Day 11 Dog Gamn Blues

Rebuilding myself through Zen, therapy, sponsorship, DBT and willingness to do it.  There are days when the overwhelmingness fatigues me to the point of endless irritability.  Then there are days of non-stop gratitude for the distance I’ve covered and energy I have for the rest of the trip.  Where did the passion come from this time?  I don’t have a woman to impress.  Well I just don’t have a woman. J  That’s growth right there.  “Don’t have a woman!”  Even Firestone doesn’t contact me anymore.  I would hear from her on my birthday but now after 29 years, no sir.  I offer or cough up a little controversy and I’m out the door.  A little moxie goes a long way.

 So what about that?  My long standing unease of being manipulated into taking Trojan via dad proxy has turned into something untouchable.  I’m not a dog person.  Tried to do it.  You know like trying marriage because it’s the right thing you’re supposed to do.  I tried it a couple of times (marriage too) and it’s just not me.  Frodo was the only dog who lived her entire natural life with me.  Yes I put her down when she was 11 so it was short in the big picture of doggie ownership.  And yes, she was very ill.  It was a terribly sad day.  Other than Frodo, no dog has lasted as long or longer.  They would eventually turn into rescues, SPCA objects or new homes found.  Not all happy endings either but I was sorry and still am sorry for all the dog drama that uncurled.

 Trojan was Ray’s dog bought by his mom, Firestone while he was still living with her full time.  A beagle at birth, almost a St. Bernard by the time he left my house.  His girth no doubt transpired by his depression of having to live with me.   When he was living with Firestone and company, he was the biggest of 6 dogs.  6 dogs.  Well as time went by Ray eventually moved in with me full time and Trojan would come by occasionally for weekend visits.  Weekends only.  That was all I could tolerate.  If I left a door open, boom, gone.  Lucky for him, Firestone had him chipped and eventually he would get back home.  Sometime it was days of absence.  Otherwise he would just keep going.  Such is the nature of beagles I’ve been told.  He knew where his food dish was but no matter.  My outward fear was him dying in the street by some random traffic tragedy and I would have to be the one to deliver the news to Ray.  Inwardly I just couldn’t care enough if he came back at all.  No that doesn’t make me a bad person just not a tragically involved dog person.  I didn’t want him dead by any means, I just wanted him gone.

 Everyone in my family is dog nuts.  My mom, Chaos, lavished so much love on our family dog Perry.  I’m sure that is what soured me today.  If I can blame her for that psychologically I will.  My sister would never think of going anywhere without bringing her dog in the car with her.  That thought would never occur to me.  My older brother had made custody arrangements for their dog when divorce time came rolling around.  Custody for a dog?  Just unthinkable for me.  My younger brother, Volt, was also dog crazy.  I swear he would veer into a person rather than veering into a dog.  He’s never done it  but I bet my paycheck on that action.  I think my dad was like me in that he could take them or leave them.  I don’t have any memories of him dog bonding.  Probably felt the same way I did about Perry and the mom loving he received.

 The day came.  “Pher, would it be okay for Trojan to live with you and Ray?  Since Ray is there full time now and technically it’s his dog.”

“Why sure Firestone, why not?  Anything for my son.  What changed?  I mean, why now?” I whispered with false courage.

“We picked up a rescue Pit Bull mix and we feel that 7 dogs is too many.”  No she didn’t laugh as it really wasn’t a joke.  7 dogs is TOO many.  But 6 dogs is just right.  I was struck silent by the irony of the situation.  Rescue one dog and throw another dog to the curb.  Specifically my curb, the curb everyone knows I don’t have.  But for my son I would chew brick so I assented.

 “Now Ray, this is your dog, you are responsible for feeding, cleaning and walking him.”  How many parents have made this hollow, lonely, unanswered prayer of a speech?  Even though I was offered money for vet bills and all food I always felt cheap or that I was imposing to ask.  I’d ask for vet bill money but never for the food money.  It was never offered so the feeling of being a patsy slowly started blossoming.

 Another day came.  Ray was moving into his first apartment.  His first time out from under the parents roof.  Of course, the apartment management doesn’t allow dogs so a problem existed.  No worries, just call your mom I said.  See if the population has abated in anyway.

“Of course we can take him Pher.  Thanks so much for taking him for this long!”  Wow.  I was flummoxed by the turn of events on my behalf.  Of course I felt a little guilty feeling I had somehow let Ray down.  I was doing the best I could and hey I was not a dog person.  Remember?

