A woman I know was going through a rough time. Her boyfriend broke up with her, and she wasn't taking it very well. She kept obsessing about all the "what-might-have-beens" and the "where-did-it-go-wrongs" and the "how-can-I-get-him-backs" and the "oh-my-god-how-can-I-live-without-hims." She also lost her dog about the same time.
It's not that I am completely unsympathetic to her plight. I feel for her, I do. I've been through bad breakups, and I've lost beloved pets. I cried like crazy when I had to put my last dog to sleep.
Dubbed "Wrong Dog" by the woman who rescued her and then left her with me "until we could find a home for her," I had her for the rest of her life. She was about fifteen when I had to put her down. True, she was terrified of everyone except me, she HATED men, and was really afraid of my cat. (Actually, everyone's afraid of my cat.) But my dog was a good girl, and truly gentle. And big enough that when I would run with her at 5:30 in the morning, no one bothered us in the dark. I knew she was losing it when she would go to the hall closet door and patiently wait to go outside. Or stand for a while under the piano, staring at the wall. Best of all, she'd ask to go out to do her business, I'd go out with her and she'd forget why we went out there to begin with, so we'd come back in and she'd of course turn around and have to go out again, and this pattern would repeat itself at least four times. Always a runaway in her youth, one day towards the end of her life she bolted and ran off at 5:30 a.m. And didn't come back. I had a long talk with the Animal Control Officer of the Day at 6:00 a.m., and he assured me if she was found, he'd call me. Around noon I got a call from the local police department; a nearby neighbor heard whimpering in the creek and saw her, trapped on a rock by deep and rapidly moving water, scared, shivering and disoriented. By the time I got there, the local Fire Department as well as the Animal Control Officer of the Day I had spoken with and a couple of local Policemen were all there. (I live in a small town; a dog trapped in the creek is a big happening.) It was the Animal Control Officer who jumped into the creek and carried her out. I dried her off, took her home and she went upstairs to the floor on the right side of the bed, which was her favorite side, and slept there, exhausted, for the rest of the day. That night her hind legs collapsed going down the steps on the back deck, and I knew it was time.
She was a really good dog. She loved me, and would have never done anything to me or my children, or even the cat, who she may have ultimately loved more than me. Or the Guinea Pig- they were always communing, nose-to-nose. Animals are so funny.
The woman I was talking about at the beginning had this Rottweiler that she loved. He was her baby. Gentle, she said. Loving. Harmless. One night, her boyfriend was in the kitchen near the dog's dish. He dropped something, perhaps startling the dog, I don't know. When he bent over to pick up whatever it was he dropped, the dog took a good part of his face off.
When the ambulance came for him, the EMT called the police, who confiscated the dog. She wanted the dog released- insisted that the dog was really quite gentle, that it was a just a terrible misunderstanding. She refused to put the dog down. Meanwhile, her boyfriend had a nervous breakdown and surgery on his face in an attempt to repair it. She didn't understand why their relationship faltered, especially when he wanted the dog destroyed and she refused. He moved out. After his second facial surgery, he told her he couldn't continue seeing her, that every time he looked at her he was reminded that she chose the dog over him. She felt he was unreasonable. She begged him to come back, and he refused. So, she had the dog put down, thinking that then he would move back in and all would be well again, even though, her heart was broken over the death of her baby.
Of course, it didn't happen.
She honestly didn't understand why he ended it, and why he wouldn't resume with her once the dog was gone. I tried to explain to her, that there's a difference between a dog and a human. That the man had been hurt very badly- physically, mentally and emotionally. That, yes, he had loved her, but was too traumatized to continue on with her, because every time he looked at her, he was reminded of the horrific attack, and the fact that she didn't immediately take his side, that she chose his attacker over him.
She just didn't get it. She sat and wondered, "Why did he leave me? Why won't he come back? Why doesn't he love me any more?"
While it's obvious that she really needed professional help, I stopped spending time with her. I found the whole story and the pathology behind it too disturbing. Meanwhile, she continued to call her ex, and beg him to come back to her. Eventually he stopped taking her calls, so she would leave long, tearful messages on his phone.
Today, I found out- she's dead. She killed herself.
