Operation Doggy Disaster
I must confess something. Or at least openly admit it. You know those guilt ridden moments in your life when you wish a situation had turned out differently but it didn't and now you just have to deal with the fact that it turned out the way that it did. Somewhere deep down underneath it all you know that it’s not your “fault” but it still feels that way? It all turned out good in the end. It just took awhile to get to that place. It’s like a need to air dirty laundry that is just a little bit embarrassing…
Let me go back about three years…
We were just getting ready to leave Colorado and were headed back to Washington State. Our very near and dear Friends (that we miss like crazy by the way) were able to steer us in the direction of two of the cutest and most adorable shitzu puppies EVER. My heart and my family’s heart were won over completely. We were reduced to a bunch of oogly googling baby talking nuts who had a serious case of puppy love. All is well in our world for a long time. The little bundles of joy are wrecking havoc on our lives but that’s to be expected, their puppies. Move ahead another year and we are in the process of buying our first home. As happy as we are to be getting our own space we are just as happy to have found a large fenced in yard for the kids and the dogs. Our little dream is coming true and the “kids, all four of them, are growing like crazy. Now as much as we love these little fur balls they have outgrown the puppy faze and should be mellowing just slightly and working into a routine. They had a few really bad habits that took constant attention and Hubby and I were determined to fix it and move along into dog ownership heaven. Let’s just say that every well-intentioned plan is still at the mercy of the thing the plan is aimed at. After many complaints and a nasty-o-gram from the homeowners association and a pending fine from the city and behavior therapy and additional training and enough “love” to literally move mountains we sat back in relative defeat and wondered what to do. I also wondered if our budget could afford to fly out the dog whisperer…. I think we would have been OK if we had been dealing with one issue and not three or four. We agonized for weeks, months really and all the while the situation was getting worse. My hubby and I were now fighting over it daily because lets face it when all the books, phone calls for guidance from “Doggy Experts” and every gadget you can buy from the pet supply store doesn't work you start internalizing your frustration and figure its your own fault somehow and you get REALLY REALLY cranky with yourself AND each other. We finally came to a crossroads. Would we perform what we thought was a cruel surgery and have them “debarked” and hopefully fix ONE of the issues or try to find them a home with someone else who was (and this is what it felt like) better, more capable, and not a complete FAILURE as a dog owner??? Unfortunately as somewhat “new” dog owners we had never realized that as litter mates who had left momma dog together and had never been separated at all that there bonding to each other was closer than it was to us. Separation anxiety was so severe that we would not be able to even consider the possibility of keeping one and finding a home for the other. We found this out when one of our little sweeties had surgery complications and had to stay at the vet three days longer than the other. (NOT a good weekend!) Finally, after trying several more things for several more weeks, and a final notice from the city, I went to my hubby in defeat when an unexpected opportunity presented itself. Two owners in two different households within a stones throw of each other (the pups would get to see each other every day) who both new of the behavioral problems and what we had done to try and fix them were willing to give the puppies a home. You would have thought this was an answer to an unsung prayer and that I would have been in a happy moment but I was not. We agonized again. No one could make a decision. No one could say, “Yes, lets give up.” Our hearts were broken. I was afraid I was headed for therapy if the situation didn't change so I finally steeled my heart and pushed for the change. Shad never really agreed rather than reluctantly conceded. The kids momentarily hated me. I was the worse dog owner in the world. So OK, I know that it wasn't really my fault but it sure felt that way. The vet assured me that it wasn't something I had intentionally done to the dogs or could have simply changed by doing “this not that”. It didn't matter. We were in Doggie sorrow and guilt mode. We stayed in doggie depression for a long long time. My hubby and I even continued to fight about it. When your heart hurts someone has to be to blame right? Even if you know it’s not reasonable. The kids bounced back eventually and so did we. Every once in a while a stray toy would be found and crying would ensue (I wont admit by who) and then we would go on.
I am of the mind that the sheer amount of love, turmoil, guilt and regret around this whole situation was actually a testament to the fact that we were actually GOOD dog owners. I know that there are people out there that would have dropped them off at the pound and never given it a second thought. The fact that we were NOT one of those people says something.
Time went on.
The level of emotion has now come down. We all still want a pet in our life. The crazy blaming game is now over and we can see the situation more clearly. The guilt has lightened. We are all still dreaming of a dog.
I catch Shad peeking in the paper. I find myself looking at pet finder online. I think we both desperately wanted to try again before we ever admitted it to each other. Then one day it just seemed like it was OK to look and talk about it calmly. What the change was, other than simple time, I don’t know. We went to a home show and there was a representative of Seattle Purebred Dog Rescue there and we had a really nice conversation. I called them a week later and filled out an application. Then we waited weeks and weeks. I had ongoing daily emails with the Maltese purebred rep while we patiently waited. I turned down numerous opportunities of brothers and sisters that needed a home together. Older dogs with medical (expensive medical) issues and tried to keep a level head and wait for the "RIGHT" dog.
