Several years ago, shortly after we moved into our house, in our effort to live the American Dream (whatever THAT is), we made the executive decision to procure ourselves a pooch to call our own.
Despite not being much of a Dog Person myself, I have always HAD a dog, so this made perfect sense to me.
We trundled off to the many animal shelters in the area to scour the potential adoptees (I’m very not okay with designer dogs FOR MYSELF. Not only are they pricey, but since they’re often overbred, they have numerous health problems. Case in point: my parents German Shepard who has hip problems, a short urethra–i.e. prone to many bladder infections, and a neurosis to rival my own. Plus, the shelters are BRIMMING with unwanted dogs who need homes.), where we saw some of the most depressing animals on the planet. Sometimes, I even cried when I saw them.
But one day while checking out the
mutants erm DOGS, we saw one that looked like he would fit in well with our family: he was ASLEEP while the other dogs were jumping around their cages like banshees. We took him to a room to meet him and found that he fit right in: he was lazy, friendly, and slightly pudgy. He was also the world’s ugliest dog (No California for HIM, either, obviously), which endeared him to me immediately.
What sealed the deal is his sob story (I’m a complete sucker for Sad Animal stories. Someday I’ll tell you about the CATS we adopted): he lived in an apartment with an old woman, who died. And when she did, her family lovingly took this dog, this well trained dog to the vet to be put down because they didn’t want to deal with it. The vet met him and just couldn’t euthanize him, he was too much of a good dog. So he called the shelter, and off he went until we came to pick him up.
He’s been a member of my family ever since. I even named him myself, Cash (to prevent me from petitioning to name my then-unconceived child that name, which FOR SOME REASON Dave didn’t care for), is his name (which replaced his shelter name of Pebbles) and he’s a Corgi mix. He’s easily found in my home, asleep on the couch, being fed scraps by the baby from his highchair, and occasionally peeing on the carpet. He’s like my doggie clone.
What unfortunately happened yesterday I should have seen coming. I know better.
Ever since Alex has been crawling, Cash has been immediately wary of him (although he adores kids who WALK), because I’m fairly certain he feels as though Alex is invading his space (No, I’m not a pet psychologist, but I DO play one on a cable access channel!).
My cheerio-sized bladder was aching and I left Alex alone in the living room to TCB (take care of business, for those sadly not in the know) for just a moment, and in that moment, he crawled up to the couch that Cash was sleeping on and pulled himself up on it. I can’t be too sure of what happened next, although I could hear Cash’s warning bark coupled with Alex’s immediate hysterical scream. Whether he was screaming because he was scared or because the dog nipped him (which I doubt, as I couldn’t find any evidence of this), I can’t be sure of.
But what a piece of shit mother *I* am for leaving the dog alone with the baby (I’ve done it before with no problems whatsoever) even for a minute and a half (told you it was a weensy bladder).
For now, because I don’t know what else to do (he’s not a kennel dog), I have been locking him either in the living room or the basement while Alex is awake (although, miraculously Alex is not afraid of Cash now), but I’m unsure how to proceed: I don’t feel right giving Cash up–I DID sign stuff saying that I’d take care of him for the rest of the days, and I take that VERY seriously– but I have to protect Alex.
My fingies are crossed nearly to the breaking point that once Alex walks, Cash will no longer feel as threatened by him, and I’m thanking my lucky fucking stars that nothing worse happened when I stepped away.
Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck.