep it any more.  "What

happened to it?" I asked him.  "I had to get it put down because..."

I forget the reasons why, but I asked him where he had taken the

dog, and, sure enough, it was the very vet's where I'd taken

Zara for her course of injections.

I checked the timeline with him and it matched.  It was then I

realized that the poor creature had been the dog behind the door,

and must have recognized my scent or my voice - hence its frantic

scratching, whining and yelping in an attempt to be rescued from

what it must have sensed was its final fate.  And I had failed it,

and it had gone to its end unloved and unwanted.

Looking back, I'm not sure what I could have done, if

anything, but it still bothers me every now and again to this

day.  I had only looked after it for a fortnight or so, and it wasn't

as if it was 'my' dog, but that poor creature must've hoped that I

would rescue it and I let it down, unaware of its identity 'though

I was.  Humans are often pretty useless when it counts, and I

was found amongt that particular number on that sad and

pitiful day.  Alas, I don't even recall the dog's name.

Regrets?  I've had a few...and this was one of them.

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