Finally, FINALLY the call came. An older Maltese male named Shivers. We made an appointment for a home inspection and hoped she would realize how nice and mellow our children were and that we would make a good “forever” home for the wayward pooch. Let me just say that this was one INTERESTING woman (in the shake your head and ponder kind of way) She does not like children in her forever doggy homes but as mine are moderately obedient it should work. YEA!!! We have a poochy. My mother in law was visiting at this time and in the chaos of company and the fourth of July things appeared to be going really well. This was obviously going to be my dog. He followed me everywhere. He rode in the car like a dream. He loved his long walks and made everyone stop and love on him while we shopped for fireworks. Now any dog that can tolerate the loud booming hustle and bustle of an Indian Reservation five mile block of fire works stands is going to be one heck of a good dog. Shivers was still a little weary of the kids but they were giving him space so it was going well. I kept my head though and scheduled a vet visit before I let my heart get totally swallowed up. Shad even let the dog sleep on our floor in the bedroom. (He liked the little fuzz ball a lot even though he was not exactly a “manly” dog.) So since grandma is here to visit I steal away with the dog on the third day to the vet. Upon arriving he bites the nurse. Then he bites the lab tech. Then he bites the nice vet lady who discontinues our examine because the dog is going to take off her fingers. She does a few more test very carefully and flat out tells me this is not a dog for a house with children. Yes, I started crying. Who are we kidding? This dog had been my shadow for three days following me everywhere and content to sit on me anytime I sat down. I was already in love. There were also some health issues to be medically addressed but the main point was I would never know if this dog would bite someone. And were not talking a little “back off and leave me alone” nip were talking “your about to lose a limb if my teeth can get around it” kind of bite. I called Shad at work. That didn't go well. I went home and told the kids. That didn't go well. At least my mother in law agreed with me that the dog had to go back. We have a revolving door of children in my house; the liability issue was too great. I called the crazy Maltese lady back (oh, did I say that out loud?) and she flat out did not believe me. So I offered to give her the paperwork and assessment from the vet. She decided she was right to never give her dogs to a house of kids. The next day (morning of the fourth of July) I made a long drive to meet her and give MY dog back. I cried it out on the way home. At this point Shad is throwing up his hands.
Fast-forward a couple of months. One day my hubby is late getting home from work. “Were did you head off to?” I ask upon his return. “Oh, I stopped by the City Animal Shelter and looked around.” So over the next couple of weeks Shad kept looking and I gave in and agreed to NON “allergy free” dog. There are some things that as a mommy you’re willing to sacrifice for the good of the whole family. This was going to be one of those things. Even though it felt like the universe was against us. After multiple trips of meeting Daddy after work with the kids to wander row after row at little shiny noses and sad eyes my oldest son wandered past a fat black poodle that took a great interest in him. I stopped and tried to find his eyes under the shaggy mop that was covering him. Shad looked down as he was passing and said, “You’re kidding me right?” He bent down and the dog literally oozed itself through the cage holes and plastered itself to shad to have its belly scratched while its tail wagged so hard that it was hitting its own head (and the dog had a short tail) Shad was toast. The dog was not available for a few days and there had been considerable interest in the dog. What ensued was literally a doggy lottery. At three forty on the day he became available six different families lined up and got there lotto ticket while a room full of children’s faces expectantly watched a volunteer pull a lotto number out of an old coffee can. This whole time I have been prepping my children that there was only a small chance that we were going to “win” this dog. I was already steeling myself for the all the crying that was going to be had on the way home. We won the dog lotto. I could not believe it. Shad could not believe it. The kids KNEW they were going to win. A very sporting woman in her sixties came over and congratulated my children and me. I thought that was so kind and nice of her. Now remember that this whole room full of families that were obviously emotionally involved in this dog already had never even been able to hold the dog. Rules were that you could not get the dog out, or you in, until the dog was available for adoption. At the second that he because available there were six families waiting. This was one seriously charismatic little fat black poodle. My heart is fickle I guess. I was in love all over again. The dog went strait from the shelter to the vet to be neutered. We got to pick him up two days later from a vet they use often.
