One
minute, I'm on the edge of the bed changing into my "we're gonna go for a
walk" clothes and sneakers.
Vander
and Coop are on the bed, a pile of pillows and comforters, going through their
little wrestling dance, which I let go for about 10 or 15 seconds on average
just to keep things cool at all times.
 |
| This is them. |
Didn't
get that chance.
Within
seconds, I had two dogs - within the previous hour, one was laying on the couch
having his face licked by the other one - at each other like a bad dogfighting
evidence tape.
I
screamed. Did exactly what you're not supposed to do, and dove into what
couldn't - could not, no way, not this nightmare - between two dogs who are
different, but so silly in how well they've always gotten along. Always. One
was the annoying little brother, the other the chilled older brother. They'd
wrestle, and then when I yelled to stop - it was normal dog stuff - they'd look
at me, panting, and tails wagging, with this, "Oh, come oooonnnn,
Grampaaaa, we just playin."
And I'd
laugh. All these two did all day everyday was make me laugh, individually or
together.
Just like
that, I'm yelling and wrestling and pulling and trying to cover one up with a
blanket so they can't see other - one of the things you're actually supposed to
do - and break up the momentum. Didn't work. They were both so unbelievably
pissed at each other. They'd get a grip and shake their head back and forth - a
vision that won't be leaving my head soon - and snarled and just everything.
I'm
trying to get in the middle, screaming "noooo" because this is simply
a scenario I never, ever, ever expected with these two, and am literally
putting my hands in there to pry a mouth from whatever the mouth is on. There's
my left index fingernail bleeding and not looking good.
We roll off
the bed, my britches actually come down, and there go my glasses, while they
roll from one bedroom to the next. I was dazed for a few seconds, and dove back
in. Grabbed a pair of jeans to cover one up, and they were so active, there was
no way for one person to slow them down.
The
snarling and gripping continued, the bait-dog pitbull mix who I would clone a
thousand times if I could and the remarkably affectionate hound, these two
life-improving glorious dogs.
It was
10:15ish, and I was 0-fer on a couple calls and texts, not that anybody
could've gotten there quick enough, but I'd have tried whatever as long as it
took. Shaking hands and some blood made phone use hard.
Coop, the
hound who I'd hoped would escape at the first chance but was showing an
anti-Coop mentality, moved into the crate, and Vander, the baitdog who is my
first dog as an adult and so lovable, followed. Shit, dogs in a barrel.
I'm still
yelling and go open the patio door trying to get either one out, something, anything.
They stop a few seconds into the crate, and Vander - who was just a mess of
scars and wounds and swelling when thankfully dumped back in May, 2012, the
precursor to entering my life a few months later - went outside, and Coop
stayed in the crate.
Can't
think of Vander's face through that window without crying. It was a flashback,
to a horrific life.
The jeans
were on the floor, blood stains throughout (they’ll likely get tossed whether
the spots come out or not). There were blood spots on walls, a door jam,
dresser, and on carpet in three rooms.
Make a
phone call, not sure why, nothing she could do. Another call gets returned, but
it's over.
Coop sits
in the crate, and Vander's on the porch, a mess. I start apologizing, try to
clean him up a little bit at a time and talking to him the whole time. Seems
like there's blood in his ear - ala the head shake - and I get a little bit out
here and there as he lets me.
Know
this: I fell hard for Vander, and fell hard for Coop, who showed up as a stray
and moved in. Well, was allowed to because the two of them got along so well.
Not best buddies, but more older brother/younger brother. Vander had that
"just leave me aloooone, brat" face when Coop would just bounce up
and start licking his face or ears, leading Vander to slide into an
"ahhhhhh" face.
 |
| Coop's not whispering, he's cleaning. |
No better
feeling in the world that sitting in the middle of the couch under a blanket
with a dog curled up against me on either side, just sleeping, maybe slight
snoring. Or when I'm in a chair and they're on the couch unintentionally
against each other, snoozing away. Or when they end up on their half - often 60
percent - of the bed and laying up against each other.
