My Experience with Dogs

 

            by Lynn Smith

 

 

 

The people who adopted me and my sister, (I’ll call them mom and dad) had three dogs before my sister and I were ever around. The two who had passed away, were named Shep and Joe. Lizzy was the third dog and was already old by the time my sister and I came to live with them. I was scared of her at first, because she was huge compared to my little four year old self.

She was about ten years old when I first met her. Lizzy was a dark brown mix, hair would fall off of her all time, looking like dust balls made out of short hairs. She was sweet and furry. I would race her around the backyard, I usually lost but still tried to beat her every time. I’d lay next to her on the rug, and snuggle close to her and fall asleep by her side. She was super cute and adorable. As she hit the age of eleven, she could no longer continue racing me, my dad said I couldn’t lay with her anymore. I didn’t understand why. Dad took her to the vet one weekend and when he came back, Lizzy wasn’t with him. I asked him about it and he said she was old and needed to be put down.

I was eight when I realized what had actually happened. I felt sad and betrayed, as if my father had purposely lied to me. I hadn’t realized that they were trying to protect me from death until later. Lizzy wouldn’t race anymore, for she was too old and tired to do so. She wouldn’t lay with me because it was too hard for her to get about the house and to get up after she laid anywhere. She would soil herself and go to the bathroom on the rug. I realized when I was eight and not sooner, because my mother was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. A disease that leaves its victim weak, paralyzed from the waist down, and slowly kills you, commonly within seven years of being diagnosed.

My parents had been arguing for weeks about whether or not we should get a guide dog for my mother. My father kept saying no and saying he just wasn’t interested in caring for another dog. Mom, who was ever persistent, would continue to push and guilt dad by using her excuse of being in a wheelchair and needing constant supervision. Dad finally caved in and the next day while he was out at work, my mother, sister and I went to go visit the Humane Society after school and try to get a dog.

When we arrived at the Humane Society, I quickly observed that it was a horribly dull place filled with loud noises and unhappy animals inside. There was gray everywhere, dogs where barking up a storm, and whining. It was a highly depressing sight to witness. We made one walk around the place before deciding that we would leave and try somewhere else another day. That’s when we spotted a gorgeous white dog who was shy and looking at us pleading us to take her. We talked to the workers at the Humane Society, and made a deal that we would get the dog that day. I was very happy and called my dad and after work he came down to the Humane Society and paid for the dog.

We all agreed that the perfect name for this dog was “Snowball”. She was all white, as white as freshly fallen snow. My sister and I pushed our mom’s wheelchair while dad got Snowball into the car. After dad got her into the car, he helped our mom get in while my sister and I got in and buckled up. The four of us and the newest member to the family, Snowball, headed to out house.

We arrived at our house, where we let Snowball in for the first time. She immediately took a long look around then darted after something under the couch. Surprised, my sister and I pulled her back and looked under the couch. We saw our frightened little kitty, Chichi. We scolded Snowball, but she kept chasing the cat relentlessly. We took our cat into our bedroom and locked her in there while Snowball explored the rest of the house.

After we were all settled down and Snowball had seen everything, we sat down on the couch and started petting her. She seemed rather happy about the attention. Then we stopped petting her and took off our shoes and began watching television. She then became angry, and aggressive, as if feeling neglected. To get our attention again she started biting our shoes and trying to take our socks off our feet. We thought that she was being playful so we laughed and let her continue to do this. Then she growled at people walking outside the house. However, my mother soon yelled at the dog to stop, so she did. Dad who had been tired and caring single-handedly for our mom, started getting agitated and seemed pretty disappointed about our pick and needed a break from the dog. We all decided to go out for dinner to get away from Snowball for a little while. We locked her out on the back porch and opened the dog door so she could go outside. Then we opened the door to my room and let the cat roam around. When we got back, the back porch was a complete mess and the furniture was ruined. Snowball had tried to squeeze through the cat door from the kitchen to the back porch because she saw Chichi. She clawed and bit at the door, leaving marks and splintered wood all around the door. We found the cat hiding in our room under the bed. We opened the door to let Snowball into the rest of the house and were shocked to discover what the rest of the back porch looked like.

Snowball had overturned her water bowl, attacked the brand new dog food bag, making kibble scatter throughout the porch. She had tracked mud all over the place. She attempted to get food out of the trashcan, but instead there were wrappers as well as old food stuck to the ground. She brushed past us and ran to the couch and laid on it. We tried getting her down, but she just growled and snapped at us. We decided right then and there that this wasn’t the dog we had been looking for.

