I do. And if I can't reach my remote for some lazy reason, I just reach for my dog. She's always right by my side; whining in little cute intervals if she isn't within petting distance. That commercial invokes so many emotions at once that my heart implodes after the third or fourth image of shaking, lonely animals. My tear ducts can't stand it.
The story I'm about to share doesn't make me proud until the end. In fact, this story is the reason I feel guilty and worthless mostly during those commercials.
When I was a teen, I was heavily into every high you could imagine ( I'm starting to realize every story that I have involves drugs and things of that nature; kinda sad). At one point, I had a dealer who was very clingy. My buddy had just moved into the spare bedroom across the hall after a series of home issues and he basically took over the role of my big brother. And also inherited the role of my drug partner. He was what I like to call an 'active enabler'; there were countless summer days we'd spend inventing crazy basketball jukes on the court in my dad's driveway, and in between points, instead of a water break, we'd pass a blunt. Great guy. Love him to death. But I digress... during high school, my dads place had an open door policy. You could just pop up and come in without knocking, which I was fine with. But my dealer took advantage of that welcome mat, along with my kindness. She would show up at any time of the day and, as long as she brought some coke or a blunt, I was able to put up with her. There was one day specifically I remember waking up to the sound of grinding on my dressers. I rolled over, and there was Lucifer and her cocaine. She brought a plate up to my face and said , "Morning (insert childish version of my birth name)! Here you go, these two are for you."- and in my best interest, I leaned up and took my rations. Talk about a good morning. No need for coffee or a shower; we went right across the hall to my buddies room and gave him the same offer. He wiped his eyes, looked at us with a smile and joined the party.
This was actually more normal than I'd like to admit. And Lucifer was a cunning little snake. She knew how to manipulate me with her dope and her begging.
Finally the day came where she asked me for a favor. After all the 'favors' she had done for me, it'd only be right for me to reciprocate. She told me her dog needed a place to stay for a few weeks and asked if I could take her, and me- being a dog lover- embraced the opportunity. Now, Maggie was a Pit Bull. Short, stocky, 40 pound fawn animal. Peppy little bitch. So I took her in but not to my surprise, weeks turned into months. Questions about her stay turned into answers with drugs. It didn't end. Until one day, Maggie decided to not get along with one of my dads dogs. She latched onto her ear and ripped it half way through. As the dog whimpered and shook her head in pain, my dad looked at me and said, 'This dog has to go.'
I left Maggie outside for the night. She dug a hole underneath the fence door and that was the last I saw of her. I felt bad. I felt like I not only let down the animal, but Lucifer and all of her generosity.
A few weeks passed and Lucifer came to me with another proposal. This time, it was for one of her friends dogs. Beautiful animal. Great Dane/Pit Bull mix, albino with baby blue eyes and a pink nose. She asked if I could take Mercedes for a while until her worthless friend could find a home for herself and the dog. Of course, days turned into weeks and so on. But this dog was different; all she did was lay in my bed and give me kisses and had the temperament of a beanie baby.
I had rage issues for most of my life derived from unresolved issues revolving around the loss of my mother. I would break entire walls down in my house, shatter pictures and doors to cabinets. I was destructive. I also didn't understand how to properly discipline dogs. It almost became a game for my friends and I; if we came home to the garbage on the floor or the fridge ransacked, we would laugh and kick the dogs and beat them with whatever we could. Horrifying to think back and admit those things openly....
Anyway, one day we came home and my buddy walked through the door and right into a pill of dog shit. His next step was into a puddle of piss. We looked at each other and said, "Oh, fuck that". Ran up stairs and Mercedes was hiding, which wasn't usual. It also wasn't usual for the other dogs to make this sort of mess. So we placed the blame on the new dog, picked her up from her spot, threw her down the stairs, choked her all the way to the door and threw her out of the screen door. The last sight I had of her was her trying to regain her footing as she landed on the hard cement and taking off into the street.
Telling my dealer twice that I couldn't manage the animals wasn't as hard as the menacing memories of what I had done to the dogs in the aftermath. It took me a few years to even acknowledge my wrong doings.
Maggie got picked up by animal control a few blocks away and after being rehabilitated from her vicious ways, got adopted by a good family.
Mercedes didn't. She was put down. She was only a year and a half years old.
Years passed. I was now in a steady relationship with Whore #2. One day, we got a call from someone telling us that they had picked up a pit down on the northside just walking around unattended to. But because they didn't have the ability to take care of the dog for more than the few days they already had, the dog needed a home or it was going to the shelter.
She was a fighting dog. Her ears told her story. Short, emaciated, unique brindle and feisty. Whore #2 asked me if we could take her and without thought, I immediately said yes. After all the previous failures with pits, I had to convince myself A.) That I could rehabilitate this animal, and B.) That I wouldn't give up on her.
We met the rescuer at a gas station about 15 miles away where he gave us the briefing on the dog. Told us she has papers, but she's stolen so we wont be able to access them. She's a good dog, though she has a curious side and might get into some food left out. And then the dog jumped into the car, skittish and uneasy. Her name was Roxy and I automatically hated the name. Not only did it just suck as a name, but it symbolized her past; it represented her being chained to walls and being forced into fights. As I looked at this animal for the first time, I looked over at Whore #2 and said "Were changing her name to Mercedes."
This was my homage to the beautiful animal I indirectly killed. This name was giving Mercedes a second chance, giving Roxy a second chance and also, giving myself the chance to prove I'm not a horrible person. Not to anyone else but myself.
Mercedes is now going on 6 years old. She is the most adorable monster on the planet. Rambunctious and energy sensitive; she embodies a good sum of my own traits. She was given up on by people who should have loved her, left her to fend for her self, neglected, forced to do things she wouldn't have with the right guidance, and needs lots and lots of affection :)
If I do have a heart that still works, she owns it. And every time I see those commercials, I try to forgive myself for the past and embrace the love and energy I've put into keeping this dog with me at all costs. She has her flaws, but so do I. I'm not going to judge her or beat her like I would have 10 years ago. I'm not going to do anything but love this animal the way she deserved to be loved from day one. She's been there for me when I need her too; during the break up with Whore #2, she was there to cuddle my 3 year loss away. During Christmas's, she was there to help me open my presents and eat the wrapping paper. When I left on an aimless excursion to Colorado, she became my protection in the wild and my companion on the hikes. And over the past 8 months, she's moved 3 different places with me... keeping me grounded and giving me company. She hasn't given up on me... and I will never, EVER give up on her :)
No comments:
Post a Comment