The
feeling of peace, contentment. Their reaction when I walk in the door, gone for
20 minutes or three hours, brings me immediate laughter and indescribable
happiness. Every single time I return. Every time. I've not not laughed.
Their
faces and moving into position when a treat's coming. The "come on, dad,
we're just playing" face and tailwagging when I tell them to stop rasslin.
Luv muh
dawgs, luv muh dawgs, luv muh dawgs.
There was
crying, is crying, will be crying.
Time for
some cleanup, especially in bedroom 2, where Coop the chewer goes when I leave.
Couch is out of place, the dog bed is a mess - disposed of days later - and
there's some blood on the carpet. Spray it, vacuum, move bed to the side.
There's the upright fan I pushed in the middle of them to break things up, with
blood streaks on it.
On the
phone with Regenia Brabham of rescue Critical Care for Animal Angels, who took
Vander in way back when, got him cleaned up and out to fosters who, all
together, turned him into a dog that just strolled in, wagged his tail and
curled up permanently in my heart.
She makes
sure that I clean up my cuts and bandaid them and all, soak in some Epsom Salt,
which to my shock I actually had, albeit three years old. The most important
thing is that neither dog is bleeding badly, although Vander definitely got the
worst of it - partly because Evil People take out and file down bait dogs'
teeth.
Finish
with Coop's room, it's cleaner and smells better, and I get Coop - limping,
tentative - into his room. Pet him - crying - and talk to him, remind him he
has water, and "It's OK." Which it ain't, and gets, emotionally for
the human, worse.
Every
time I try to clean Vander up a little bit, talking and pleading the whole the
time, he goes outside and just sits. It's still pretty warm, coming up on 11 or
12 at night, in the 60s. Bu he just sits, slumpshouldered and head slumping, or
goes and lays down. He doesn't lay his head down, just sort of looks head.
Devastating.
This just can't be.
I sit
with him and talk to him, apologize, go back inside, clean, check on Coop, come
back out. He moves a couple times, won't come in - even after an ever so slight
sprinkle - and moves spots, hardly reacting to anything or acknowledging me.
Ohhhhhh
my God.
That
dazed feeling increases. Muh dawg is
shutting down, shutting me out. Could be out of kleenex and toilet paper before
dawn.
Time for
some laundry with three or four towels, the jeans, etc. And to patch up the
ring finger, and a fingernail that's no longer a one-piece fingernail, and keep
elevated because it's a little leaky.
The daze
continues, and grows. Eventually, Vander finds a spot he's used before in the
sunshine, up against the house. And he just looks ahead, hardly reacting to
anything. I leave the door open, and sit on the couch, arm propped up for the
finger.
Overall,
the left hand has that ring finger issue, scratch on the outside of the hand,
two small puncture shots on the palm, two cuts on three fingers. Right hand,
cut on ring finger and top of hand. And not really thinking about them. None of
them really hurt. The insides are another matter.
I decided
not to put a blanket on Vander under the assumption that eventually, if I
didn't bother him anymore, he'd come in. Wrong. Daylight comes, it's colder, I
go out and put a blanket on him and cover him. Barely an acknowledgement. And
the heart takes another punch.
Regenia
arrives - the plan is for her to take Vander to Houston Vet Clinic, and I'll
take Coop to Riverside - and Vander perks up substantially, thrilling me and
crushing me at the same time. He's a little more responsive to me, but not much.
And all
that's been going through my mind for hours is what I perceive going through
his: "I never thought I'd feel the way I did back in the old days, and
never thought I'd feel this way at home." That belief will never leave my
mind.
Coop is
bruised, not really cut, and gets some antibiotics and pain meds. No indication
of anything broken. We're in and out pretty quickly, and he's getting back to
himself. His Roomie in charge isn't, and loses it some with Regenia's text that
Vander "is being his sweet self."
Lost it.
