Fridays are boring here in the mitten. At least in February. There's not much else to do besides get high and watch TV. Or game. Unless, of course, you feel like spending your time upping your swag only to get it fucked up by some lame ass snow. And if, by chance, you escape natures thrust of nasty wet cold shit, you are sure to find it all over those new suede Pumas you bought over Christmas break once you decide to leave that sticky sweat box of a bar(true story).
So tonight when I got home, I decided I would have a spa date with my dog. That's right, I said spa date mother fucker. It's serious. See, for Christmas I received a gift that was full of doggy spa stuff and I felt like tonight she was rather deserving of a pampering. She's been awesome lately. And mainly because she no longer has any other dogs to bicker with around the house. After 13 years Beau, the terrorist dog, finally made his exit last week. It was sort of difficult to watch him deteriorate. But eventually , it was going to happen.
He was the last original dog of the house and to be honest, my dog just didn't like either of them much. Not at all actually. They all got along for a few years, but after that, my little pitty got alpha on all of them and decided to ruin their lives. I wont lie, she did. She would attack them for getting in her space or coming near me or for simply growling at her. It got pretty bad for a little while. One thing that I have never been able to do with my dog is train the aggression out of her. For the most part, this is my fault. As an owner of rescued fighting dogs, I am responsible for retraining them. And I never have. I have figured out gimmicks for teaching dogs how to shake, lay down, roll over, speak, and all the other fancy useless things dog owners like to humanize their pets with. But the one thing I've never been able to do is control her rage. Sometimes she just shakes. The whites of her eyes will get beet red and she'll just shake. But even then, even in the midst of her anger fit, she would still sit by my side if I told her to. She would put her head on my lap and close her eyes as if she knew what she was thinking was wrong but she couldn't stop it. I couldn't stop it. But at least she was always willing to try to and I wasn't going to leave her to deal with that on her own. I would try not to put her in her cage or away from the other dogs because deep down, underneath her label and her scars and her intimidating stature is a sweetheart. A huge, cushiony, beautiful sweet heart and I've always known that. But not everyone else has.
" Dad, just wanted to call and let you know that Merc attacked Beau again. Its not that bad but his ear's a little ripped up. I dont really know how it started; I was upstairs and I just heard some growling and I guess she snapped..."
"WHAT?! AGAIN?! Ugh, Beau doesn't deserve that. And this sounds like it was totally unwarranted... I can't have this in my house anymore. Seriously, something has to be done. She can't just keep attacking them like that."
He was right. He always was. There usually is no good reason to attack anything or anyone but every time we had this sort of conversation, I would find myself getting extremely defensive.
" I know, I know. I mean, I can't do anything about it right now. There's just a switch that goes off in her head and training her in that moment would be extremely dangerous on my part. I can't just give her away. And the shelter would put her down for fighting. I dont know what you want me to do."
Really, there was nothing that I could do. I can't take away her past and no matter how many years of loving affection I give her, that hardened, chained to a wall, underfed dog is still going to be there. And the truth of the matter is this : I dont speak dog. No one "speaks" dog. Yeah, we might interpret their actions through our perspective but at the end of the day, we dont know shit. Maybe those dogs smelled wrong to her. Maybe they gave her some signal that was the equivalent of someone slapping us in the face. I dont know, you dont know. No one knows. But what I knew then and what I know now hasn't changed; this dog is mine and I love her. Nothing will change that. No amount of anything would convince me give up on her and I will always believe in her. Indefinitely.
I feel strongly about this. Its not just a random moral I attached myself to. It's not just a respectable ideal. It's something that I've lived. It's been instilled into who I am. See, for most of my life, I've had people give up on me. I've watched people lose their faith in me. Bosses, parents, teachers, friends. I'm used to it. I'm used to those looks past me and those questionable comments implying that I am as much of a piece of shit as they thought I was. And up to this day, it's still something difficult for me to process. It's never made much sense to me how people can instantaneously label me worthless or worth giving up on or worth a C- because, well, he just doesn't act like he cares. So what? No one ever told you that Western Civ was enthralling for a 16 year old. No one ever told you that delivering sub sandwiches is a passion. No one ever told you that cleaning dog shit from the back yard is high on their priorities. So when I come into your class room, throw everything off your desk and threaten to beat your ass because you know, as well as I do, that my essays on your exam deserved way better than a 5 out of 15, that my sandwich was delivered on time and with no complaints until they called you about my music as I drove off, or that the shit in the backyard will still be their tomorrow, dont be fucking surprised that I maintain that level of a 'piece of shit who doesn't care' at that point. If you give up on me, fuck you. Thats my motto.
The funny thing about that motto is that its not going to get me anywhere. It's not doing anything to meet the opposite party half way and it's doing everything to give everyone the finger who comes into my life. That judgment isn't completely false. That judgment isn't completely unfair. Because, just like dogs, sometimes there are things that go unspoken but they are just as palpable as getting slapped in the face. The aura of 'piece of shit' exudes from who I am on some level and I can't act victim to that. Because somewhere along the line, somewhere amongst all of the bullshit I've put myself through or been put through, I forgot to believe in myself. I forgot to believe in my passions. In my work. In my writing. I forgot who I was. I forgot my worth. I can't walk through life thinking people shouldn't give up on me if I can't even convince myself to do that very same thing.
After all of the classes I've been kicked out of or stormed out of, after all of the bridges I've burned with employers, friends and family, after all of that- I have noticed that I am the first person to not believe in who I am before anyone else will and thats not okay. I can have walls and I can keep people at bay and I can do everything to keep my defense up but if all I'm protecting is someone who isn't worth it, I need to change that. Because underneath this hardened, beat up, thrown around and misused cast iron exterior is a sweetheart. A huge, beautiful, cushiony sweet heart and I've always known that.
Now, I just need to believe it.
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