I felt sadness. Could a better friend than I have prevented it? Probably not. She was deeply troubled, may she rest in peace. I hope she's in a better place.
It's not that I am completely unsympathetic to her plight. I feel for her, I do. I've been through bad breakups, and I've lost beloved pets. I cried like crazy when I had to put my last dog to sleep.
Dubbed "Wrong Dog" by the woman who rescued her and then left her with me "until we could find a home for her," I had her for the rest of her life. She was about fifteen when I had to put her down. True, she was terrified of everyone except me, she HATED men, and was really afraid of my cat. (Actually, everyone's afraid of my cat.) But my dog was a good girl, and truly gentle. And big enough that when I would run with her at 5:30 in the morning, no one bothered us in the dark. I knew she was losing it when she would go to the hall closet door and patiently wait to go outside. Or stand for a while under the piano, staring at the wall. Best of all, she'd ask to go out to do her business, I'd go out with her and she'd forget why we went out there to begin with, so we'd come back in and she'd of course turn around and have to go out again, and this pattern would repeat itself at least four times. Always a runaway in her youth, one day towards the end of her life she bolted and ran off at 5:30 a.m. And didn't come back. I had a long talk with the Animal Control Officer of the Day at 6:00 a.m., and he assured me if she was found, he'd call me. Around noon I got a call from the local police department; a nearby neighbor heard whimpering in the creek and saw her, trapped on a rock by deep and rapidly moving water, scared, shivering and disoriented. By the time I got there, the local Fire Department as well as the Animal Control Officer of the Day I had spoken with and a couple of local Policemen were all there. (I live in a small town; a dog trapped in the creek is a big happening.) It was the Animal Control Officer who jumped into the creek and carried her out. I dried her off, took her home and she went upstairs to the floor on the right side of the bed, which was her favorite side, and slept there, exhausted, for the rest of the day. That night her hind legs collapsed going down the steps on the back deck, and I knew it was time.
She was a really good dog. She loved me, and would have never done anything to me or my children, or even the cat, who she may have ultimately loved more than me. Or the Guinea Pig- they were always communing, nose-to-nose. Animals are so funny.
The woman I was talking about at the beginning had this Rottweiler that she loved. He was her baby. Gentle, she said. Loving. Harmless. One night, her boyfriend was in the kitchen near the dog's dish. He dropped something, perhaps startling the dog, I don't know. When he bent over to pick up whatever it was he dropped, the dog took a good part of his face off.
When the ambulance came for him, the EMT called the police, who confiscated the dog. She wanted the dog released- insisted that the dog was really quite gentle, that it was a just a terrible misunderstanding. She refused to put the dog down. Meanwhile, her boyfriend had a nervous breakdown and surgery on his face in an attempt to repair it. She didn't understand why their relationship faltered, especially when he wanted the dog destroyed and she refused. He moved out. After his second facial surgery, he told her he couldn't continue seeing her, that every time he looked at her he was reminded that she chose the dog over him. She felt he was unreasonable. She begged him to come back, and he refused. So, she had the dog put down, thinking that then he would move back in and all would be well again, even though, her heart was broken over the death of her baby.
Of course, it didn't happen.
She honestly didn't understand why he ended it, and why he wouldn't resume with her once the dog was gone. I tried to explain to her, that there's a difference between a dog and a human. That the man had been hurt very badly- physically, mentally and emotionally. That, yes, he had loved her, but was too traumatized to continue on with her, because every time he looked at her, he was reminded of the horrific attack, and the fact that she didn't immediately take his side, that she chose his attacker over him.
She just didn't get it. She sat and wondered, "Why did he leave me? Why won't he come back? Why doesn't he love me any more?"
While it's obvious that she really needed professional help, I stopped spending time with her. I found the whole story and the pathology behind it too disturbing. Meanwhile, she continued to call her ex, and beg him to come back to her. Eventually he stopped taking her calls, so she would leave long, tearful messages on his phone.
Today, I found out- she's dead. She killed herself.
I felt sadness. Could a better friend than I have prevented it? Probably not. She was deeply troubled, may she rest in peace. I hope she's in a better place.
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