It's raining again and the raindrops obscure my tear-stained face. My sweet Annie, whose photo you see here, has begun to show signs that she is, indeed Pit Bull, a reality I have tried to deny from the time she began to grow into the undeniable "bully" body. When I adopted Annie from a local rescue group, I was told she was a Boston Terrier mix and at eight weeks old, she certainly could have been. The color and markings were not unlike that breed and she was very sweet. She is still very sweet, well-trained and mostly obedient. When she refuses to be obedient is when she is chasing other animals in the back yard. Some time ago she caught and severly injured an opposum, which did manage to get away in spite of her injuries. Of late, Annie has managed to catch and kill four squirrels. Yesterday was the worst. I heard the squirrel squealing and I ran out with the broom and tried to make Annie drop it from her mouth. She stubbornly held on until the squirrel stopped squealing and breathed its final breath. When Annie finally dropped it, I was in tears and sick at heart. I was faced with the reality that when she has "prey" in her mouth there is no stopping her. I took care of the dead squirrel and, through my tears and utter disgust, washed the blood from Annie's face, and pondered how I could possibly live with a dog who takes such pleasure in the "kill." Because . . . if she can do that with squirrels, could she one day do it with a child? Or an adult? She has shown definite signs of being more territorial with my sixteen year old dog lately, growling and even attacking her if she tries to go under the bed to sleep; Annie considers "under the bed" to be her "den" and when she's under there no one else may enter. To be completely honest, I hesitate to stick my hand under there when she's there, although she has never shown any signs of aggression toward me. I recognize, however, that I should not even have a second thought about that and since I do, somthing is not right. When I first brought Annie home, she came down with Kennel Cough and I nursed her through that illness like you would nurse a baby. And she was my baby; she loved to cuddle and I loved to tuck her in close to me in the early morning just before we got up. She grew quickly and clearly was not Boston Terrier. She is high-strung, and a little timid with strangers, particularly men, but I never thought of that as a problem - until now. So what to do? I talked with my Veterinarian yesterday and he suggested a Pit Bull Rescue group. This makes my heart ache - how do you just give away your child? And how would Annie cope with that when she considers me her Mommy (okay, Master). Some would say I am crazy; this is a dog for heaven sake. Or even, she's killing squirrels, for heaven sake. Good riddance, too many sqirrels anyway - etc. And, I hear those arguments and understand the logic. This isn't about logic. The Vet gave me some anti-anxiety medication for Annie (maybe I need some too). We're going to see if the meds will calm her enough that she won't be so prone to have to kill any wildlife in the back yard. She will chase and the exercise if good for her, but we hope she won't be so determined to catch and kill. We'll give it a try before we make any decisions. I'm not sure I could just give her up to a rescue group. It would feel like abandonment to me. It seems to be it would be less painful for Annie (if not for me) to have her euthanized. She would never have to understand that her Mommy has given up on her and she is very smart; she would know. So, it's raining today and I'm still crying.
Showing posts with label Pets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pets. Show all posts
Saturday, April 9, 2011
A WET MONDAY
It's raining again and the raindrops obscure my tear-stained face. My sweet Annie, whose photo you see here, has begun to show signs that she is, indeed Pit Bull, a reality I have tried to deny from the time she began to grow into the undeniable "bully" body. When I adopted Annie from a local rescue group, I was told she was a Boston Terrier mix and at eight weeks old, she certainly could have been. The color and markings were not unlike that breed and she was very sweet. She is still very sweet, well-trained and mostly obedient. When she refuses to be obedient is when she is chasing other animals in the back yard. Some time ago she caught and severly injured an opposum, which did manage to get away in spite of her injuries. Of late, Annie has managed to catch and kill four squirrels. Yesterday was the worst. I heard the squirrel squealing and I ran out with the broom and tried to make Annie drop it from her mouth. She stubbornly held on until the squirrel stopped squealing and breathed its final breath. When Annie finally dropped it, I was in tears and sick at heart. I was faced with the reality that when she has "prey" in her mouth there is no stopping her. I took care of the dead squirrel and, through my tears and utter disgust, washed the blood from Annie's face, and pondered how I could possibly live with a dog who takes such pleasure in the "kill." Because . . . if she can do that with squirrels, could she one day do it with a child? Or an adult? She has shown definite signs of being more territorial with my sixteen year old dog lately, growling and even attacking her if she tries to go under the bed to sleep; Annie considers "under the bed" to be her "den" and when she's under there no one else may enter. To be completely honest, I hesitate to stick my hand under there when she's there, although she has never shown any signs of aggression toward me. I recognize, however, that I should not even have a second thought about that and since I do, somthing is not right. When I first brought Annie home, she came down with Kennel Cough and I nursed her through that illness like you would nurse a baby. And she was my baby; she loved to cuddle and I loved to tuck her in close to me in the early morning just before we got up. She grew quickly