Monthly Archives: March 2018

He’s Doug.

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I have always tried to help champion pit bull type dogs. From friends who have them, to rescues that save them, to campaigns that fight injustices surrounding them. I sort of assumed I would eventually have a pit bull type dog.  Melvin and Jake had their own BSL in place that no dogs of any type could come into our home. Or cats. Or bunnies. You get it. Jake was determined to keep that BSL going after Melvin died.

When it came time to add a dog to a home where no other dogs were, having a blank slate was so strange. I could bring any dog in. Any breed. Any personality. Any size or gender. There were only a few things on my NO list. I didn’t want a special needs dog at that point.  A dog with needs like Jake would have felt more like a fill in. I wasn’t ready to nurture like that again,  I was still reaching for Jake. I also did not, and still do not, want a yellow lab.

During that time, I met all the dogs, all the breeds. I just wanted the right dog for me.

Every dog I met, I had a breakdown over. If you recall, Jake died and on top of losing him, the house was empty. I wanted a dog to solve one of those issue because both of those issues together was just too much.

Then I saw Doug.

Doug brought life back to this home. He was crazy, and spastic, and did I mention how crazy he was? I was not sure what his breed was, he was definitely a mix. When I got him DNA tested, I hoped he’d come back part pit something. But a part of me also worried about that. Not because of myths or stories not based in fact, but mostly because at the time, he was not well-behaved and if he was a pit, we were going to have to work extra hard, harder than other dogs would have to. That excited me and pissed me off at the same time. I’m Doug’s mom and even I was looking at him with extra expectations. I then realized that I in fact, expected no less or more of him than I did of Melvin or Jake. The issue was likely going to be, that others would expect more from Doug. Others are not the boss of us. My goal for Doug is the same as my goal for all my dogs, to give him the best life he can have.

His DNA came back 65% Am Staff and 25% English Bulldog.

Knowing his DNA changed one thing and one thing only.  I was so proud to be his mom. I would be his voice, always.

Most people who see Doug come toward him and say is he an English Bulldog? I first say, he’s Doug. I usually wait until he is wiggling and wagging around them and making them laugh before I say oh so proudly: actually, he’s mostly Am Staff with a little English Bulldog mixed in. 

Some stop petting him. Their loss. Others dive in even more with a what an awesome mix to have! Those people are our tribe.

When people ask worriedly about his past, I tell him that Doug and I live in the present. Since the day we met, he has only known love. He is quite literally, powered by joy.

He is love and joy and Am Staff and bionic and always hungry and always happy and always zooming. He is Doug.

He is all mine. Haters beware, momma is the one you need to worry about.

The only thing I require of Doug, is to live his best life.  Check, check.

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Doug is crazy.

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We are almost six months post recovery on all of Doug’s surgeries. We have a few daily reminders that he is part metal. I can see and feel the hardware in both legs (I do not enjoy either of these), extremely cold temps make him creaky and sore, and he cannot go up steps very quickly.  In fact, he goes up as slowly as Jake did. True story.

But aside from those things, he cray. Like he is fully back to being BAT SHIT CRAZY.

If Doug had a car, it would have a bumper sticker that said zoomies-R-life and that car would sit in the garage because Doug would rather run to wherever he is going. Doug is constantly in motion. I forgot that he is impossible to keep weight on until we went to the vet and found out he lost six pounds. SINCE DECEMBER!

He runs in the morning, the afternoon and the evening. No time of day is left out. He is an equal opportunity zoomist.

Luckily for me, the thing he does 2nd best after zoomies, is sleep all night. He usually puts himself to bed by 9 and if I don’t wake him, he sleeps until 9 the next morning. It’s a simple life, sleep, zoom, zoom, bark at Bob, sleep.  Zoom. He eats in there somewhere, but clearly his metabolism does not notice.

There is a FB page for folks going through leg surgeries like Doug had. I stay on it because they were so helpful when I was going through Doug’s back to back surgeries so I want to provide support to newbies going through the same. So many of the people who are finishing up surgery one are afraid to let their dogs resume activity. I totally get it, it’s very overwhelming. The only reason I was able to do it, rather easily is, I WAS TERRIFIED OF NOT LETTING DOUG RESUME ZOOMIES. He was an inmate for five months. If he did not get to run when he did, the warden was gonna suffer a brutal coup.

Doug does not recall that he was ever incarcerated. I opened the door for that first bionic zoom session and he never looked back. I am actually glad that we got both legs done back to back because a lot of folks have to live in fear of the other leg tearing. That said, Doug’s legs will never be right. They are barbie legs, put on backwards. He is always going to struggle. But he’s good enough. And good enough is really great.

Bionic legs. Bionic butt. Bionic attitude. Powered by joy.

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The Bobs.

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Update on Doug’s arch enemies cat siblings.

I have not seen Bob #1 in a long time. I am not sure what happened. She is microchipped to me and no one has called to say that she has been injured or killed. My guess is that she has either died (perhaps in a remote area or in the sewer) or she’s relocated. I obviously hope it’s the latter. Bob #1 and I never really bonded. Not just because of the allergies but also because she’s sort of a raging bitch and she really does not seem to like humans. Especially me. Which is totally fine, but it’s defiantly hard to bond with someone who you fear might chew or claw your face off.

Bob #2 on the other hand, is doing great. He comes to eat daily. He meows in the driveway to let Doug know he’s here. This fires Doug up so he rams the widow and viciously barks at Bob #2. Bob #2 just sits and torments him and laughs in a funny cat-sibling sort of way. Bob #2 also seems to like me. He will come pretty close to me and he watches me pour his food so I’m pretty much the best person ever to Bob #2. I even bought a water filtration bowl that holds a gallon of fresh water so he doesn’t have to drink sewer juice. If that doesn’t scream love from a deathly cat allergic person, I don’t know what does.

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Funny thing about Bob #2, I love him. I mean if he hasn’t come to eat on any given day, I worry and I go outside and start meowing like a crazy person.  Then it gets stranger because I start calling out Bob, Bob, BOB!.

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As for naming, we were going to go with Carl. But since there may only be one Bob now, he may just stay Bob. We are going to give it a few more months and if Bob #1 is really gone, we’ll make it official that Bob #2 is Bob. Just Bob. No number. Regardless, his middle name is most definitely Poop, because six-year olds choose the best cat names.

 

 

Melvin man.

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Thirteen years ago today, at some point, my life was set on a path. I didn’t know it that day. It would be three years until I understood the magnitude of this date, one so great, as to change my life and my purpose, forever.

Today is Melvin’s birthday. He would have been 13.

There are parts of me so full of joy that he was born, that we found each other, that I got to love him. Oh man, that I got to be the one to love him is so much of everything that it is in fact, everything. Me. I was chosen. I’m infinitely grateful for everything about him.

I have never wanted to be by a dogs side as they grew older, more than I did with Melvin. Every year, he was more soulful, our connection more spiritual. I cannot imagine anything more delicious than Melvin being 13. I would have been honored to care for him, to linger longer on walks, to stare into his always loving eyes.

Melvin and I were not meant to grow older together. He is forever ten. Same goes for Jake, he is forever eight.

On Melvin’s birthday today, I will celebrate love. I will celebrate all the moments I had with him, and all the moments I’ve had becasue of him.

Today, I choose joy.

Maybe, just maybe, Melvin and Jake, were preperation for me guiding Doug as he grows older. Maybe Doug will be, my old dog.

Time will tell. Melvin will guide us. Love lives on.

This was my last birthday letter to Melvin, on his tenth birthday. The day after that birthday, he was diagnosed with Hemangiosarcoma.

We still won.

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