His sweet self isn't supposed to be at a vet reliving that former life. He's
never supposed to have to remember that or think about it.
Coop's
vet made sure to make sure that I knew I needed to see a doctor for my cuts,
and that was next. Got to Med Center North at Riverside and Northside at 11:55,
left about 4:45 after xrays and quick exam, and a brain swimming, thinking of
what lay ahead. Fractured finger, new bandage and a splint, make an appointment
with this hand doctor.
OK.
About
then, Vander was done. I told Regenia to keep reminding Vander on the way back
to forgive me., just for him going through this feeling again.
Got home
and gave Coop some attention. Adding to the sadness is having to keep them
apart, so he's in his room only hearing and smelling us. He has a couch, bed,
radio, water, but he's solo.
Vander
arrives - I'm so stupidly happy that everything went well and wasn't as bad as
my 100 mph mind worried - and looks rough but so much better than when he left.
He's tentative getting out of the van when I get the door, not exactly happy to
see me, it seems.
*Pow*
We get
him out and he's OK, and we get in the house. His face is swollen, has an ear
infection - considered a possible reason for the fight starting, that maybe
Coop hit a spot that hurt and Vander took it wrong, etc., but Vander hadn't
shown any signs of pain or discomfort, and I worked on his ears, still ... -
and he has scratches and puncture wounds, but no stitches. He's not supposed to
shake his head - too much could lead to serious issues - and he wants to. So I'm focused on that, and regularly softly
towel-rub his head and ears for some relief.
Man, the
5 minutes before the fight less than 24 hours earlier seems like a decade ago.
I can't look at them the same, keep thinking they can't look at each other the
same, or look at me the same.
No doubt
I whaled on both of them, and yelled during the fight. Then I kept thinking
that Vander thought I "chose" Coop because Coop was inside and Vander
outside, even though I was with Vander much more than Coop. Vander went
outside, so that was the way it went. Can't stop with my interpretations of his
mindset.
Regenia
figured it'd be best to wait until they'd both healed a good bit before we
started allowing them to be together again. Coop got close to normal, albeit
still a little more reserved, fairly quickly, but Vander was slow to perk up.
He kept getting better, even that first night, but was so-so to me.
He got
some good sleep in the bed during the early night and Coop was OK in his room.
Eventually, I went to bed, and he continued slowly the forgiveness process. The
face and tail. Any tailwagging in my direction brought tremendous joy.
The next
heart bruise came when Coop started wimpering some from his room. No matter how
often I went in and sat and snuggled and talked, within about 10 minutes, it
started. Coop can jump the gate, so that's only half relevant. Have to keep the
door completely shut.
Then, the
first night, Vander woke up and started wimpering a bit, too.
Man, do
dogs know how to throw ya a guilt trip.
The box
the gate came in can be slipped over the top of the gate, blocking off the top
so there's no jumping, but allowing for a peek below while also covering up the
latch, so that allowed for them to see each other. Before, they smelled each
other, heard me talking to them, but they hadn't seen each other.
Had this
thing in my head that Vander might see Coop differently, because Coop was never
aggressive. Of course, neither was Vander, but Coop was the lover and licker.
It was
about normal. Coop, still a little quieter than normal, was tailwaggin'and
happy, and Vander was, "Oh, hey" and moved on. Did it a few more
times, no bad reaction at all. Roomie's mood improved, still got teary. A
given.
Then came
the idea to put Coop in the crate, so they could be in the same room together
and start re-establishing things. Muuuch less wimpering, but Coop still
expressed himself, so I tried to be less affectionate and such to Vander in
front of Coop because ya can't really reach through the crate. It was better
than the bedroom, but you still don't wanna see loving you'd get and not get
it. Talking to ya isn't the same thing.
Wearing
me out.