and clearly was not Boston Terrier. She is high-strung, and a little timid with strangers, particularly men, but I never thought of that as a problem - until now. So what to do? I talked with my Veterinarian yesterday and he suggested a Pit Bull Rescue group. This makes my heart ache - how do you just give away your child? And how would Annie cope with that when she considers me her Mommy (okay, Master). Some would say I am crazy; this is a dog for heaven sake. Or even, she's killing squirrels, for heaven sake. Good riddance, too many sqirrels anyway - etc. And, I hear those arguments and understand the logic. This isn't about logic. The Vet gave me some anti-anxiety medication for Annie (maybe I need some too). We're going to see if the meds will calm her enough that she won't be so prone to have to kill any wildlife in the back yard. She will chase and the exercise if good for her, but we hope she won't be so determined to catch and kill. We'll give it a try before we make any decisions. I'm not sure I could just give her up to a rescue group. It would feel like abandonment to me. It seems to be it would be less painful for Annie (if not for me) to have her euthanized. She would never have to understand that her Mommy has given up on her and she is very smart; she would know. So, it's raining today and I'm still crying.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
THE GOODBYE DAY
THE GOODBYE DAY
Posted on September 3rd, 2009 by AftedEEduth
Mike carried Lindy and I carried her favorite stuffed animal as we approached the Vet’s office, knowing that Lindy would not be going home with us this time. This time, we would hold her and stroke her and speak our good-byes softly and reluctantly. I wonder how much she understands. She has always been so tuned in to our emotions. She always seemed to understand when I was feeling sad or worried or just tired. She would sit beside me on the sofa and lay her chin on my lap, looking up at me with those lovely sad eyes. She could force a smile out of me every time. When we were upbeat and in the midst of planning for company - maybe a family dinner - there was an extra little bounce in her step and her ears were propped up expectantly. She always knew.
I remember the day fourteen years ago when we found her at the Animal Shelter. We had already looked at several dogs and walked a couple of them, but none of them seemed to be “the right one.” We were almost to the car when Mike said, “Why don’t we go back in and look at the pup that was crated in the front office. She was kinda cute.”
“She was cute, but I think she must be already spoken for.” I said.
“Well, let’s just go in and ask,” Mike said.
We did. It seemed that Lindy had been at the Shelter for almost two months. The girls brought her up front to spotlight her because she was very sweet and they were anxious for her to find a home. They were thrilled that we were interested and Lindy was thrilled when we put the leash on her and took her out for a walk. She was such a spirited little thing with her ears perked up and her feathery tail wagging happily, as though she knew this was her lucky day. We looked at each other and smiled. The connection was made. She had found a home and we had found “the right one.”
Our Vet told us that Lindy was probably a year old and would not likely grow much larger. And then he added, “She’s the perfect size, isn’t she?!” She was, I agreed. Also, he doubted that she was German Shepard mix as the Shelter had surmised. Her coloring was predominately black with a tan face and smatterings of white underneath and on her legs. Her eyes were slightly bulgy, rather like a Pomeranian but not that pronounced, and she had a black outline under her nose that looked like someone had painted a little mustache on her face. In short, she was beautiful.
Our kids were well into their teens when Lindy joined our family and, of course, they welcomed her and spoiled her (yes, it was their fault!) She watched them grow up, go off to school, get married, and come home with babies. She was always delighted to see them when they came to visit and welcomed every newcomer with great enthusiasm.
Lindy never met a person she didn’t like. She adored visitors! We used to joke that if someone broke in while we were away, she would welcome them and show them where the silver was hidden. A watchdog she was not. A friend she was.
For years, Lindy and I went for a walk each morning to begin our day. We both looked forward to it and if, for some reason, it didn’t happen, I was made to understand that she was not pleased. There was never any doubt when she was unhappy. Her tail didn’t stand tall and wave back and forth, rather it hung low and her entire body seemed to sag under the weight of her displeasure. Doleful eyes searched mine and not getting the answer she wanted, she would finally sink into a pile of fur and sigh deeply.
One morning, Lindy stopped at the end of the block and pulled the leash to turn around. She was ready to return home. This wasn’t like her; she was always willing to walk around the subdivision with me for twenty or thirty minutes. I tried to convince her to continue the walk but she was sure she wanted to turn back. Our morning walks became shorter and often just to the end of the block. I would say to her: “Really, Lindy, if I can still do it, you can too.” But she didn’t agree and anyway, by that time, she wasn’t hearing much. She wasn’t completely deaf but she missed a lot. And her eyes were clouded with cataracts. She was getting old and I didn’t want to know that. I didn’t want to know what the Vet told us when we took her in. I didn’t want to make the decision that had to be made. How could I possibly say “goodbye?”
I looked into her eyes that day - that “goodbye” day - and she gazed directly into mine. She understood. She knew. But then, she always knew. I smiled and stroked her and thanked her for all of it. All of it. She was the “right one.”
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