“ Oh my god. Suzanne look at this mess, this is exactly why I didn’t want to get another dog. You have to train the dog, you have to get the right one. Obviously this dog isn’t going to work for us.” My father told my mom that we had to take the dog back.

The next day we took Snowball back. While we were walking her to the Humane Society, she was tugging hard on the leash making it hard to walk her and push our mom as well. She gave a sharp tug and made me let go of her leash. She darted off down the street and I ran after her, letting go of my mom’s wheelchair. My sister caught our mom before she went over the sidewalk and into the street. I returned with Snowball and apologized to my mom for letting go of her. We continued walking to the Humane Society, telling our story and apologizing for not being able or ready to deal with this kind of dog yet.

We knew it would be awhile before dad would agree to adopting another dog, so we waited. My mother was now in dire need of a guide dog, she couldn’t really go about town without someone with her at all times. She started pleading with my dad to get a new dog. He stood firm and kept saying no. Mom went on insisting and did research on the internet about adopting dogs. She found a breeder who was selling a Harlequin Great Dane for two hundred dollars. She showed all of this to our dad and they called up the breeder and scheduled a meeting to see and meet the dog.

It was the day of my birthday, October fourteenth, when we finally met the dog, Harley. She was tall, though short for a Great Dane. She was white with black patches on her lower body, she had a sun burnt nose. Clear blue eyes that reflected like droplets of water, and she was frail with ribs poking out of her. My father and I were the only two that went to get her and my dad bought her right then and there. We took her back to our house and brought her inside.

She was very shy and docile and didn’t know how to react. My mom looked at her and had a conversation with my dad. My mom and sister had bought a dog bed and two blankets for her. They laid the bed in our parent’s room and brought the dog into the room and got her to lay down. She continued to stay shy and we had to slowly approach her if we wanted to pet her.

It was supper time for her and we got her some food. She stayed in bed and didn’t make an attempt to get the food. Concerned about this, mom and dad made Harley get up and walked her over to her food. Harley looked down and sniffed the food, then began slowly chewing on some kibble. We decided to leave her alone so she could eat in peace. Two minutes later she came bouncing into the living room wagging her tail furiously. We began petting her and were happy to see that she was starting to like and trust us.

She went to her bed and went to sleep the same time that my sister and I went to bed. The next day I fed her breakfast and decided that my sister and I should take her for a walk. After asking our parents permission, we took Harley on the leash around the block. We had only walked down one block and turned to head down the street, when we saw a beautiful rose bush with blossoming pink and red roses. Peaking our interest, my sister and I went over to get closer to the roses. Our dog followed us and sniffed the tree making a circle around it and tying the leash around the tree. Laughing, my sister and I began to untangle her, but she kept walking in a circle. I hit the button that made it so the leash wouldn’t give any more slack, and she stopped. The neighbors had come out at this time and saw this scene. My dog took one look at them and darted down the street, snapping the rose bush in the process and tearing the leash out of my hand. My sister and I looked at each other not knowing if we should stay and apologize for our dog, or if we should run after Harley.

One woman began kneeling in front of the destroyed rose bush which we had seen her working on for three years, while the other woman began screaming at us.

“You stupid kids. What have you done?! That took my daughter three years to plant and grow. Where are your parents? Where do you live? I’m going to find them and tell them what you’ve done. You F****** kids. When I find your dog, I’m going to kill him myself. How dare you let this happen?!”

My sister and I ran after our dog and never apologized. We thought it was best just to stay away from that house and caught up with our dog two blocks later. We walked her back home, going the back way so we wouldn’t pass that house. We went inside and told our parents what had happened, and they got upset. We thought that they were upset with us for not watching Harley correctly, instead they were upset at the lady for cussing at us and making us feel bad for a simple mistake. Harley was scared and hid under her covers. We felt bad for her and decided to make her feel better by giving her a hot dog and petting her. She became a little more social with us and came out from under her covers.

By dinnertime, she had become happy and energetic again, wagging her tail banging it against walls. We fed her and she went right for the food. We didn’t have to coax her or anything. She was still pretty shy around us, and always docile, she didn’t bark or growl at us or do anything of the sort. We began thinking that this was the perfect dog, the one that we needed all along.

“Wanna go for a walk girl? Wanna go to the park? You do?! Let’s go. Come on girl, let’s go to the car.”

