I have a dog, a black lab mix (with what we don't know). She's a good dog, doesn't bite the kids and sometimes sits when asked. She currently has a huge thing growing out of her eye that the vet doesn't seem too worried about, but that I think gets a little grosser every day. She's getting old. My husband loves her. My kids adore her. I tolerate her.
About eight years ago, after being married for just over 6 months, Wade and I decided to get a dog. Okay, before he gets all in a bunch, I decided to get a dog. Whatever. The point is, we looked at a few different Humane Society locations and after seeing many dogs of all shapes, sizes and temperaments we saw Sadie. Amongst all the barking and jumping she
was lying in her kennel quietly. She was beautiful, silky black fur and a streamlined body. We took her out for a walk and fell in love. We brought her home and introduced her to my cat.
For some reason we decided to get a dog when I still had one week of teaching left in the school year. But she was a year old and already house trained, so I thought it would be an easy transition. And starting at the end of that week I would have the whole summer to work with her. Our first evening at home with her we lounged on the couch and watched T.V. It was exactly what I pictured having a dog would be. The next morning I fed her and gave her a pat on the head as I headed out for the day. I thought about coming home to her wagging tail, she'd be waiting at the door for me to come in. I had been coming home to Mona (my cat) for years at this point, but she always seemed more annoyed to have me back in the house. A dog, on the other hand, would be excited to see me.
Sure enough, when I arrived home I could see her on the other side of the door. She was wagging her tail. She was happy to see me. Perhaps she was wagging her tail a bit too hard, she was a bit too happy. As I opened the door and was greeted by her happy, energetic face, I was also greeted by the overwhelming, suffocating stench of poop. Everywhere.
Oddly, it never occurred to me to take her back. I was angry. I was disgusted. I was completely out of love. But I was also committed. I immediately went out and bought a kennel. All evening I worked with her on getting in and out of the kennel on command. I put a blanket in it to make it comfortable. And the next morning, in the kennel she went. Problem solved.
That afternoon I rushed home to let her out, feeling slightly guilty that she had been cooped up all day. As I approached the door I was, at first, happy to see her wagging tail. But then it dawned on me, Wait?! What's she doing out of the kennel!? Stupidly I had bought a kennel where the door simply slipped into a metal bar, there was no lock, and the latch was easily (apparently) maneuvered from the inside. And once again... Poop. Everywhere.
This time I went out and bought a combination lock. Not so maneuverable from inside the kennel. Morning. Kennel. Locked in this time for sure. But, you guessed it, she met me at the door once more. How did she open the lock, I thought, She doesn't even know the combination!! I wish I had taken a picture of the kennel. It was bent. Twisted. Completely mangled. And she had somehow squeezed her body through a tiny opening and yes, pooped. Everywhere.
I was at a loss by this point. But Wade realized we could put her in one of the rooms in the basement until we figured out what to do. It was an old house and had an old unfinished basement. She couldn't do much damage down there. So, I left her whining behind the closed door. Although I was fully expecting it, she did not meet me at the door that afternoon (wouldn't that have made an amazing story?), but when I opened the basement door the first thing I saw was wood chips and blood. She had completely scratched away the inner side of the cheap, hollow door. The next day, had we left her down there, she would have broken through.
We solved the problem by putting a huge chain-link fence in the basement. She never got out of that. We had won. I had won. But here's the thing, it was never really about winning (well, maybe a little about winning). I just wanted this dog to know she was safe with us. I hated that she was pooping all over my house. I hated coming home to that smell. I hated scrubbing the cream carpet. But what I hated most was knowing that she had spent all day worrying, scared to death that we weren't coming back. I don't know what her life was like before we got her, but it couldn't have been good. I wish I could have explained to her that with us it could be.
Having a dog is not what I had pictured. She is hyper, nervous and always underfoot. She makes my house dirty. She pushes my patience. But she's also gentle, protective and great with kids. I'm not gonna lie, I dream of a time when my house isn't hidden under a layer of dog hair. But I also know that when that day comes, there is going to be a missing member of our family.
