0015-Dogs vs People - Why I connect with animals over people

Today, I just want to spend a little time talking about the dogs that have impacted me in my early years, likely giving me the push I needed to make it through the bullshit.

Transcript from the show:
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My family had numerous pets, while I was growing up - mostly cats and dogs.

Thinking ahead, I may need to warn you that I'm probably gonna talk about some things that may be upsetting. Not all the animals in my life lived to ripe old ages. Not all the animals in our care, while I was a child, were taken care of very well. Although if you've been listening from the beginning, I doubt that'll be much of a surprise.

Anywho. If you're just tuning in, I've gone through some sexual abuse, grew up in unsanitary living conditions, and it seems, may have also suffered from emotional neglect, which I'm still exploring at this point.

I've always found trouble speaking up for myself. Speaking up for the animals though…nah…it was way easier for me to find my voice for them.

Blah blah blah okay. So yeah, the animals. Growing up, we always had at least one cat, but more often than not, there were multiples. The cats didn't do a whole lot for me, as you can imagine, since most are fairly independent and show affection on their own terms, not needing much from their humans.

The dogs though.

The first two dogs I remember us having were a sibling pair that we got from a family up the road who and an "oops" litter. I guess my parents thought two were better than one so they could play with and entertain one another. We named them Animal and Bear.

At some point, they got relegated to yard ornaments. Front yard yard ornaments. I'm not sure what happened with Bear, but Animal…allegedly, Animal was asleep behind the tire on the stepbastard's work van when he went to leave for work one morning. The stepbastard figured he'd move when he started up the vehicle, but didn't check to see that he had.

I remember him coming inside a few minutes after leaving and letting me know. There wasn't much I could say to him and he went about his day. I remember peeking out the window after he left to look for any blood in the yard to prove it happened. I didn't see any.

I'm honestly still not convinced that he didn't make up a lie just to take the dog to the shelter so we didn't have to worry about them anymore. I'll never know.

At some point later, we got a different dog, Blade. God it's been so long that I've forgotten the details of how we acquired him, but this time, he got tied up in the backyard so he wouldn't get accidentally run over.

Blade was a big boy. Some chow/shepherd mix of some sort, I think. My little 7 year old self wanted to take good care of him and take him on walks, but he was young and untrained and significantly stronger than me. I remember one attempt to walk him, in particular. My friends were outside and Blade was SO excited to see more people. He easily dragged me down the street, eventually causing me to fall and cut up my hands on the street. I think I dropped the leash too, but I can't remember. I never walked him again after that because I just wasn't strong enough to do it.

I also have another memory of standing at the dining room table which looked out into the backyard, with my mom sitting, doing some other random thing. I remember looking out and seeing the stepbastard punching Blade in the face, multiple times. I didn't understand what was happening and I think I started crying. I remember my mom hugging me.

At some point, a wound showed up on one side of his chest. I don't remember if it was before or after the punching incident. Anyway, the wound grew until it was a red, fleshy band across his chest. I wanted him to get looked at for it, but that's not something the parents were going to do.

Eventually, I was told that Blade had died. I never saw the body. I never saw the proof.

After that, we didn't have dogs for a long time.

I think it was around age 12 or so, my mom had mentioned to me about a dog that one of her friends had. She said she wasn't sure he would go for it, but she didn't want to see the dog kept like she was and if the guy would let her go, we would take her home.

She took me along for that visit where I met Missy. She was a registered blue Chow Chow - Melissa's Blue Nemesis. What I learned later, is that Missy was being kept out on a 5ft tether with a shack for a dog house, even though the yard was fenced. The man that had her was a drunk and apparently only fed her when he remembered. I'm pretty sure that my mom threw caution to the wind when she took me that day. She at least trusted me to not get bit and Missy showed an interest in affection, so we took her home.