My dog and I raced to the car and jumped in, waiting for my dad and mom to get inside. Then we started off to the dog park Point Isabel, right outside of Costco. I got out and grabbed the leash and got Harley out of the car. I was excited about the water and took off across the park to go see it. The dog was running with me all the way to the water. Tired, I looked out to the water and paused, starting to catch my breath. My dad whistled for Harley and she took off galloping across the park basically dragging me with her. I lost my footing halfway to my dad, but Harley kept on racing towards my dad and I began to get scrapped and beaten up by the ground. By the time we reached my dad I was bleeding and my clothes were torn up. My father didn’t seem to notice, as his primary attention was focused on my mother and helping her around the park. I followed behind them with Harley at my side.

At just five years old Harley was the sweetest, easiest to get along with, and most energetic dog I had ever had. Though  she was big, she never tried to use her size against me or anyone else I knew. Everyone loved her and strangers would stop me all the time asking about my dog and wanting to pet her. Harley got me to open up and talk to more people. She socialized me with people I had never even seen before.

“Hey, is that a Dalmatian? She’s so tall and pretty”

“Hi. She’s a Great Dane, she’s actually short for her breed.”

“Really? She looks tall to me.”

Harley could always open up a conversation with people. Of course Harley never had to do any of the talking, but whatever.

I took a trip to see my relatives in Oregon during Christmas vacation the same year we had gotten Harley. My sister and I were being picked up by my aunt and uncle who were driving in from a job they had done. My dog was pacing the room following close behind us and becoming nervous. We got her to lay down but she was still starring at us with her pleading “diamond ears” . The look that means she's confused, begging, doesn’t know what’s going on but also doesn’t like it. She makes you feel guilty as if you are lying to her or treating her as a four year old. We said goodbye to her and left with our aunt and uncle.

When we came back on the twenty seventh of December, the dog was happy to see us. She seemed conflicted between feelings. I had found out from a phone call from my father about two hours prior that my mother had passed away. My dog kept going over to my mother’s bed and sniffing it then running over to us. We felt bad for her and every time she ran over to the bed we would try to get her away from it. We had to shut the door to our mother’s room so she couldn’t get to the bed.

My dog began whining at the door and tried to paw at the door to get in. My sister and I felt worse about our mother’s death and started crying. The dog ran over to us when we started crying and tried to console us. We all then had a moment where we wept for my mother and felt bad because we never really said goodbye. I think Harley took it the hardest, because she would search the house for about two months hoping our mother would come back. Harley could make me feel better but also could make me feel worse about certain situations.

Harley has since been with the family, and is getting old. Now not as energetic and spunky as she used to be, at the age of thirteen she is still very much alive, getting better and healthy. Harley is no longer thought of as “puppy” or as “a dog” but rather as a member of the family. Being with us for seven years, she has earned this spot in our home, family, and lives.

Harley and I had several stories and adventures that we share, we have a bond that has been growing as time has elapsed. She has made so many positive attributes to my character and personality.

As a kid I didn’t really make friends. Instead I was the school bully or the school weirdo. The one who would do just about anything just to get the other kids to leave me alone. I would eat glue, lick paintbrushes with fresh paint on the brushes. I’d punch the guys or play sports and elbow them or trip them. I don’t remember ever apologizing to any of them. I guess I really wasn’t sorry for that.

This all changed when Harley came into my life. I stopped being so weird and antisocial. I would play but I wouldn’t attack people. I could be included in activities without trying to gross people out. I no longer needed to do something just to keep others away from me. It felt good to be included and to no longer have the title “the bully” or “the weirdo”.

I have Harley to thank for no longer being that way. She taught me that it was ok to talk to others, that I could be “normal” if I wanted to. Mostly she taught me not to push people away just because I didn’t feel like talking to someone or trust anyone.  I now can trust people more and I try to open up with people until I get to know them and can judge them.

 

 Including, being more open and social, being more patient with people when I taught them things or try to help. She keeps me from sitting in my room all day, She also helps me to be more compassionate towards those that have trouble getting around. She makes me happy and I feel as though if it were not for her I’d still be a mean little bully who blames everyone for my mistakes. Before I met Harley I was cold, angry, antisocial, and always kept to myself. Oh how the times have changed since she’s joined my family. I hope she keeps on living and being healthy for years to come, so I can enjoy time with her and continue to become more and more positive gradually

.  To think, she was only supposed to be my mother’s guide dog, yet she turned out to be much more. She turned out to be part of the family, a loving, loyal family member.