in medias res

Mommy's Reality-Check

Neither my roommate nor I could sleep last night for our excitement to bring home our little bundle of joy today. I tested out several different "homes" for him and picked the one that looked less like a prison and more like a camp-y yurt. I also made sure we had an adequate supply of toys and treats. Time moved too slowly at work. At exactly 4:30, I left to pick up Mims and speed over to the hospital two miles from our house. It took us twenty minutes just to get there. Traffic was awful and we had a Florida storm, but we were giddy.

We filled out paperwork, met with the vet (from Elizabethtown, Kentucky), filled out more paperwork, paid, and then waited while they got "Hostetler shelter dog." I wanted everyone to know why I wanted to call him Bruiser. I don't think anyone else really cared.

Finally, the doors opened and out came a dog much cuter than what I remembered. Mims wrapped him up in the green chenille blanket we brought for the occasion. He looked terrified and exhausted. We decided we needed a "Baby on Board" sign to warn the maniac Tallahassee drivers. Mims rubbed the back of his neck and he almost fell asleep. Finally, we got home. The rescuing and healing could now begin. (Note: He's pretty drugged in this picture.)

We took him outside, gave him some food - I got him to eat out of my hand, and that was the last time we were allowed within a foot of him. I coaxed him into his little home with food and he refused to leave. We tried to build trust by gradually moving closer. While I was out for a run, Miriam said that he went into the kitchen and used the bathroom on the rug that was next to the puppy pad. At least he was close. We even took his yurt outside, but when Mims reached in to help him out, he snarled and snapped at her. Now, for some backstory - when I was in elementary school, the neighbor girls across the street had a little black spitz; I could never understand how they'd love something so evil. I remember standing on a dining room chair and refusing to move until he was locked up. I'd sit on the highest bar stools so my feet would be out of the range of his teeth. He bit my face the first time I met him. Today, Bruiser brought all of that back.

Knowing we were getting a dog that had been abused was almost romantic. I could love it to wellness. I wasn't realistic enough about what that meant. Joyce Meyer says that "hurting people hurt people" - and Bruiser still responds from the insecurity and lack of trust he used to survive his abusers. In the past month, he has gone from a bad home to a loud and scary animal shelter, to a trip to the hospital where strangers cut off his hoo-has, and now to our apartment. Dude has been through a lot. I keep reminding myself of that. I cannot respond to his attitude and withdraw - I have to move forward with patience and gentleness and love. Then again, he is a dog. While I thought I had read enough articles to understand the psychology of a dog, I'm realizing that I know nothing. I have to throw all of that away and to watch and learn. The good will come eventually. I'll get to cuddle. (As I'm sure you've figured out by now, this is about more than just a dog.)

I think this is revenge for my years of calling mean dogs "Cujo." Now, I'm Cujo's mommy.

(One final small victory: as I was typing, I could hear Bruiser drinking his water. At least he won't be dehydrated when he pees all over my kitchen. More to come...)

posted by tara @ 11:06 PM