When we got home, I put Missy in the bathtub and spent a good 45 minutes bathing the muck out of her while she whined and groaned and stood patiently through all the torture. After we were done, we took her outside and put her in the yard since we weren't planning on having an indoor dog.

Not 15 minutes later and we look outside into the carport through the screen door and there's Missy, staring in at us waiting to be let in. That's why the old man had her tethered. She was smart enough to open gates.

I fucking loved that dog. I never had to leash her. She would stay with me. If she could help it, she never had an accident in the house. She would never go out in the yard if it were raining either, and would hold it until it was dry enough to go. And if I stepped out for even five minutes, she greeted my return with enthusiasm I had NEVER seen from any living being in my life. She fucking loved me and I loved her back. She got me. And I believe she wouldn't have let shit happen to me if things "got real." I have to wonder if she's the reason more abuse didn't happen to me. I vaguely remember a story of her threatening to bite my brother when he was over to the house once. My mom guessed it was because she could smell the alcohol on his breath and it reminded her of her old home.

Another interesting thing that happened too - One of my friends also had a big old shepherdy type mutt named Rex. Rex would follow him over to my house occasionally while we hung out outside. In this one situation, one of the neighbor's shar peis had escaped his yard and came rolling up to my house looking for a fight with Missy. Rex, that big badass stepped right up to the plate and had a go at the shar pei to get him off of Missy. Both my friend and I just stared at each other in disbelief. Maybe it's putting too many human emotions on a canine scenario, but Rex made it clear that Missy wasn't to be fucked with, and the shar pei sauntered back home.

I think, in a way, that instilled a bit of "there's some good in the world" in both my friend and me that day. Like, it was an example to the both of us that some are willing to fight back against the bully…

Missy and I had a connection. I mean, this adult chow came into our home with a mostly unknown background, and became the best damn dog I've known. A dog, that is aloof with strangers and typically only bonds with one person, and she chose me. A child. My parents always bitched about that too. "But we spoil her and feed her from our bowlllllsssssssssss!"

Missy knew who the real MVP was. Thank you ol' girl.

Our success with Missy prompted us to try to get a second dog. We figured Missy might enjoy some company, so we went to the flea market and someone was giving away free puppies. That's how Prince joined the family.

Prince was a young, boisterous boy, another shepherd mix of some sort. He stayed in my bedroom as a puppy and I was responsible for taking care of him. This was actually going well until he got big enough to start getting on my bed.

I had a waterbed. And he was a puppy. And waterbeds are like sensory overload so he had to investigate with his teeth. Now, it could have been WAY worse, but honestly, some duct tape "repaired" a lot of his damage.

Eventually though, the stepbastard demanded that he go outside since he was causing damage. Apparently, we didn't know crates existed. So, outside he went.

By the second or third day, I came home from school and couldn't find him. I'd wondered if he'd somehow managed to escape but eventually found him lethargic, hiding underneath a bush in the back corner of the yard.

It was bad enough that my mom agreed to call and make a vet appointment for him for the next day. He didn't make it.

There I was, this young kid, holding on to this lethargic puppy, not even three months old yet, when he starts convulsing. I'd been holding him in my lap, wrapped in a blanket. His last convulsion produced a copious amount of bile with an aroma I'll never forget - and like that, he was gone.

I remember holding his dead body, wrapped in that blanket, and walking out into the carport with him WAILING because he'd died in my arms and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. I still have a faint memory of glancing up to look at the house across the street where another kid I was semi friends with may have been outside with his mom. Or maybe it was just his mom. I don't know. I just remember looking up, feeling seen, feeling embarrassed, but also feeling too anguished to do anything differently and continued my wailing.

Hell. I even remember the next day at school. One of my friends commented to me, asking me why I was at school because she thought I had to take the dog to the vet. I was so hardened at that point, I simply responded, "He didn't make it," and went along like the little badass I thought I needed to be.

After Prince died, and after Missy was diagnosed with heartworms, I vowed to myself that I would take better care of my pets once I had the option to do what *I* wanted to do with *my* own money. I wouldn't be limited by someone else's decisions.