The
routine was to get Vander in the main bedroom when moving Coop from his room to
the crate or outside. Outside, I tried to hug and pet and talk as much as
possible with Coop. On the first night, Vander sacked out in the bedroom and I
was able to shut the door without waking him up, and that gave Coop a chance to
chill with me on the couch for awhile in the morning.
 |
| Friday, waitin for a treat, dammit. |
No doubt
made him feel better. Not as good as me, though.
Day three
was Thursday. Coop spent all of it, except for an errand run, in the crate and
not in his room. Vander was looking better and continued to forgive. Regenia
came up to do some wound-cleaning and medicine-applying. Amid the attempts to
break things up, again, my body was still sore, and I was down a finger. Plus,
applying stuff to a dog that he doesn't really want is a two-person gig, and we
needed both of us. But man, Vander perked up when she arrived, and perked up to
me, putting his paws on my lap, and starting to act normal around me. Happy
Mikey.
I was
able to stay composed while company was here, but later, yeah, a damp
expression of happiness.
An
ongoing pain was that things just couldn't be back to normal for awhile, and it
was very rough to keep passing by Coop in the crate while Vander was free,
although everything was kind of mutual. No blame, but one was corralled and the
other wasn't. Still, the routine stayed even. Snacks were fair and distributed
at the same time, etc.
And Coop
has a face, eyes, that are just so expressive, it kills ya. There's a reason I
have a staggering amount of pics and vids of these two, and why they got me as
seriously as they got me.
The med
center doc had me down to see a hand doctor. A positive when I called a few
days later: he saw the x-rays, didn't need an appointment, just let it heal.
Ahh, money saved.
Friday
started well.
Vander
was out, and Coop had just started the morning "Hey there" whine, so
I hopped up - quietly - and let him out, and then we got some solid
couch/lap/petting time, which was comforting as hell, againprobably more for me
than him, and then depressing because it was about time to let Vander out of
the bedroom.
Coop
popped up and scooted down the hallway to my closed bedroom door and turned
with a "OK, we gonna all snuggle in the bed? V's in there waiting for
us" face.
Oy.
The
regular morning routine, other than crating, remained intact with breakfast
treats, and Coop continued to chill more in the crate rather than sit up and
look at me every time I moved, which was another jab to the gut.
Nevertheless,
Day 4 brought my first cup of coffee and breakfast-type item of the week, and
within 2 hours of us getting up, they'd had their first anti-biotic of the day,
Vander was curled up on the couch and Coop curled up in the added-a-blanket-to
crate.
A
positive was being able to type. The patient coordinator at the hand doctor's
office - a day brightener in our phone call - said I can use the splint to
avoid bumping the finger, but as long as the finger was wrapped well and firm,
typing should be fine.
Alas,
everything in my life kind of stopped. All I can think of is getting back to as
close to normal as possible, where both can sleep on the couch or bed, and go
in and out as they please, and Coop can mosey up and lick Vander's face, or
they fall asleep with one's head up against the other one's back, and they
kinda snore.
And the
stopping of your life is of note when one is unemployed and trying to get a
business - The Sports Report of Central Georgia, www.centralgasports.com - going and can't quite type for a few days while being
overly worried about the dogs, who are increasingly doing better than the
human, who is, yes, making progress with his composure.
Returning
from an errand of about 90 minutes brought a little anxiety. But Vander was in
the same spot, rock solid sleeping in the bed, never heard me come in. The
assorted swaps to get Coop back out to the crate and both fed at roughly the
same time went well.
And here
sits Vander on their chair, peeking at me and peeking at Coop and resting his
eyes before getting up, doing his 5-lap dance while readjusting, laying back
down and sighing.
The
sighing helps the human tremendously, and the human - dry-eyed now for several
hours, in fact - needs every bit of it.
Things
have pretty much settled into a new temporary routine, and that's clearly more
comforting to me.
Still in
the forefront of the brain is the future. We're working toward Monday and a
behavioral trainer coming with Regenia to see how they are out in the room
together, not separated, albeit both on leashes.
I just
have this nauseating feeling. It started during the, um, altercation and has
never left.
