I've been avoiding writing about this and I'm not sure why. I guess I assume most people come here looking for some craft inspiration or maybe an idea for an activity to do with their kids.
But as I've written the last couple of post, a big elephant has been sitting in the room.
A dog, actually. A medium-sized dog named Cronkite.
Oh, boy. Here come the tears.
So, I'm going to write about this. You don't have to read it. But maybe it will help me cope to get it out there? It might also make some of you judge me in a negative way. I don't know. I wish I could say I don't care what you think, but I do.
J and I adopted Cronkite, our sweet mutt, almost seven years ago. She was at least a year old at the time, maybe older.
Adopting a dog at the shelter was my birthday gift, but we had to wait a couple weeks to do so because that was the summer we were getting married. So the day after we got back from our honeymoon (literally), we found her, shivering in her cage, the only dog not barking for our attention.
She was the only dog we took on a leash that day, and we decided right then and there we didn't have to think about it. There was no way we could bring her back inside. I loaded her in our Jeep while J filled out the paperwork. She was ours.
Cronkite was nervous at first. She cowered when other dogs in the neighborhood barked. She was afraid of the leash. But she quickly warmed up to us and became our "baby," as many dogs do (especially before people actually have babies, I think).
Everyone loves Cronkite. The words most people use to describe her are "sweet," "gentle," and "easy." And she is.
Except lately.
She bit our house painter the other day. Unprovoked. She just charged the poor guy and poked a hole in his leg with her teeth. She actually did this a few months ago, too, to the cable guy. We were embarrassed and apologized profusely that time, but kind of forgot about it after it happened.
Cronkite has become more aggressive at the fence gate lately, barking like mad at other dogs and people who walk by.
She has never bitten the girls, but growls at them sometimes.
I called around to various vets and dog people and they all say the same thing: she needs to be put down. They say we should have done it after the first bite, not exactly making us feel like Dog Mom and Dad of the Year.
Seeing all that in print makes it sound like a pretty bad situation, huh? Like this should be a no-brainer. And it is in some ways, because what if there's a next time? What if the next worker who comes to our house gets more than a bite on the leg (which doesn't sound like much fun to me as it is). What if Cronkite breaks free from the backyard when a neighbor is walking their dog? What if the next victim is one of the kids or their friends?
I'm going to sound like every dog owner who's ever dealt with an aggressive dog now: what makes this so hard is that 99.9999998 percent of the time she's that sweet, gentle, easy dog we love. When I think about April 21, the date we have scheduled to put her down, when she's curled up at my feet (like she is right now) I start to think the whole thing is a weird dream. This can't be the same dog.
It's also hard knowing that there are behavioral programs available to help us teach her to be less aggressive. For a couple of days, we thought that was going to be the route we would take. But both J and I woke up one morning and agreed--it's not worth the risk.
So, I'm basically a wreck right now. J reminds me that we extended her life seven years, and I'm glad for that, but it doesn't erase the guilt or the sorrow.
I will miss my doggie. I will miss being in awe of how fast she can run, how she looks like a ribbon in the wind when she really gets going. I will miss how excited the girls get when they see her after a long trip away from home. And I will miss how she rests her chin on my knee sometimes and looks up at me with those droopy eyes as if to say, "What's on your mind, Mama? And how about a little ear rub while you're at it?"