When I was about 4 years old, the family I had at the time got a dog. He was a yellow lab, if I remember correctly, and there was nothing in our ability to take care of a dog appropriately. I suspect there was a greater interest in the idea of having a dog than the reality: the fantasy of having is almost always more appealing than the reality of having in a ‘the grass is greener’ sort of way.
And we had that dog and let him go ferrel because, I think, my parents were not equipped and neither were the children to take care of an animal. There were claw marks on the front of the wooden door because the family dog wanted to get out or in, but he remained ignored or misunderstood. And he’d run away because we didn’t have a fence and we’d let him out without respect to the consequence of what we were doing. I remember a knock at the door and this woman was sobbing with who I think was her husband, and they were holding our family dog and he was bloody and yelping because he was let outside and ran in front of a car and was hit by that car, but survived. The lessons of that event, however, weren’t learned or understood. The dog ran away because we were negligent.
Eventually, it all came down to a deal my mother made with me. And in retrospect, I wonder what she said to my father at the time, or my older brother or my older sister. But I remember her setting the expectation with me that we could keep the dog if I was the one to take care of him, whatever that meant. Feeding him, I think, is what she meant, because my mother told me she was tired of doing even that which indicates no one else cared. Ultimately, I failed, and she gave the dog away. We were too dysfunctional for the addition of life — for fish, dogs, and I’d even argue too dysfunctional for human life from what I remember of my experience.
In retrospect, I think of the dysfunction of that family as if it were affected by some mental illness hot potato that bounced around from one person to the other, but always in some surreptitious hand-off. And you wouldn’t know it at first until you felt the heat and were so sick of it you’d toss it to someone else in desperation. As for surficial specifics, I found the cassette tapes of phone tapped conversations from the family phone in the garage. That’s weird, right? Not to mention, in the most euphemistic of ways, the boundary issues year after year. And that’s why I have a therapist and will likely have a therapist for a long time.
Now that I’m older, my partner and I have a dog among other animals. I sometimes wonder if we are the primary reason for the escalating population of red-squirrels in the area because of all the walnuts we feed them. And every year, we hand feed some wild animal that comes into our yard. As for the dog, he’s an anxious fellow, but he’s loved. I stroke his ears and watch his eyes go from being wide-eyed to relaxed as I hum to him and tell him it’s ok. He doesn’t know exactly what I’m saying, but he understands the tone; he understands everything is ok. And sometimes, I’ll boop my nose on his forehead or rub my nose against his, or scratch under his chin. And when I do scratch under his chin and then stop, he’ll lurch his head forward and bump into me as if to say he wants more. Most of the time I concede and I’ll feel the weight of his head and I’ll drop my hands lower until my hands are ultimately a pillow for his head. And in that moment, I think, is when this four legged animal has claimed me in kinship. And I let him use me for a pillow for a little while longer until there is something else I have to do.
It’s fun having a dog. And it’s strange comparing how I’m interacting with this dog now compared to what I was taught (or not taught) when growing up. It’s quite a contrast, I think, to be in a situation where I’m nurturing a little dog with severe anxiety. I pet him a lot and give him little muscle massages and gently stroke his ears and cheeks. And sometimes I’ll pick him up and hold him when he gets into something he isn’t supposed to as a way to redirect his attention. Sometimes it works. In any case, I’d like to think this dog is being treated how that dog from childhood should have been treated. I guess this is me compensating for some sort of injustice. I’m making things right with love, in other words.
I am me 