A friend
says I'm overthinking, that animals get over things quicker than I think, that
they won't be harboring any thoughts. I agree, to a point, but their memory
can't be thaaaat bad. They'll remember. My hope is that they remember they
never want to feel that way again.
 |
| As things were.A normal morning. |
Keeping
an eye on the subtle things healthwise - like ears - is the new priority.
Regardless of what started it, that it could've been the ear infection is
enough to become quasi-obsessed. Conversely, if that's what it was, then the
odds of a repeat are almost nil, because of that impending obsession about
keeping both healthy, and looking for the hidden stuff.
But I
can't imagine not returning to the way it was, now minus wrestling and dancing.
Can't imagine us not all snoozing in bed, or all on the couch, or them snoozing
in the living room while I'm working. Or Coop bouncing up to a chillin' Vander
and licking his face. Or Vander chilling on the porch while Coop guards the
compound from squirrels and birds while I'm working.
Frankly,
I'm not sure I could handle keeping them separate all the time.
Fast
forward a few days.
Vander
keeps looking better, and he's closer to normal toward me. He's no doubt not
feeling himself yet, ala the swelling on the left side of his face, the bad ear
side, and how that feels. He chills like always, eyes me in the kitchen like
always, is eating normally and pooping and peeing normally.
Coop's
demeanor, such as it can be not being out and his normal goofy self, seems very
close to normal. Same eyeballing, same "whatchutalkinbout, Willis?"
playful look, same energy when he's out of the crate.
I'm
smiling and laughing more, and have hardly choked up since Friday.
Sunday night,
Coop got extended freedom, roaming around half of the house - dining room,
kitchen, bedrooms - while Vander relaxed. He looked up a couple times - Coop's
lighter, but has heavy, prancing paws - from the snooze chair, but has stopped
getting up to look over the box and see what's happening.
My hope
and almost expectation for the Monday checking-them out is based on their true
personalities. They might be a hair tentative for a second, and Coop will go to
lick Vander's face. Tails will cause a mini-wind gust from wagging. Coop will
have to calm down, because he always has to calm down a little bit. They’ll go
outside and do their separate things, as usual.
When the
re-meeting happens, I almost don't want to be in the room, cuz either way, I
have a good chance to lose it. If they're as affectionate as I hope/expect,
that's the dream. If there's a growl or hair-stiffening that doesn't fairly
quickly subside, I'll feel another Bruce Lee kick to the gut.
If they
can't be almost back to normal in fairly short order, it'll be a crusher.
Keeping them separate isn't just all that easy, and doing so for six days and
being as equal as possible with attention and lovin' has been flat exhausting,
with, yes, the stress of everything and a still-sore upper body.
And they
deserve more, the same freedom to be themselves. I can handle stopping the
wrestling and certain friskiness and changing a little bit of the habits and
routine for the three of us. I can't handle not having them sprawled on the
couch snoring, with me in the middle or not. I can't handle them not in the bed
at the same time, or needing a both-or-none rule.
I can’t
handle them not being them.
 |
| Gotta get back to this, soon. |
The
thought of having to make a decision hasn't left my head since entering, which
came while I was in the middle of the altercation, and it won't leave until
they determine all of our futures.
Which -
and a prayer from anybody and everybody can't hurt - just has to bear a great
resemblance to our pasts. I love both dogs individually for who they are, and
love em more for who they are as silly, different brothers. And for what
they've done for me and my life in a short time (daaaaammit, why didn't I do
this years ago?).
That
Monday night will forever have bruised my heart, no matter what. I'll always
have this belief that Vander lost something with me, that he never thought he'd
feel that way again and here he was feeling that way in his own house. His
shutting down that night won't leave, and the making-up-for-it won't stop,
either.
So, Lord,
let things go well and we can commence making sure the rest of our days are
like all but the most recent days. I can't imagine otherwise, and just want to
keep luvin muh dawgs, luvin muh dawgs, luvin muh dawgs, and hope they keep
luvin’ me back.
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