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In which I learn never to say never.
July 1st, 2009
Remember a couple of weeks ago when I posted this picture and said there was a long story coming? Well, this is it.
In November a good friend of mine from church told me about five dogs and two cats who were living across the street from her in horrible conditions at the home of a mutual acquaintance. This acquaintance was not, is not, a bad person, however she is the single mom of three children, and has a long history of getting puppies and then getting rid of them once they are no longer cute. She works very hard, very long hours, away from home, and all of her animals were neglected. There is just not a nice way to say that, good person or not, these animals were neglected. One of these dogs was Ellie-Mae.
It had been exactly three years since Polly died. My sweet, funny, ridiculous little Polly. We remained a family with just one dog because I knew we could not replace Polly. I have no idea what possessed me to call this acquaintance and offer to take one of the dogs off her overworked hands, but I did. I did it without even talking to The Husband first, something I never do.
The first time I saw Ellie she was covered in long matted hair which was soaked in urine and had dried feces all over her. She had been kept in a crate all the time, and had never been taught even the basics of house training. She thought her crate was where she should sleep, eat, and poop. She possessed zero social skills, did not like to cuddle, or play with people. She was woefully underweight. I loaded her in the Huckablazer, begrudgingly took the beyond nasty crate, and headed for home. It took three baths before we could even stand for her to be in the house, and I had her shaved the very next morning–helping the smell, but not the ribs sticking out. A trip later in the day to the vet revealed a host of infections, all caused by neglect. She weighed less than four pounds.
It took hundreds of dollars worth of vet bills and medication to get her well, but we did it anyway. We all wanted this little dog to be part of our family. We fed her, and fed her, and fed her. We tried to play with her, but while she loved to play in the backyard with Katydid, she never really took to any of us. We had her spayed to ensure she would never have to go through what her puppymill mother did. We tried every trick for house breaking her, all except for the crate she was so afraid of. We patiently reminded ourselves she was just a puppy as we cleaned up accident after accident. We rolled up our rugs confident we could put them back down when she was older.
I went back to the vet a couple of months ago, at the end of my rope with Ellie. She was pulling toys out of toy baskets to destroy. She barked all the time. She was resistant to all house breaking attempts. He told me that she missed out on very important socialization as a little puppy, that she was an inbred puppymill dog, and that our only hope might be to permanently medicate her. Permanently medicate her! So she would be lethargic, and miserable all the time. We went to PetSmart and bought a pen for inside instead. I would take her on long walks to get her energy out, but she never got the hang of walking on a leash. We left her outside to play as much as possible during the day, and at night tried to get her to bond with us, and then put her in her pen to sleep. The one the son is pretending to be a dog in at the top of the screen.
This worked for about a week, then she figured out how to escape, and was causing havoc all night long. We bought tons of high energy dog toys for her to chew on and entertain her. None of us were sleeping. Then The Husband devised a plan involving kitchen chairs, and long pieces of cardboard to try and keep her in the pen. It did not work either, she was not as stupid as everyone thought–but she was wild. Before The Son and I went to New York, I picked up every single toy, every single anything which Ellie could destroy. At night while The Husband was sleeping, she escaped and climbed onto The Son’s train table and killed a few of Thomas’ friends. She got into the entry way, knocked over the basket of shoes and ate The Husband’s father’s day present. The Husband called the next day REALLY angry.
This dog was causing my little family a lot of grief, a lot of money, and a lot of energy. Everyone told me to just get rid of her. EVERYONE. But I really struggled because I have always said that pets are for life! That you do not get a pet and then abandon it when the going gets rough, that pets are hard work and if you are not willing to put in the sweat equity, then you do not deserve a pet. I thought back to how judge-y I was when Shoeshe had to find a new home for one of her dogs, how I thought she gave in too soon. I remembered how I felt when I heard of families giving away animals when they moved because new apartments did not allow pets. I still believe all of those things! However I seem to have learned a lesson this year that at some point the quality of life for the people in your house is more important than the quality of life for the animals–and sometimes the hurts that happen early in an animals life are too big for the average pet owner to fix.
I get it now. Shoeshe, I am sorry. You did the right thing with Gracie. She was not a good fit for you, and Ellie was not a good fit for us. We fought the good fight. We tried, we really, really did, but Ellie needed more than we could give her. She needed a professional. I hope the home I picked for her is as wonderful as I was told. I am still worried, and still feel horribly, horribly guilty-but I have not had to wipe up a pee spot in three days, and not a single shoe or toy has been destroyed, and that does feel pretty good.
Filed under Boy is my face red, Soap box, lexapro lexplains it | Comments (2)2 Responses to “In which I learn never to say never.”
It’s cool. There are some things we’re dead-to-the-world passionate about, will fight for, will suffer for and will struggle to endure. And sometimes those things are the hardest for us to overcome when we have to make choices that seem paradoxical to our passions. It is then that we roll up our sleeves (and clean up a few messes) and admit that there are ALWAYS exceptions to the rules…even our horribly difficult self-made rules, beliefs and morals. It’s hard, but we come out stronger in the end.
Gracie is definitely in a better place. I spoke to the family who took her a few weeks ago, and she is doing wonderfully well. She has a farm with loads of grass and lots of space for her to be hyper. She has a family with kids who like to run around and be hyper with her. There are other animals too! It’s one big, happy family.
I thought I was being noble taking on a dog who needed a home. I named her Gracie because I was providing unconditional love for her. The tables were turned and my eyes were opened. I couldn’t provide grace for a hyper dog (especially in a small house with a less-than-adequate yard). I could be gracious (and still can), and I could try really hard (and still can), but there are always conditions that make our efforts hard. And sometimes the best thing you can do is let someone who can do it better take it away from you.
Isn’t that what being a Christian about? It’s like a give and take thing with God. We know we can’t really do it on our own. It’s when we let God handle our burdens that we experience joy and grace.
You’ve done the right thing. Ellie loved as best as she knew how, and you gave it your best effort. You did love Ellie, but she didn’t know how to love you back, and that made it hard. I’m sorry, though, because I know how it feels to try really hard and ultimately have to give up. That’s where I was with Gracie.
Many times the most compassionate thing you can do is to re-home a dog! Congratulations on knowing that.
When my best friend died, we took Tasha her dog. Everyone hated this dog. She barked all of the time, was not housebroken, got into the trash, and was a submissive pee-er. I started by taking Tasha when Jan would go to NIH for cancer treatments. She actually fit into our little pack. Therefore, I begged to take her – it was the only thing I could do for her. Jan was going to have her put down when she died because she knew her family did not want her. Finally, Jan agreed and when she was too sick to enjoy her…she came to our house errantly.
We had an adoption ceremony and I told Tasha this would be her forever home. She was a different dog. We got trashcans with lids, she loved using the doggie door and did not have “mistakes” in the house, and she never submissive pee-ed. I just warned everyone coming through the gate not to look at her or give her attention until she came up to them. She continued to bark…but we lived in the country and it did not matter. She was a funny little dog and made me laugh during the toughest days of missing Jan…and beyond.
Even though I know my friend, Jan dearly loved this difficult dog. However, she just thrived at her new re-homed house. No one could believe that it was the same dog. Tasha is gone now…she was about 13 years old when we adopted her. We still miss her.