About eight years ago, after being married for just over 6 months, Wade and I decided to get a dog. Okay, before he gets all in a bunch, I decided to get a dog. Whatever. The point is, we looked at a few different Humane Society locations and after seeing many dogs of all shapes, sizes and temperaments we saw Sadie. Amongst all the barking and jumping she
was lying in her kennel quietly. She was beautiful, silky black fur and a streamlined body. We took her out for a walk and fell in love. We brought her home and introduced her to my cat.For some reason we decided to get a dog when I still had one week of teaching left in the school year. But she was a year old and already house trained, so I thought it would be an easy transition. And starting at the end of that week I would have the whole summer to work with her. Our first evening at home with her we lounged on the couch and watched T.V. It was exactly what I pictured having a dog would be. The next morning I fed her and gave her a pat on the head as I headed out for the day. I thought about coming home to her wagging tail, she'd be waiting at the door for me to come in. I had been coming home to Mona (my cat) for years at this point, but she always seemed more annoyed to have me back in the house. A dog, on the other hand, would be excited to see me.
Sure enough, when I arrived home I could see her on the other side of the door. She was wagging her tail. She was happy to see me. Perhaps she was wagging her tail a bit too hard, she was a bit too happy. As I opened the door and was greeted by her happy, energetic face, I was also greeted by the overwhelming, suffocating stench of poop. Everywhere.
Oddly, it never occurred to me to take her back. I was angry. I was disgusted. I was completely out of love. But I was also committed. I immediately went out and bought a kennel. All evening I worked with her on getting in and out of the kennel on command. I put a blanket in it to make it comfortable. And the next morning, in the kennel she went. Problem solved.
That afternoon I rushed home to let her out, feeling slightly guilty that she had been cooped up all day. As I approached the door I was, at first, happy to see her wagging tail. But then it dawned on me, Wait?! What's she doing out of the kennel!? Stupidly I had bought a kennel where the door simply slipped into a metal bar, there was no lock, and the latch was easily (apparently) maneuvered from the inside. And once again... Poop. Everywhere.
This time I went out and bought a combination lock. Not so maneuverable from inside the kennel. Morning. Kennel. Locked in this time for sure. But, you guessed it, she met me at the door once more. How did she open the lock, I thought, She doesn't even know the combination!! I wish I had taken a picture of the kennel. It was bent. Twisted. Completely mangled. And she had somehow squeezed her body through a tiny opening and yes, pooped. Everywhere.
I was at a loss by this point. But Wade realized we could put her in one of the rooms in the basement until we figured out what to do. It was an old house and had an old unfinished basement. She couldn't do much damage down there. So, I left her whining behind the closed door. Although I was fully expecting it, she did not meet me at the door that afternoon (wouldn't that have made an amazing story?), but when I opened the basement door the first thing I saw was wood chips and blood. She had completely scratched away the inner side of the cheap, hollow door. The next day, had we left her down there, she would have broken through.
We solved the problem by putting a huge chain-link fence in the basement. She never got out of that. We had won. I had won. But here's the thing, it was never really about winning (well, maybe a little about winning). I just wanted this dog to know she was safe with us. I hated that she was pooping all over my house. I hated coming home to that smell. I hated scrubbing the cream carpet. But what I hated most was knowing that she had spent all day worrying, scared to death that we weren't coming back. I don't know what her life was like before we got her, but it couldn't have been good. I wish I could have explained to her that with us it could be.
Having a dog is not what I had pictured. She is hyper, nervous and always underfoot. She makes my house dirty. She pushes my patience. But she's also gentle, protective and great with kids. I'm not gonna lie, I dream of a time when my house isn't hidden under a layer of dog hair. But I also know that when that day comes, there is going to be a missing member of our family.
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