A wounded heart

I may or may not have mentioned before that we had a little Jack Russell terrier show up on our porch about four months ago. We let him sleep in the garage while looking for his owner. He had a collar but no tags and he wasn't microchipped. (CHIP YOUR DOGS!!!) I put up posters and contacted all of the shelters within a three state radius with no luck. Soooo....guess who moved into the house with us? Just let me state that had I known I was going to keep him, I would've come up with a more original name than 'Jack'.


All went swimmingly with Jack, even though he regularly tormented poor Gus, who is too big and dumb to defend himself. (Actually, he's just a really sweet dog who didn't want to hurt the little one, but it's more fun to call him big and dumb). He even slept at the foot of the bed with Betty Boop. Until last night. Last night, completely unprovoked, he did this:

Silas was sitting on the floor putting his shoes on when Jack attacked him. We are so lucky that there wasn't more damage. The thought of those disproportionately long teeth that close to my baby's eyes makes me cringe. Silas did the right thing by covering his head and rolling over as soon as the attack started. It breaks my heart that my little boy, who loves everyone and everything, had to use inherent survival skills in his own home. That I knowingly exposed him to harm. How could I have known, you ask? I dreamed it the night before. And my dreams always come true in some form. So I knew he was going to bite him, but I thought I had time to place him in a rescue. I gambled and Silas lost.

Jack has been taken by animal control. He has to be quarantined for ten days and then he'll be euthanized. There is no other way, the law will not bend on this. I just wish he didn't have to die. Even though I could've killed with my hands if I hadn't been tending Silas. But since we have no history on him and don't know if he's had his rabies shots or not, he must go.

This is the wound this morning:

It's the wounds to his heart that worry me most. He feels so betrayed and hurt. This is the first time he's ever been hurt by something he loved. I wish it would be the last.

I took the picture before we left for the ER because I knew animal control would need it. NOT because I'm an awful mother exploiting her kids injury. but since I had it anyway.....

Again

First Maximus, then Katharine Hepburn. Now Athena.

Athena was the oldest of my herd. At 11, she's been through it all with me. She helped me raise Maximus, Katharine Hepburn, Betty Boop, and these two goofy labs. Not to mention Silas.

She woke me this morning to tell me good bye. I was able to help her with her transition by holding and comforting her while she took her last breath and until she left her body.

And I'm not sad.

Not really.

Eleven years is a pretty good run. She was getting to the point where she was in pain more than she was comfortable. I could tell she was sad that she couldn't keep up with the pups when they run in the yard.

So now she's not hurting anymore and it's hard to be sad about that.




Beena, you were a good dog and we'll miss you.

Monster

Dis mah bird. He's the coolest bird ever, except when he bites the blood out of me, which is daily. He provides endless hours of entertainment in the form of various utterances. He makes the sound of the phone ringing and then answers it in my voice. He laughs exactly like me. He calls the dogs and whistles, then laughs when they come running, looking all stupid. He will walk across the floor to where I'm sitting and pluck at my shoes until I acknowledge him. When I look at him, he'll hold one leg up and say "wanna get up? Come on". When I pick him up, he'll bite my finger, then yell at me: "No Monster! Bad bird. No biting." Yet I pick him up, every time. He's trained me well.

When we go to the vet, he walks out of his carrier and says "It's ok, I won't hurt you". He curses like a drunk sailor on a week of shore leave too, interspersed with various acclaims to fame such as "Monster, you rock" and "get in the forking cage, you little shit". He whistles the Andy Griffith theme and sings Sweet Child O' Mine. So far, I have two favorite Monster stories.

The first occurred several years ago when I was having work done on the kitchen. During a time of considerable marital strife in our household, the arguments resulted in my calling my husband all sorts of unsavory names after he'd leave the room. The contractor had to walk by Monster's cage several times a day. One morning, several days into the project, the contractor came to me and asked me if I was happy with his work or if he needed to change something. I was puzzled because I had told him several times how pleased I was with the progress of the job. He then asked me why I persisted in calling him names when he left the room. I could not figure out why he thought this. I hadn't called him any names at all. He insisted that he could hear me cursing him when he went into the other room. I put his mind to rest by walking out with him into the other room. When we got in there, we heard, very softly, from the other room, my voice say "that's right, get out of here, you stupid mother f*cker. I don't know why I even keep you around, you dumb shit." Yep. Busted by the bird.

My second favorite is the tummy story. Monster was getting a bit of a tummy on him, as Greys tend to, especially if they eat table scraps. Since Monster rules the roost around here, he gets first pick, then he'll let the dogs have some. Yes, they are terrified of a two pound bird and clear a path when he walks by. When I walk by the cage and Monster is sitting on the playbar on top, I stop and rub his tummy and say, in my best singsong, baby talk, nerve grating voice: "Look at that belly! Just look at that belly! It's a huge, huge belly!" So naturally, Monster was absorbing this phrase. He is the type of bird that has to hear something many times before he repeats it, but once he starts saying it, he never loses it.

Last night Sam was going to the kitchen for a bag of chips a gallon of ice cream and a spoon something or other. He was wearing only boxers and slippers. When he walked by, I heard Monster say "Look at that belly! Just look at that belly!" Best. timing. ever. I love that bird.

Rest in Peace

It is done. I am knackered.