For the Love of a Mutt

The perfect dog often has an imperfect past.

Someone at sometime had hit her.

It became obvious the first time we brought her into our home. My partner, talking excitedly to the boys about our new pup, lifted their arm to illustrate a point. The dog’s eyes grew wide as she quickly cowered away, whimpering and nosing the ground in fear.

We soon realized that someone had probably hit her multiple times.

We had decided a few weeks before that our family of two parents, two boys, and one elderly cat needed a dog to complete it. We wanted an adult dog that was already housebroken since we were still in the process of housebreaking, I mean potty training, our youngest son.

The humane society was fully stocked with adult “lab mixes,” which, in layman’s terms, means “pit bull.” I truly don’t believe there are any bad breeds, but taking in a pitt with an unknown background with two young kids didn’t seem wise.

A Violent Past

When I saw the ad on Craigslist for a heeler-corgi mix female, 1-year-old, for free, I jumped on it.

The woman met us at a nearby park. There, we learned that the woman’s young son was severely allergic to Lacy, so the woman wanted to find a good home for her. There were red flags I didn’t see. The way the woman kept darting her eyes around nervously, as though she would be caught doing something wrong. The dark circles under her eyes, the mottled bruises up one leg.

We took Lacy, her favorite toy, and her dog bowl home with us. She threw up in the car, immediately showing us that her propensity toward car sickness meant that she would not be an adventure dog. I also had the woman’s email address, as she desperately wanted to be kept abreast of Lacy’s well-being.

Lacy settled in immediately, making herself at home. She spent long hours curled up with Ani, our cat, who would carefully groom Lacy’s ears while she snoozed contentedly. We soon learned that Lacy had asthma, so long walks were also out of the question. She longed to herd and would circle the boys in decreasingly smaller circuits until she had gathered them into a tight knot in the center.

Loud noises scared her, and my partner and I could not hug or kiss in front of Lacy without her becoming a growling, barking mess.

“She thinks I’m hurting you,” my partner said in realization.

I emailed the woman every few weeks for several months. She was always happy to hear how content Lacy was. Then, one day, she asked me not to email anymore. “My husband found out about this email box; he doesn’t know I gave the dog away.”

Had she made up a story about Lacy running away, perhaps to save her from the violence I now think he was raining down upon her?

Goodbye and Hello

The day came when it was time for Ani to depart for the Rainbow Bridge. Lacy was inconsolable once she realized her best kitten friend wasn’t coming home. For three days, Lacy refused to eat, and we could barely get her to drink.

Our pup was mourning.

We visited a farm that had more kittens than mice. We meant to bring home one, but only two of the litter remained, and they were just too cute to split up.

We presented the little fuzzballs to Lacy. I swear she grinned, her big, sad eyes instantly brightening with joy. She and the kittens, Koga and Kilala, instantly became the best of buds.

Lacy had the barrel body, stump tail, and face of a corgi, but her long legs and size were pure heeler. Her back was black with some of the ticking of a heeler as well. One ear stood up in alert corgi fashion, while the other was permanently drooped over from nerve damage. We would never know if she was born that way or if it was a scar from her violent past.

Two kittens could easily cling to her back as she wandered around. She was never cross with them, or with the children. If any became too rough, she would show her teeth and bop them with her nose. Lacy was the definition of gentle.

I still remember my youngest son, learning to walk, clinging tightly to the fur at Lacey’s neck as she walked slowly next to him. Her tongue lolled out, eyes staring lovingly at the delighted young one taking his first steps.

More Friends

As the years passed, Lacy seemed to forget her fears. She would still sometimes wince at loud voices, particularly male voices, and she never could abide other dogs.

One day in April, she found her calling. We set the box down carefully in the backyard, my elder son ready to grab Lacy if necessary.

She nosed at the box curiously until the first head popped up. It was black with a black beak. Then head number two, black with orange beak, and number three, pure white and also orange beaked.

Three little ducklings instantly imprinted on our dear pup.

Although she loved them, I think they also frustrated her. They wanted to follow her; she wanted to herd them. In circles, they walked around and around the yard. When Lacy laid down to catch an asthmatic breath, three little ducklings tucked themselves against her side.

For the next seven years, Lacy herded cats and ducks. This likely eased her sadness at no longer having little boys to herd.

Ours were growing up, after all. They didn’t play as much, but I would sometimes see one or the other lying against her and whispering secrets in her ear. Lacy mothered my young men even when they thought they were too old to need it from me.

Thank you, pup.

Aging Gracefully

Age was kind to Lacy. She suffered no illness and never had to see a vet except for routine vaccinations. Her teeth stayed white and true, her gums a healthy pink.

She enjoyed getting into the garbage and compost pile, so occasionally, she had to deal with an upset tummy, but beyond that, she was healthy until the last.

She did run away once. At this point, she was old — 12 years — and her hearing was going. That’s probably why she didn’t hear our calls. She had never been far from home due to her asthma; the only walks she ever enjoyed were one block over to my mom’s house so she could rest before returning home.

One of the kids must have left the back gate open. I let Lacy out, just like I did every morning, but she never returned to scratch at the door. When I went into the yard, she was gone.

We had just gathered everyone together to canvas the neighborhood, assuming she couldn’t have gone far, when my phone rang.

“I think Lacy is on my porch,” it was my mom. “She’s wheezing pretty badly.”

By the time we got there, Lacy’s breathing had evened out, and my supposedly dog-hating mother was hand-feeding her turkey bacon. Lacy did that to people; her gentleness and sad eyes made everyone want to take care of her.

I think, though, she was really taking care of us.

Good-bye

Lacy made it to 15. By this time, our family had changed shape. My eldest had struck off into adulthood, and only one of those two kittens still cuddled up to her at night. We no longer lived in our home, having moved 300 miles to be by the sea.

I still remember Lacy’s reaction the first time we showed her the sea. Her hearing was completely gone at that point, but her nose and eyes still worked. She stood there, tongue lolling happily and eyes squinting into the wind as the water washed over her feet.

It was surprising, as Lacy had always been terrified of water. Another likely holdover from that violent first year that was shrouded in mystery. But the sea didn’t frighten her; she almost acted as though she were young again.

Soon after, her old bones preferred to only get up three times a day to relieve herself. Otherwise, she would simply find a sunny spot, close to someone who would stroke her, to snooze or watch her family protectively.

She no longer flinched when voices were loud. She thumped her stumpy tail happily when her people hugged or kissed. I like to think we helped heal her trauma.

Her goodbye was quiet, just like she usually was. One morning, she started to make her way toward breakfast, but then she just collapsed. I stroked her ears while my partner called the vet. A contented last sigh, and she was gone before the phone call ended.

Lacy was and eternally will be a good girl. She suffered such pain as a pup, but she only had love and nurturing to share. I imagine her always frolicking, without wheezing, with her beloved kittens and ducklings.

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