It's Been a Year, and I still Miss You (344 hits)
Category: GeneralRating: -0.67 on 4 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by bLinkiSh (View user info) at 2005-07-27 18:08:33 EDT
I had been talking with the adoptions manager of Boxer Rescue for some time now. We went through the interview process, passed, and now we were waiting for our dog. I didn't want a puppy, or the hassle of housebreaking one. I was 2 months pregnant I didn't have the energy. No, I wanted an older dog, one I could take walking, leave in the house without worry, and be able to socialize with my aunts 3 Saint Bernard's without being eaten.
Enter Rocky. He is a 5-year-old brindle male. With natural ears and a docked tail. He has a heart problem that he needs medication for, and he has abandonment issues. We knew we would not find a 'ready made' dog, and I can deal with giving him pills. We would have to work on the abandonment thing, but it's nothing too trying. My husband had a lot of vacation time coming up, so hopefully he could help.
Rocky came to us on October 3, 2004 my hubby's birthday. He arrived at 8 am full of energy and kisses. We were warned he might growl or be aloof at first, because he had grown attached to his foster parents. But Rocky jumped right up on the couch with me and put his head on my lap. Love at first sight.
I was running on 2 hours sleep, due to a night shift, so I decided to take a nap and then take my new baby to the park. Imagine my surprise when Rocky crawled into bed with me and cuddled up! We were expecting a shy, timid, apprehensive dog. What we got was a cuddly teddy bear who was more then eager to please.
On the first adventure to the park, I quickly learned why he was passed from one foster home to another. Rocky could not walk on a leash. He lunged at everyone and everything. Attacking things that got too close. He pulled so had I thought my arm would be ripped off. He got hyper and started jumping up fences, trees and me. He bit the leash and tried to run with it. In short, he turned into a little demon.
After our grueling hour-long ordeal, I rigged up a strong chain to a cement pillar on the front lawn. It was fenced, but you should have seen his dog jump! I decided to only walk him after work, at 2:30 am. That way we would be alone, no distractions and I could take my time and train him. A few nights of that and he was a bit better. He still pulled and snapped at passing animals, but he was manageable.
We decided to bring Rocky to Thanksgiving dinner. This may sound weird to some people, but we have a very dog-oriented family. They are like children to us. So I brought my baby to dinner and he made some new friends. He fell in love with my aunt's Saint's. Especially Olivia. She was the baby of the group, smaller then the rest, but still bigger then Rocky. He brought her toys and sat with her all day. It was adorable.
That night the three of us traveled to my sister's to sleep. She has a lab, Andi. Andi and Rocky get along fine, and the night is going well. Then my sister tried to give the dogs some treats. She threw them on the ground and they both went for them.
Rocky ate his treat and sat in front of her, waiting for another. Then, without warning, he lunged at her throat. I was in shock. My perfect puppy, turned killer??
I grabbed his collar and he turned on me. But I smashed my forearm between his jaws and put pressure on his bottom jaw. We fell to the ground. He seemed to snap out of it suddenly and realize it was me. He gave me kisses on my arm and I released him, shaking. I grabbed my stomach and inwardly smacked myself for acting without thinking. I was okay, my sister was shaken, but all right, and Rocky was wagging his tail looking innocent. My sister went inside, slowly. And her dog, who had been at the other end of the yard, finally caught up and attacked Rocky. I let them sort it out, Andi only gave him a few nips and it was over. I felt like I was going to puke.
I sat out with Rocky, watching him, studying his movements. I've dealt with aggressive dogs before and there is ALWAYS a sign before attack. Hackles rising, eye squinting, stiff stance, SOMETHING. But this dog came out of nowhere. I was perplexed.
I called the Boxer Rescue Organization and asked if he had any prior violent tendencies. They said no. Of course not, they would never accept him if he did. Well, I hang up my cell and take Rocky in the house. My sister is sitting on the couch, not making eye contact and not provoking him in any way. The first thing he does is lunge at hr again. So I tackle him and put him in the spare room.
I am in shock! MY dog doesn't do this! He's a good boy. I can't have him acting this way! Sooner or later he'll hurt someone. Then I'll have to put him down. I already love him too much to think about that! We have to fix this!
I called my mom, one of the few people Rocky loves, and ask her if we can stay with her instead. She comes right over and we switch houses for the night. The next day my little sister, who lives with my mom, stumbles into the basement to get some breakfast. I am awakened by her screams. Rocky has thrown himself on top of her and has he pinned to the floor. He's not biting, but his teeth are on her neck. For the third time in 24 hours, I tackle him to the floor.
I'm sitting on the floor with him, watching him play with his rope. I'm crying. I know he's troubled, but I still love this dog. He's my cuddle buddy, my walking companion, my table scrap cleaner, and my friend. But he's also a powerful dog. At 80 pounds, he could do some damage. He's unpredictable, and strong. I know what I have to do.
