Stay of Execution

I Met Someone Today.....

It's too soon to say, but I have a fluttery feeling in my stomach.  There was touching.  There were kisses.  She might be the next big thing in my life.  She's a boxer mix.  Who would have thought I would be interested in a boxer?  She might have a little bit of lab in her.  She's smart, and energetic, and sweet. 

I'm going to see her again tomorrow.  I'm really excited about it.  I'm going to bring her some treats.  We're going to go for a long walk in the woods.  We're going to gaze into one another's eyes.  We might engage in some heavy petting. 

If There Is A Heaven....

... I bet it looks something like this.
RIP Belle.  RIP Toby.

I Did Not Fall In Love Today

I know I'm not ready, but today I stopped by the Coastal Humane Society.  I wanted to fill out an application and have it on file there, so when I am ready I will be known to the staff. 

And I did ask to meet someone.  There is a three-legged dog there, named Emma, whose picture on their website stayed with me.  I thought, you know, nobody is going to adopt this dog, because I am sure they think that a three legged dog is a terrible handicap.  But I know it's not.  So I wanted to meet her.  She's a cool dog.  But I didn't fall in love with her.  I was half afraid of falling in love, and half hoping for it.  But I don't think I'm ready yet.  I'll go back and visit Emma again, I suspect.  I might visit some of the other dogs there, too.  There are other shelters around, and I'll be starting to visit those as the mood strikes me.  It'll be a while, I think, before I'm ready. 

Still In A Muddle

I cried again, pretty hard, last night.  Once again, it was good for me.  I'm starting to be able to think about more abstract things, not just the daily absence of Belle.  These abstractions are not exactly comforting or clear.  Things like: am I a bad dog owner?  Should I get another dog, or am I unworthy somehow?  How do I get closure on this, with respect to the other dogs' owner?  I feel a need to communicate with him, but I have a lot of misgivings about it.  I don't really want to get angry, and I don't want to expose my vulnerability and my sadness to a stranger who I am not particularly inclined to like or trust.  I don't want to make a show of myself; it's none of his business how sad I am.  And yet, there is something left undone if I don't reach out or seek acknowledgment somehow.  We are linked by this sad event, this other dog owner and me, and I don't know what to do about that.  On another level, I don't know what my role is in the public safety decision about what happens to these other dogs.  What do I do about my own anger, toward myself and toward the other owner?  What do I do with my compassion, toward these dogs who seem to be mistreated, and to their owner who is defensive and who I suspect believes the world is out to get him?  I don't know the answer to any of it.  It's all a big mess, that I don't know how to unravel. 

When Your Heart Is Broken, Get A Haircut

My heart is still broken, and when I came in the door after this morning's haircut the first thing I did, as usual, was call, "Belle...."  I've taken to talking with her even after I remember that she's not in the house anymore.  Belle, I miss you.  I wish you were here.  It's a beautiful day outside.  You would like it.  The lady across the street just threw out some bread....I wish I could pat you....You're a good girl, and I'm thinking about you.

But I have short hair now, flippy and cute and sporty.  And as I sat in the chair and it came off I started to grin.  My hairstylist can be a bit pouty, and in the three years I've been going to her this is her fourth salon.  She's tempestuous, and people can get on her bad side, which makes me a little bit uneasy.  And she's very glamorous and likes long hair and at first she scowled at the pictures I brought her.  But she did a good job, as she always does, which is why I'll follow her anywhere.  She was grinning too, at the end of the cut.  As I drove home with the sunroof open I could feel the wind tickling the back of my neck and I kept flipping down the vanity mirror and peeking at myself.   It feels soft and light and fun for spring.   

Update

Here's what I've learned.  The two dogs that attacked and killed Belle are german shepard mixes, not pit bulls.  Not sure where the pit bull description came from -- did the animal control officer tell me?  Did I make it up?  I don't know.   They were fenced in the backyard but dug or squeezed out from under the fence to get to Belle, who was sniffing around their front yard or the house next door. 

They've previously attacked another dog, the cocker spaniel who lived next door.  They didn't kill the cocker spaniel -- someone got there in time.  It was the owner of the cocker spaniel who called the police in reaction to seeing my dog attacked.  She hadn't pressed charges when the dogs attacked her dog, because their owner had paid her vet bills and because she wanted to maintain good relations with her neighbor. 

The cops have gotten six calls from people in the neighborhood who are upset/concerned/worried about these dogs, since Belle's death.  Yesterday one of the animal control officers told me the city is going to push this forward.  I'm not quite sure what that means.  Will keep you posted.

Thank You, Alan

I just got this card in the mail, and it made me break open and cry.  I haven't been crying much since one big burst on Friday, and it feels good, and necessary.  Thank you, Alan.  I hope it's okay that I share it, here. 

Some Thoughts About Anger

So I've begun to think about what happens next with regard to the pit bulls who killed my dog, and their owner.  People have been asking me what I'm going to do, and I don't know the answer.  I don't feel much anger right now, although the people around me are angry and I can understand it.  The animal control officer was angry, as was the receptionist at the emergency vet clinic.  They both kept asking me whether I've talked to the pit bulls' owner yet.  I don't have his contact information yet.  The animal control guy is going to call me with it.  At the time I spoke with him I still thought Belle would recover and be fine; I couldn't absorb much and I didn't know what to think about the pit bulls.  I didn't realize how bad the attack really was. 

