Life
is a powerful thing. Life wants to keep going. And regardless of what we
witness in movies on and TV, killing someone, or something, is hard to do. Life
wants to fight back and hold on. Just think of all the weeds that keep coming
back. This week we had to put one of our dogs down, and his life just kept
holding on. The vet actually had to give a second shot, and she said that
sometimes they just don’t want to let go. And perhaps we should have seen that
all along in Toby.
We
got him six years ago from the shelter in Albuquerque. We had been looking at
the possibility of getting a second dog, and I was on their website and saw
that they had a Shetland Sheepdog available. We had a Sheltie when I was an
infant, although she died before I was old enough to remember her, but grew up
hearing about what a great dog she was and how good Sheltie’s were with kids
and families, and so I called Linda and we went to see him.
Long
story short, they didn’t know much about him and all the strange things he was
doing while we were there we explained away as him being stressed of having his
life turned upside down and not knowing what was going on in ending up at the
shelter. They also said that purebreds didn’t come in very often and if we didn’t
take him then, he would be gone by the morning, and so we got ourselves a new
dog.
But,
when we got him home, we discovered through his behavior that he had been
either severely abused or completely ignored in his last home. When he went
outside he would run to a small, tight corner where two fences came together and
hide. When he came into the house, he would run into the bathroom behind the
toilet and hide. That was his existence.
With
the help of some medicine to start, and then a dog trainer, and a lot of work,
especially by my wife, we got him to become somewhat sociable and acclimated to
his surroundings and his family. But, while there were glimpses of a normal dog
inside of him, they were fleeting. You could also see that he was trying desperately
to try and overcome his past. As he improved when we would come near to him, he
might still try and flee, but then would stop and start running in circles
trying to overcome his anxiety. Or he would see us and run towards us, and then
start circling before coming too close. We actually called him circle dog for a
while because that was our interactions.
By
the end of his life, we could actually walk him on a leash, he would sit on the
couch and come seek an ear rubbing if we were lying in bed, and he played with the
children. On his best days, he would even let me walk up to him and let me
scratch his ears, but he never really did well with men, which makes me think
it was an abuse issue.
In
looking back now, I can see his powerful claim of life working its way through.
He could have just given up, curled up in a ball refusing to eat or drink and
just been done. But he didn’t. He fought, maybe not as effectively as we may
have wanted, but from where he was on his first day to where he was on his last
day was the difference between night and day. Others, who spent time around
him, may have still seen how “off” he might be, but he had made enormous
progress. And before we went to the vet on Monday I was able to groom him, a
little, and scratch his ears and tell him not only thank you, but also that I
was sorry for what he had been through and that we were never able to get him
fully over it all, which was not his fault.
On
Monday evening I told Linda that what was hitting me hardest is that I missed
the idea of Toby. Not in the When Harry
Met Sally way of “Maybe I just miss the idea of Helen. No, I miss the whole
Helen.” But that I wanted something specific from him, and he and I could not
make that happen. I wanted him to be more than he could be, and in that isn’t
he like all of us, living in our brokenness? And yet the power of life shone
through him to the end. I miss the idea of Toby, but I also just miss my dog.
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