I call Boxer Rescue, and tell them what happened. I ask if there is another home for him, a farm, somewhere remote. He needs minimal people, lots of room to run. They tell me no. Rocky cannot be adopted out. He's gone through 5 homes in the past 3 years, no one wants him. I was his last chance. And he's too rough for me. I have a baby on the way, we can't risk this.
Linda, the lady I primarily dealt with at B.R, tells me we have to put him down. She will be over next Tuesday to get him. We will talk then. I hang up the phone.
I sit back down with my dog. He has 48 hours left. I lie down beside him and rub his belly. He likes that.
We head home that night, everyone is heavy hearted. Everyone but Rocky. He's so hyper and friendly. I take him out for a run. He's perfect! Doesn't pull the leash once, listens to every command. He even sits while I take off his leash. What a great dog! I'm starting to forget the way he looked, poised over his prey, eyes gleaming, teeth bared. I'm starting to think he can stay, everything will be all right.
Monday he is an angel. We woke up late, snuggled in the blankets. Got a big breakfast, sat on the front lawn with coffee, Rocky with his chew toy. Had a lazy afternoon playing in the leaves, catching balls, and lounging in the sun. A picture perfect day, with a picture perfect dog.
Tuesday morning, 8 am. Linda pulls up in her van. She's here early to assess the situation, being an experienced dog trainer, and to see if there is any solution. She walks up to the door, and without a sound Rocky goes through the screen after her. Once again I am devastated by his actions. I burst through the door, grab his collar and leash him. She looks me in the eye, and I know she has decided. Rocky is too damaged, too unpredictable. He attacks without means or warning. And he's ruthless. He can't be helped. Too many years of being passed around, too many secrets locked in those big brown eyes. Maybe he was struck as a puppy; maybe someone didn't treat him right. Who knows, it's a shame he can't tell.
We get into the van, Rocky tethered at the back. All the while trying to break free and attack Linda. I am shell shocked, moving in slow motion. My innocent dog, and look at him now. Teeth bared, deep growls resounding from his throat. Every muscle defined as he strains at the leash, slaws digging in. Gnashing his teeth, spittle sprays the back seat, he barks. I am defeated.
We pull up to the vet. Linda goes in first to confirm the appointment and clear the waiting room. We don't want anyone getting hurt. She comes back with a muzzle, and asks me to put it on him. I agree. I'm dying inside as I open the sliding door and climbing. He calms at the sight on my face. Sits down, and hangs out his tongue and gives a play full 'woof'. "No Rocky", I say, "It's time to be a good boy." I out the muzzle on his face. His eyes are full of puzzlement, but the trust is there as well. I want to unleash him and tell him to run! I want to watch him run away to safety, I want to follow. But I know this is for the best.
I walk into the office with him. He is lunging again; I don't bother to chastise him for it. What's the point? He jumps at the receptionist, growling. I put him in check. We are directed to a room.
In this little white room we are told to wait. I sit on the floor with him, pet his head and hug him. I am crying. He licks my face and wags his tail.
"You're a good boy, a good boy. I love you buddy. Be good."
The vet entered the room. Rocky stood, making a stiff stance. I held him around the neck. She wanted to give him a sedative, 'to make things easier', I agreed. Anything to make it easier for him, anything. She put the needle in his hind leg. He didn't flinch. He was a good boy. And she left us alone again.
The sedative made him sick, he pukes a few times. I clean it up and rub his belly. He lies down, his eyes look heavy. H puts his head in my lap. Just like the first time we met. And I lay my hand on his head and talk to him. I tell him how much I loved playing in the leaves with him, and throwing his ball. How I will miss our walks and how the park will never be the same. I tell him I will always make room in the bed for him, just in case he decides to check in. And I tell him I love him, for every quiet moment, every play session, every kiss. His eyes close slowly, he is asleep. We sit in silence, waiting for the vet to come back. She enters he room and gives him one more shot. I sit with him, his head on my lap, stroking his back, as his breath leaves his body. The vet says it's time to take him away. I walk out in a daze, his collar in my hand, tears streaming down my face.
We spread his ashes in the park down the street. Under the big tree, in the leaves he used to play in. He would have liked that. I think of him every time I walk by there, it makes me smile. I still leave room for him in the bed. And sometimes I can almost hear him snoring.
User Reviews
Submitted by Blinkish (user info) at 2005-07-27 18:28:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
http://www.ubersite.com/m/71869 resized
Submitted by funk_boy (user info) at 2005-07-27 18:21:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
those ugly silly mutts have grown on me
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2005-07-27 18:19:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
-2RESIZE
Submitted by A-Daamage (user info) at 2005-07-27 18:13:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
Pardon me, but I couldn't see any words behind that colossal picture.