You see, Petey came into my life without any restraints, without any disappointments in life. He was a big old dog of more than 9 years, with having diagnosed with nerve sheath cancer and a lost toe. And though he admittedly didn’t have much to live for, he still showed the same appreciation and excitement about life as just about any new puppy on the block. He was special, and you could see and more importantly feel it, in his eyes. Anyone who has never had the fortune of meeting such a dog will never understand what I mean, and will probably shrug off this entire sentiment—along with this blog post—as a huge “oh how sad, but whatever. it’s just a dog. get over yourself.”
But he wasn’t just a dog. He was the dog—my dog. And within minutes of meeting him,—to the surprise of not only the adoption counselor but also myself—I uttered those words. Petey peered deep into my soul (no joke) as he raised his paw to rest on my knee as if to say, “Hey. This could be good.”
And I was convinced. Within 24 hours, I was already having Kyle rush out of work to meet him, meeting with two vets and several adoption counselors, and signing all of the necessary paperwork for Petey to be mine. I think he really took a hold of me that day, and it hasn’t shaken off since…maybe it never will. He really did change me in a way.
Now, despite all of the hard labor that went into taking care of him,—such as the number of long walks, trips to dog parks, expensive vet visits, and constant supervision to ensure that he didn’t lick his leg off (he had a problem of licking his operated leg when anxious)-I knew he was worth it. Sure, there were times when I wished he would leave me alone to do work, or that he wouldn’t require so much attention. But in a way, I realize now that he was cultivating something in me, something that of course, takes years to develop. He was making an adult out of me.
Scary. I know. But I delved into this pretty happily because I knew he was worth it. But of course, there was also a part of me that was not ok with it—the part of me that really enjoyed doing things on my own terms, the part of me that was selfish and really wanted to just do things for me.
And then it happened: The night of St. Patty’s day, it was late and Kyle and I had just gotten home from going out. Petey was sleeping on my bed and so I had decided to cuddle with him and Kyle decided to join also. So there we were, the three of us, lying side by side on my bed with Petey between the wall and myself. Everything was perfect as usual until I got up for a moment to give Petey a kiss on the face and then out of nowhere, he lunged to bite me in the face. Shocked, I retreated and began to feel the blood rush to the bridge of my nose and swell. Kyle was quick to reprimand Petey and we immediately sent him outside to punish him.
Of course, Petey was looking pretty sheepish, as he knew what he had done was wrong, but no one will never know why he ever did decide to lunge at me. Maybe he felt trapped between me and the wall, maybe he was tired and grumpy, maybe he was in pain from his leg and wanted to not deal with kisses at the moment. Either way, it was probably a culmination of all of these things that unfortunately resulted in him being taken back to the Humane Society. Despite my being the one bitten in the face, I was devastated and heartbroken and it was perhaps one of the hardest things that I had to do in my life.
That night, Kyle and I fought fiercely for the first time in a while and neither one of us really slept. He wanted to keep Petey and give him a second chance—while I, was not so sure anymore. Kyle called me “irresponsible” and even said that Petey biting me was a “convenient excuse” to take him back. He also was quick to remind me that Petey was not a “petcessory” but a real living and imperfect being that needed understanding and support. I was hurt and insulted, but above all, livid. Livid because somewhere, he was right.
It goes without saying that having a dog is no easy task, it really is like having a baby. But having this dog really taught me some things that would be an outright crime not to record somewhere—if not for the benefit of others to read, then at least for the benefit of myself being honest.
I’m selfish. Sure, I had no qualms shelling out the money for food and even medical costs for Petey, but when it came to really making the time out for him over myself without any grudges, I failed.
I give up too easily. Furthermore, having (and then losing) Petey has opened up my eyes to the blaring fact that I have a hard time dealing with one’s imperfections. Anytime anyone ever wronged me, I used the tactic of cutting them loose before they even knew it to prevent any further damage to my heart. Kyle can also attest to this.
I am irresponsible. Perhaps the hardest memory of me with Petey is the moment when I saw him and told him and the counselor that “he’s worth it” only to give him up a month later. I can’t even drive by the humane society or the dog park without crying.
Knowing that he’s back in the shelter is probably the hardest thing ever, and there is literally not a moment that goes by that I don’t wonder what he’s doing right now. I wonder if he thinks I’ll come back for him, or if I’ve just given him up like all of his other owners. As I write this, I’m crying. It really is my only hope that he finds someone who doesn’t have the same shortcomings as me, and that he doesn’t lose that spark in eye or that huge smile of his.