We get the dog home and I am going to summarize here because it is just too painful. I went to take the dog outside in the back yard (down two flights of stairs) and he fell. I thought he was disoriented in the dark. a little while later the poochie walked down the hall and wandered slightly to the left and went right off the stairwell to the front door. (We live in a split-level home) I didn't know what was wrong. I was SOOOOO upset. It was pure luck that the dog didn't break its neck falling down the whole flight of stairs to the front door. I took the little fuzz ball to our new vet the next day. The dog was completely blind. Dogs are amazing creatures with great sense. He can smell and possible see dark and light places and interact just like normal because of his super doggie senses but he would never be able to survive in a house with stairs (lots of stairs) at every entrance. I could not make my home a safe place for him. The vet also felt that the lifespan of the dog was going to be extremely short given the strong chance that diabetes had caused the blindness. After a family discussion, a teary set of parents took the dog back to the shelter. Good grief was that an excruciating moment of dog loss pain.
We should have never looked at a dog again. We should have realized that some things are just not meant to be. We should have bought another fish. We should have made a family consensus to NEVER look in the direction of another dog. I am so glad that my family never does what it SHOULD do. I am happy that we have hearts the size of Jupiter and that we are willing to lay them on the line at a moments notice.
Forward to Thanksgiving, more precisely to the day before thanksgiving. Hubby has made a plan to all meet at the shelter and take one more look. (Honestly I don’t know why we are still trying at this point) but here we are. Shad is looking at something as tall as me and should be called beast because he could have eaten my youngest son for a snack. (Keep walking darling, no you don’t have to have something that drools on you to be happy) My eldest son is looking at a little thing that appears to be on speed and by the look of the pen has peeing issues. T is looking at a mid sized dog that must have a little heeler in him by the coloring. He looks happy to be scratched and seems agreeable. I am bending down looking at the mutt with T and look in the cage next to it at this little shivering puddle-ball of fear with the biggest darkest chocolate eyes and as hubby walks up he informs me the dog is a beagle. Hmmm, I have never even considered a snoopy-beagle-dog. I call the kids over. They oooh and awww and the dog is still curled up shivering in utter fear. Shad looks really skeptical. We ask to take the dog out in the walking area and pretty much, she ignores us. I like her smaller size, her age, her apparent good health, and her super softy long ears. The kids love her because well lets face it, at this point they will love anything that can come home with us. She is available now. Shad is still really skeptical at her skittish externally apparent fear. I wonder if given some time she will warm up to us. I look in her mouth and in her ears and in her eyes and at every limb. She doesn't like it but she doesn't bite me. T kisses her on top of the head. B hugs her. She still is just kind of ignoring but tolerating all of it. Shad raises an eyebrow. Shad kind of gets outvoted by a bunch of hopeful eyes. Shad agrees and we all (dog included) head home. We are in separate cars and I make it home with dog and kids in tow about five minutes before him. Shad walks in and hears a bunch of squealing and laughing coming from the back yard and heads out to investigate.
Cut to Snickers the wonder snoopy dog:
The quivering shivering little puddle bundle of fear is running a hundred miles an hour through the back yard chasing the kids, being chased and barking and having a grand time. Shad says, “What the heck happened to the dog we just brought home from the pound?” “I don’t know” I say “but this is what we ended up with!” YEA!!!!!!!!
That was it. That was all the adjustment times any of us needed. She has always belonged to us and we have always been waiting for her. She wakes each person up in the morning and more often than not when T decides not to get out of bed she will pull the covers off of his bed and make him get up with kisses. She paws at the slider to go outside. She is a nose with four legs but even when she is naughty she is adorable. She has a clean bill of health. She loves to ride in the car with me and manages to walk with Shad on a leash even though she is a nose with four legs. She can kill a Wal-Mart soft squeaky toy in one minute flat. There are piles of stuffed animal fluff littering my living room floor. She plays killer attack dog with shad every night. It takes ten minutes to bathe her and the next hour is spent laughing yourself silly watching her after-bath antics. She has a conniption every morning until B gets down from the top bunk. She tolerates T’s extra big hugs with great doggie diplomacy and is my little happy food scavenging shadow. I shall never cook in the kitchen alone again. She sleeps on our bed, which I swore would NEVER happen in a million bazillion years. T bought her “bling” which consisted of a pink leather collar with pink rhinestones and diamond hearts. She paces the space between the front window and the back slider whining for the twenty minutes prior to the kids coming home each day. Shad cannot make it in the door after work without a squeal and barking whine of hyper-jumping-gravity-defying-tail-will-kill-ya-hello's. She has psycho episodes of attacking her own tail. I taught her to sit, jump and lay down with one hot dog. She should have been named Nana because she takes care of us all. This is what having a doggie is suppose to be like. It is supposed to bring you joy and laughter and comedic dinner antics.
That’s the end of our long and previously sad story.
We are all living "Happily Ever Beagle After."
posted by Gwendolyn @ 8:49 AM
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