Some of you know that just about six months ago, we got a second dog for my younger son -- a boisterous, supposed "chiweenie" named Scrappy. We were already a one-dog house, but because my younger son really wanted a dog of his own, I researched rescues and found this dog on Petfinder. Short story: we got him.
This first thing you should know that in point of fact, he is NOT chiweenie, which is a cross between a dachshund and a chihuahua. These are smaller dogs, max of about twelve pounds. This guy came to us at 28 pounds and probably gained two more, though at full-force when he lunges -- which he does-- feels more like 280 pounds. Sigh. His temperament is not calm, like a chiweenie; he faces life at full-tilt race. When it was revealed through DNA that in fact, he was part dachshund AND mostly Manchester terrier, THAT made sense. With his long nose and incessant energy, we realized that what he truly is: a locked and loaded, rat-killing machine.
Now: there's nothing wrong with a rat-killing machine and if you, say, live on a farm which we were told was his original life, that is a great idea. But it isn't our life. Our life is one where the kids are at home every other week and the single mom works full-time.
Yet, every minute of every day, Scrappy is happy. He is just thrilled to be alive and with *you*. Near you, with you, ON you, in fact. Every minute. Perhaps some kind of separation anxiety of his? Possibly.
We followed instructions about getting him acclimated and trained. He had been originally crate-trained, so we got a crate. He was 18-months old when we got him but was still having accidents in the house, so we used techniques to get him past this. He was GREAT for awhile, then went immediately back to pooping in the house. Peeing in the house. Chewing things that weren't food, in the house.
On walks, he acted as though he wanted to tear into everyone and everything, though he would NEVER bite. But he appeared terrifying and soon, our other dog began imitating him: peeing, pooping in the house, barking like a crazy dog at everyone, both of them pulling wildly in different directions. The real problem was that this is a dog who hadn't done walks on leashes. He was an off-leash dog in an on-leash family.
We talked to the agency; we tried tricks, tips, sprays and positive reinforcement. And I think you are figuring out where this is going.
The week before last, my son finally said what I had been thinking: that Scrappy is a *great* dog. A loving, beast of a great dog -- but he is not a great dog for us.
It was a heartbreaking truth. We realized that you can love someone so much but that the bottom line is that not every relationship is healthy and good for both of you. We knew it wasn't what he needed as much as it wasn't what we needed.
I called the agency -- Forever Home Rescue New England -- who were incredibly supportive and lovely. They were glad I'd called and the first thing they said was: "This doesn't mean you're not a good dog mom; it doesn't mean he's not a good dog. It just means that the fit isn't good." In a world where this is often so much shaming and focus on perfection, these were exactly the words I needed to hear. She reposted Scrappy as being available.
Within two days, the most amazing thing happened: the family that had originally surrendered him because they had too many dogs, realized that HE was the one they wished they hadn't surrendered. They have a farm...with cows. They wanted him back and said that if transportation couldn't be arranged, then they would drive up from Tennessee to Massachusetts to get him.
So yesterday, Scrappy left us. As I write this, he is on his way home. Because he is the only dog going south, he is sitting up front in the cab with the driver. We sent him off with his toys and a bag of his favorite treats. I am not sure about the schedule, but I think he will be reunited tomorrow. Do we have some worries about him? Of course we do. Letting go ...even with all the assurances in the world, even when you know it's absolutely right...is hard. Sometimes, excruciating.
But it's also essential.
Should I have never adopted him? I ….don't know. We have learned so much in the last six months. As my Dad used to say: You don't know what you don't know.
I really have no encore for today. Today, it's just a story. A hard story that documents life.
I will hold up the image of that happy dog, running like a mad man through the grass, wild smile on his face, and go forward through my day.
Peace.
