Some Therapy - January 31, 2009
I recently wrote about how writing is good therapy. The state I'm in right now, I'm about to test that theory big-time. We'll see if writing this does me any good.
Murph is sleeping at my side right now. You all remember Murph? The pup who peed eighteen times a day, ate a painting and fell out of my car on a freeway onramp? It is a miracle, but here she lies, a little sleepy but completely content. I'm watching her for my ex who is busy being a success. He's here, there and everywhere, signing books and screening his movie.
We were once homeless with nineteen cents between us. We had to steal food to eat. Now he's a millionaire. It's a bit weird to think of him this way. Things change, I guess.
We once lived in an old button factory that was impossible to heat and full of mold and all other sorts of disgusting critters. Except that--though we didn't have money enough for a bed--we borrowed a hundred dollars to adopt a little border collie from the Anti-cruelty society. She was the very opposite of disgusting. Big black eyes and fancy fur. She pranced around our hovel of a living environment like queen shit, all legs and tail and eyes. You guys know about Maxie, though.
The first morning Murph came to town, she woke me up at dawn for some kibble. I couldn't get back to bed, so I got up, brewed some coffee and took the pups to the dog park up the street. It was empty. We had the whole park to ourselves, and took full advantage of it. Murph grabbed a tenny out from under Maxie and took off. Maxie chased her in circles, nipping at her neck, pouncing more than running because she's queen shit. The sun rose over the rocks and burned up the mist, and I remember thinking to myself--curiously--Erin, you'd better savor this perfect moment, because nothing lasts forever.
And not long afterward, it ended, when a lady showed up with four dogs.
Wednesday morning, a friend of mine knocked on my door. I opened it to find her holding a collarless stray she'd found in her car. A little Terrier, four months old.
"You should keep it," I said.
"I don't want the responsibility."
"Well then, I'll take it in and find it a home."
And that's what I did. For three days, it was my full-time job. The puppy became "Sadie," and I took Sadie to all three Humane Societies, the dog park and all the vet offices in town looking for her family. No one claimed the dog, and so she stayed with me.
Yesterday afternoon, I took the trash out. Murph, being codependent as hell, followed me around the perimeter, watching me from various windows. Maxie hung back with the puppy. The most violent squealing erupted inside my place. I opened the door to find Sadie banging her little body against it to get out, quivering and not-so-much squealing as screaming, bleeding through her nose and eyes with a broken skull. I drove her to the emergency vet.
I'd like to tell you what it's like to hold a puppy your beloved companion of five years attempted to kill while it squirms and squeals and blood pours out its little nose, but I really don't want to elucidate the experience to myself or to you. I'd like to just forget it.
But there's the problem.
How do you forget? I can't. The puppy made it, but my own fancy/prancy, sweet little dog died, or at least, the dog I thought I owned died, or at least, my glowing projections of what I wanted my dog to be died. You can say, I suppose, that Maxie is just a dog, and all dogs are capable of acting out violently when pressed. You can move on, maybe, but only if you never held that squealing, dying puppy in your arms. If you did, you can't forget.
The puppy's owners turned up at my door, eggplant-colored, for it seems the puppy was stolen from them, and is now going back to their young daughter with a broken skull. Maxie is going to live with Murph and my ex in LA. I am staying here, alone. Things change, no?
I have never felt such sadness. It is unbearable.
Posted by The Bunny at 12:31 PM
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Comments
Oh wow... My heart goes out to you... I really wish that I had something more helpful to say, but I truly hope that you feel better soon. :(
Posted by: Tyler at January 31, 2009 01:20 PM
erin, i wish there was something i could say to make things better for you. i wish i could protect you from everything horrible.
Posted by: kim at January 31, 2009 01:32 PM
Today is a sad day. Things do change. Even when it tears your guts out.
Sorry dear.
Posted by: R at January 31, 2009 04:04 PM
I am so terribly sorry for you. I was so happy to see that you'd returned to your blog, but I'm so sorry you had to experience something like this. You sound like a great dog mom, and I hope that someday you'll be able to rescue another shelter dog. Take care, Bunny.
Posted by: pbj ![[TypeKey Profile Page]](http://www.thebunnyblog.com/nav-commenters.gif)
at January 31, 2009 06:30 PM
You are not alone Erin. I know the feeling all too well. Except that it between the 2 dogs that I live with. All was good while the new dog was a pup until it grew up. The older one (also 5 years old, a diva, about 30lbs, black with white underneath, big eyes, sound familiar?) will just lose it on the smaller younger dog and has on a number of occasions. There are no dominance or other issues, it just snaps. The worst part is the constant stress of what could happen. It's a hard thing to adjust too. I wish my magical brain could find a magical solution. Puppies easily overwhelm older dogs with their energy, enthusiasm and lack of knowledge of their "place in the pack".
Posted by: JB at January 31, 2009 09:54 PM
Ohh, honey...
Im so sorry. I wish I could say or do something to make it better, but I know I can't.
Feel better girl, and know that there are plenty of people out there that care.
Posted by: Kraysian at January 31, 2009 10:59 PM
A few days ago my dog Sadie ran away from my parent's house. I don't live with them, so that story just scared the shit out of me. Then I remembered that we live in Pennsylvania.
Despite this, I sympathize with you. Discovering that someone you love has an evil streak is always depressing.
Posted by: Caitlin at February 1, 2009 02:51 AM
My friend's dog snapped by 14 year old cat up back in October and broke his spine. I had to put him to sleep, and even though he was old, and to a lot of people, "just a cat" - it still hurts.
My friend's dog is a wonderful, loving, snuggly creature who I don't harbor any ill will toward. But, unfortunately for my friend, she can never see him the same way again. I almost think it's harder for her than it was for me.
The saddest part is that my dog loves this dog, but every time they play, my friend and I share nervous glances and hover over them, because I guess you just never know.
Posted by: reckless at February 1, 2009 11:44 AM
What a bitch. In times like this, I take comfort in a Simpsons quote:
"Apu, if it'll make you feel any better, I've learned that life is one crushing defeat after another until you just wish Flanders was dead."
In short, what's the point of life?
Posted by: mav_ian at February 1, 2009 01:01 PM
Your blog is therapy for me.
I had such a bad weekend. Reading you was nice; now I don't feel so alone.
Posted by: CJ at February 1, 2009 04:24 PM
I'm at a loss for words...I'm so sorry, Bunny.
Posted by: judi at February 1, 2009 05:45 PM
A hug and a cold wet nose might help.
Shine on.
Posted by: colin at February 1, 2009 08:33 PM
Wow. I volunteer at our humane society here walking dogs and this is horrible.
I've read your blog for a while, and Murph is the happy-go-lucky silly dog. She does dumb things, and you love her for it. Maxie, though, you've always seen her as independent. Different. The problem might have been that you assigned this role to her, remembering behaviors she did to enforce it. I do it too... But of course, Maxie got jealous like any other dog, she felt threatened and frustrated.
It's easier to forgive Murph for eating a condom. When she's frustrated, maybe she'll devour the contents of the trash can. It's not so easy to forgive Maxie for an act that is violent, seemingly beneath her. Each dog has their way. It's just harder for a human to accept the problems equally.
I'm sorry Bunny.
Posted by: Nadia at February 2, 2009 12:46 PM
I've dealt with about 4 or 5 dog fights. It'll get better. *sending you a kiss on the cheek*
Posted by: Wayland at February 3, 2009 12:03 AM
Oh, Erin, that's really awful.
It's very hard to accept something as violent and terrible as that, especially coming from someone whom you love.
I know nothing will help bring the old Maxie back, but perhaps she'll weasel her way back into your heart with time.
Really sorry, love.
Posted by: Kate at February 3, 2009 01:01 AM
that's awful. and bizarre. I can't imagine why she did that?? dogs normally don't inflict that kind of injury on other dogs unless they've been trained to fight or something unnatural like that. strange.
Posted by: melissa at February 3, 2009 10:21 PM
Oh honey, I'm so sorry.
Posted by: lizza at February 4, 2009 11:37 AM
Hey bunny, I love your writing and I'm sorry to hear about what happened. Hang in there, it will be alright. Just give it a few weeks, as they say, time usually heals everything.
Who knows you might see them again someday.
Take care of yourself, stay strong and look forward to another day. This too shall pass.
Posted by: slothers at February 4, 2009 12:01 PM
I'm sorry Bunny. I've dealt with aggression with my own pets and with several patients. Sometimes sudden development of aggression is due to a medical problem and not necessarily a strictly behavioral issue. If you want more info about that, e-mail me and I'll try to help you out. Behavior is one of my favorite professional interests and I like to do everything I can to try to help pets and their people work through problems like this.
Posted by: Dr. Erin at March 2, 2009 01:02 AM