And I still don't know very much.  It was violent.  I know that from seeing her, when she was still alive, how much dirt and gravel was ground into her.  Her collar and her tags are battered.  That makes me know it was a terrible and vicious attack.  Did she get into their yard?  Or did they jump a fence?  I don't know the answer.  I think they got out of their enclosure, as she rambled past.  She was off leash and unattended -- she'd slipped out of the backyard and gone exploring.  I know she wouldn't have gone picking a fight, but maybe she followed her nose onto these pit bulls' property.  That probably matters, although probably not a huge amount.  I am not sure it's okay to have dogs that will kill a trespasser that is harmless. 

I don't feel angry.  It flickers past me sometimes.  I feel moments of helplessness and pangs and those are accompanied by anger.  But mostly, well, this will sound weird.  I feel sad and achey, yes, and I feel lucky to have hung out with Belle for so long.  I think of her and smile mostly.  Sometimes my eyes fill with tears.  It still doesn't seem real.  I'm sitting in the house right now and it's so quiet and empty. 

I read Malcolm Gladwell's article about pit bulls.  It didn't tell me very much.  Should these dogs be killed?  517 thinks so.  I don't know about that.  I don't mean I disagree.  I mean I don't know.  It seems so irrelevant to me.  When the receptionist asked whether I'd talked to the pit bull owner yet I said, "I don't really know what I would say.  He doesn't have anything I want."  And that still feels true.  I did try to drive past the house, but I couldn't find it.  I'm not sure of the address.  I don't think the animal control officer ever told me, although I think he told me the street.  I can't imagine owning a dog so violent.  It's hard to understand something like this.  I don't really want to get into a fight with another dog owner.  The dogs are being quarantined by the city, and the animal control officer was going to charge the owner with a criminal offense, I think -- keeping a dangerous animal or something like that.  The truth is I wasn't listening very well when he told me.  I still thought my dog would be fine. 

Anyway, I feel a little bit numb.  I'm not sure I want to get angry about this, or make this a cause.  It feels like anger will hurt more.  It feels like that would open up a lot of bitterness, and dwell on the unfair and helpless parts of this.  Belle had more years left in her.  She had run 5 miles with me a couple of days before.  That morning she'd clicked her way downstairs at the crack of dawn, as she often did, and then come back up to keep me company.  She was an old dog, but she had a lot of life in her.  These pit bulls killed her.  And that really sucks.  And when I think about the injuries and the violence of them, it is pretty horrible to think about the dogs doing that to another living thing.  So I guess for that reason I think they shouldn't live where they can get out.  But I think about their owner and I don't want to take his dogs away, or make his life miserable.  I don't have the energy to lead a crusade.  I miss my dog.  I was lucky to have her.  I am going to miss her every day.  What do I want to talk to this guy for?  Why would you even own dogs like that, that could kill something like that?  The state law says he's supposed to pay my vet bills, which seems fair.  I don't really want to talk to him, though.  I could send him a letter. 

I feel a little about this like I felt about the decision not to blame Neighbor and 517 for the injury to Belle's leg.  I guess I'm a little bit afraid of getting angry.  I'm afraid it will hurt me more than it will help me.  Maybe I'm afraid to feel it.  I don't know.  I'm trying to think about the last time I was really angry and it's hard to remember.  I was angry at my last boyfriend for not loving me back, I guess, but it wasn't a very forceful anger.  That's the only thing I can think of, and that was more a helpless frustration than true anger.  I'm not trying to sound like a saint here.  I just don't tend to get angry very often.  I will have to take some kind of stance with regard to the pit bulls and their owner.  I am not feeling particularly friendly.  But I'm not angry, either.  Just sad. 

Thank You, Thank You

Thank you, Mad, for the flowers.  Thank you to everyone who sent me an email and left me a comment.  Belle had more friends than I do, I think, and I feel lucky to have been her companion for so many years.  Thank you to Neighbor and 517 and 4 and Lib and the Charming Gentleman for gathering around me, for bringing dinner and flowers.  Thank you for helping put the pictures on the wall over her bed, where my eyes flick instinctively every time I walk in the door, looking for my faithful friend.  Now I can sit there when I'm sad and laugh, looking at the pictures of her working on an enormous stick.  Thank you, H, for wagging gently and for giving me a kiss when I got back from the run that exhausted me just enough.  Thank you Mom and Dad and Mighty Mo for the ice cream and the telephone calls and thank you to 4 and the Charming Gentleman for helping me dig her grave.  When the hole was dug we laid her in it and sat around in the darkness, by the light of an oil lamp, and told stories about her.  We laughed a lot. 

I told about the time when she was a pup and I took her with me one winter day to the dump in an old Volvo wagon full of trash.   But the dump was closed, and I had two stops at grocery stores to make before turning back on the long road home.  And I gave Belle stern instructions to be good but being left alone in a station wagon full of trash, are you kidding?  She partied like she couldn't believe her luck and I came back to the car to find it just covered in trash, with a delighted Belle wagging at me and offering to give me kisses.  And I was furious and exasperated but I still had one more stop so I yelled at her and threatened and then left her in the trash strewn car with the bag of groceries.... And of course I came back to find her wagging at me, grateful for her good luck, with the empty bakery bag of bread and a bunch of crumbs next to her. 

Oh, that dog knew how to take the opportunities she was given. 

Thank you to Turboglacier for this eulogy.  It's a great description of Belle, my favorite black dog.