My life, to me, is as important as yours is to you. Just that it is shorter, so we dogs have less time around here. Less time for happiness. Time for suffering, if we do, we suffer exactly like to you do, and suffering always seems forever. Except that we dogs do not have the comfort of any spiritual or religious believes, for us, if things become unbearable and there is no way out, there is no hope for heaven or something better after death. That’s for people. Sometimes, I envy you humans. Once your life is over, you will be consoled for all you endured on earth, and you will live in what you call paradise, or heaven. So for you, there is always hope, no matter how bad it gets. Not for us.
One of my siblings starved and froze to death. I discovered her in a dumpster, while I was searching for food. She was, sort of, in paradise. Her suffering was no more. But for you humans, it is different. Why are we excluded?
My past, as for most of us dogs there, was only hardship. The people who come around, the rescue workers who bring the food, offered my humans to have my mom spayed, before I was even there. At no charge. But they refused. So one would assume I was really, really wanted. For a short time at least, I was. The kids liked me being around, a puppy, and they liked the white tip of my tail. They carried me around and sometimes they hurt me when they got too rough. I licked them and wagged my little tail with that white tip, after all, they were just kids. Then I became too big to be carried around any longer, did not look much like a pup any more. New pups were born and I was forgotten. I slept under the house while the people above me were warm inside, the last winter was especially cold, -45. I was close to death and shivering all the time, and almost always hungry. When spring finally came, my hip was dislocated. I do not really remember how this happened, I was hit by a car. They often do not slow down when they see us, my fault, I was not fast enough I guess. I was left by the road in tremendous pain, somehow I made it home, but nevertheless had to find or hunt for my own food by myself. At night I crawled under the house for protection, my leg dragging. When I was chased I had to run with my dangling leg. My humans now referred to me as that scared dog with the broken leg, and after a while claimed I did not belong to them or anyone, and they asked the rescue people to take me away. I became nobody’s dog. This made me very sad because I always had wanted that somehow, although not a puppy any longer, they would, sort of, like me, love me. I did love them, so as for me, I have forgiven them.
I had surgery now, I am not allowed to walk for several weeks and I am on a lot of pain medication, but there is no hurting any more. It seems that all the pain has gone out of my my body and to my foster mom, I can see it in her eyes. The sadness, the sorrow. She says for a foster mom, there are no pain killers. It is that pain of knowing what her fellow humans have done to me. She caresses my big head and says she hopes someone will want to adopt me and love me, provide me with heaven on earth. Not just for my sake, she says, but the for the sake of all humanity.

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