God’s most perfect creatures
Writing by treason on Wednesday, 29 of June , 2005 at 7:17 pm
A coworker’s partner gave me a book to read. I’ve had it for two years - maybe longer. This is not like me. I don’t like to borrow things, and when I do, I don’t want them in my possession for very long. I return them quickly, and in good condition.
I’ve lent items to people and when I get them back - if I get them back - they’re usually in very bad shape. Books are returned with broken spines. I lent someone a stack of videos - great films that I felt she should see. I haven’t seen her or the videos since. So having this book bothered me. I knew I’d had it too long and that the lender was thinking I was a deadbeat and that he’d better start looking for another copy.
I don’t know why I waited so long to sit down and read it. When I realized that I had only a few days left at work, I sat down Sunday night and started it. I put it down at the halfway point, then picked it up again last night and finished it. It’s a book I should have bought and read years ago, but didn’t. Now I want to go out and get more of Elizabeth Marshall Thomas’ books, especially The Hidden Lives of Dogs. The book lent to me was The Social Lives of Dogs. When I read it I had to stop and set it aside so I wouldn’t snot on it. I sobbed brokenly throughout, and lost it completely towards the end when she described what happened to Sundog and Sheilah.
But I’m not the only one who finds fault with the author. I won’t take her to task here, but we are very different dog parents. She writes about her old diabetic dog, Fatima, who was probably also suffering with some form of dog dementia, who wandered off one day and was never seen again. I do not allow my dogs to wander. When we are outside of our home or yard, they are leashed at all times. I’m horrified that so many of our neighbors do not obey the same leash law.
I live in fear that one day my dogs will be off leash and be injured or killed, or somehow get out of my yard and be lost. I have nightmares - and I’ve had them about every dog I’ve loved - about seeing them run out in front of a car, and I try to save them but it’s too late. Everything’s in slow motion, I can’t run fast enough, and I see the car bearing down on my dog. Sometimes I wake up before the inevitable happens, and my heart’s beating so fast I can’t get back to sleep.
Years ago I had a dream about one of my current dogs. I saw him go towards a fence and I called to him. He turned and looked at me, then walked though the fence and disappeared over a cliff. I ran to the fence and saw his body lying on the road, far below me. Every time I look at him, I think about the dream. When I see posters for lost dogs, I tear up. How horrible to not know what’s happened to your pet. How do people who lose people cope? Wondering where your child is, what abuse she might be experiencing. The fear, the horror.
A lost pet? I’d feel the same. It haunts me that Fatima wandered off and they never found her. Not even my dog, but it weighs on my heart. I won’t even discuss what happened to Sheilah. Ms. Thomas allowed her dogs to live much different lives, and when they met with misfortune, she’d simply replace them. I agree with that part. So many people I know who have lost their beloved pets decide not to suffer the heartbreak again, and refuse to bring home another animal. For me, it’s the only way I can cope.
When I lost my wonderful Boxer, Barbara, to pancreatic cancer, I couldn’t sleep. I’d walk around the house in the middle of the night and stand in spots where she used to spend most of her time. I missed her so much it hurt. And I’ve never stopped feeling guilty for taking her to a veterinarian who misdiagnosed her condition.
The cure for me was picking up the Sunday paper and seeing an ad for Boxer/Dalmatian puppies. “What the hell does that look like?,” I wondered. And soon I was so busy cleaning up puppy sh*t and torn up possessions, that I was able to focus my attention on the new dogs and less on the one I missed so much. Almost nine years later, and thousands of dollars later, my Boxermatians are still my joy. I can’t imagine letting my diabetic boy wander off, never to be seen again. But that’s me.
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