The dogs in my childhood taught me about death. They taught me that not all people are good people.

They may have also taught me that, depending on who is in charge, you might die. They may have also taught me that ignoring the problems or waiting too long to address them could also mean you might die.

But. They taught me what fucking LOVE is. They taught me that it IS possible to have a protector.

Missy gave me all the reason I needed to speak up for the animals.

Then, there was Roo.  Roo was heart dog number 2. See, I was in a relationship with a shitty human and shitty human looked at dogs as status symbols. I didn't want a dog. Roommate encouraged him to get Roo because she was a "good deal" and they could breed the dogs and get puppies to sell.

Roo wound up staying in the crate a lot. It fucking killed me. Shitty human didn't have the patience to teach her anything. After a few weeks, I got tired of the abuse and started working with her. I taught her some basic commands and started making sure her basic needs were being met, even though I was explicit that *I* didn't have the time to do so.

Guess who started paying more attention to Roo after she had some basic obedience down? Shitty human. Guess who Roo still preferred? Me.

We often would go to bed before the shitty human and she'd stretch out on the bed along my back and go to sleep with me, until the shitty human came to bed and kicked her out. Buuuuut…she was a smart girl. She'd wait until he'd settled and fallen asleep, and then would climb back in bed with me, stretching out across my front this time.

She cemented my love for pit bulls.

She was also the pooch that alerted me that I DID have a voice and I WOULD use it to speak up for animals.

See. She was a fairly sensitive dog. I was taking her out to potty one night, and shitty human decides it's a GRAND time to bring out the potato cannon. Oh, you've not heard of a potato cannon? Basically, it's a PVC contraption that you "load" with something like hair spray or some dumb shit, then cap off the end with a potato. The contraption is built with a push button igniter so you can just hit the button and launch the potato off in to the ether.

Thing is, they're loud. And Roo was having NONE of it. He freaked her out with it so much that I was SCREAMING at him to stop that bullshit because it was scaring the fucking dog and probably some other slew of expletives that were unheard of from me at the time.

He finally stopped and I took her back in the house to get away from the shitty human and whatever friends he was causing trouble with.

I could honestly go on forever about the dogs. I mean, shit. I ran a pit bull rescue. I've had a number of dogs roll in and out of my care. So many of them have touched me in ways that have been vastly important to who I am. Iiiii'm not trying to have 2 hour long podcasts though where I just drivel on and on.

Anyway.

The dogs in my life have been safer than people. They haven't been out to harm me. They've been able to demonstrate what love really is. They've been able to demonstrate what loyalty is. They've been able to demonstrate compassion that I didn't see enough of from the people around me. And fucking hell, I feel like I got more physical affection like cuddles from the dogs in my life than the people!

Why WOULDN'T I stand up and raise my voice on their behalf? They've fucking been there, ya know?

So yeah, the people planted the things in my garden, but the dogs in my life…they've been by my side in the garden with me. Some next to me, enjoying the company; while others run laps and seek out the plants that'll test my patience. And then others who have a permanent place in the garden, whether it be from short months of neglect and lack of care, or years of memories and irreplaceable bonds. They've all added a little extra oomph to my time here. They've made tending to my garden a little easier - a little more palatable.

Anyway, thanks for listening guys! Your support means a lot to me, even if it's just a simple share on social media or to a friend or family member who you feel might enjoy the podcast too. Also, I can't forget to give a shout out to both Kevin MacLeod at Incompetech.com and Scott Buckley at scottbuckley.com.au for the music transitions they  provided for use in the show. If you want to shoot me an email, it's questionyourgarden@gmail.com Be sure to check out the show notes for any links or additional information from the episode.

Until next time, keep weeding!

Intro Audio:
"Cold Sober"Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)

Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0

http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/

Transition Audio:

"Wonderful"Scott Buckley (scottbuckley.com.au)