 As bad luck would have it I was browsing Facebook the next day and Firestone’s wife was advertising for a home for a slightly paunchy beagle.  They weren’t going to take him in at all, just serving as middlemen for a new home to find.  Flabbergasted now.  Flabbergasted and flummoxed in 2 days.  Incredible.  It was too much.  I felt betrayed, lied to and patronized, “of course we can take him…”

 Taking an oath of fatherly loyalty, which really wasn’t necessary in this case in retrospect, I cancelled the transfer and let Trojan stay with me.  I took him out for walks, let him sleep on my bed.  I wore ear plugs firmly entrenched to drown out his porkulous snorting and snoring.  But then he would break out.  Not once but several times.   I’d get distracted and leave the gate open, the front door, etc.  It was enough to pretend I was a good master but I took the escapes personally.  Again I didn’t want to be the purveyor of the news of his death on the street under some assholes wheels.  I got tired of fighting the battle of keeping him off the couches, vacuuming them weekly.  I finally put boards over them and now my living room looked like a construction site.  Every moment I was near the kitchen (which was almost the entire house) he was under my foot waiting for the crumb, the inevitable crumb to drop.  He yelped so many times from me stepping on him or tripping over him.  The walks stopped.  I just couldn’t take him out anymore.  Like my dad never taking us to a game or fishing, there was none of that action.   I would leave the house in the morning and when I came home in the afternoon I could tell he hadn’t moved an inch the whole day.

 I don’t know why it bugged me so much, it just did.  I was a Grinch towards him.  I was working so hard on improving myself in my personal life but I just couldn’t turn on what there wasn’t there to turn on.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate dogs, I like them.  I just don’t love them.  I will never coo over a dog in public, it’s just not in me.

 The dog bone that broke my back happened within weeks of Ray closing on his first home purchase.  He’s buying his first home and I couldn’t be more proud.  And the bonus?  Trojan would finally be living with his rightful master and bask in the glory of love once again.  Might even lose a few pounds in the process.  I was battling an epic mini-depression at that time and Trojan was that extra razor edge that was proving too much for me to handle.  I called Ray and asked him to ask his mom if they could take him for the final weeks before his closing.  He said sure, no problem.  Firestone did call and I simply missed it.  But not the voicemail.  “Isn’t is exciting that Ray is buying his first home!  In a few weeks it will be closing and before you know it he will be moving in and then Trojan will be moving in with him too!”  Vim and vinegar to me.  I just got blown off in a voice mail.  Patronized with capital letters.  No discussion was needed I guess because it’s just Pher we’re talking about.  Easy going and gets the job done Pher here.  A little tiny light started shining through a new tiny little hole.  Whether real or fancied, I let myself be manipulated by Firestone for decades.  From the moment she left me (on her terms) up to that VM about Trojan.  24 years of hearing her jingly voice telling me what and how stuff was going to happen.  I always acquiesced and I let myself be manipulated because in the big picture I thought it was more important to just be the good guy.  Why?  I don’t fucking know, it is just hard coded in my DNA.  I felt a slow burn and then a magnesium flare as I realized how long I let this stuff go on.  And it is my fault, entirely.

 I made the mistake of letting my “anger child” call Ray to start bitching about being tired of being used, plied, manipulated by members of his family.  He got pretty grouchy about the words I was saying and I immediately backed off that tack.  I’ve just been Ray’s dad for so long, single dad in thought and in action.  I really didn’t have any aunts, uncles or grandparents to offer him so I let him backpack his way through all the holidays with her family.  Which is his family too.  I’m not discounting his mom’s side of the equation at all, not one iota.  In my mind and my experience though, Ray was my son and I was just his dad, his family, my entire family when we’re together.  Just the 2 of us.  His mom’s side was just thought, theory, not actual living reality.  It’s not that we did a bad job or butted heads during all those years raising him, we did an amazing job as separate parents.  In psychobabble talk, Non-Nuclear parenting.  When Ray got mad at me for dissing his maternal side of the family I actually got scared.  Kind of shook me to the core.  My “abandonment child” started screaming and I admit , I was feeling engulfed in some primal fear.  I am expendable.  I’m taking it to the extreme I know.  I started treading water that I’ve never been in.

 I actually don’t know what has transpired between then and now.  I know that I haven’t heard a word from Firestone and I’m sure Ray told her everything.   There are other words that were exchanged that apparently weren’t supposed to be released to Ray.  Oops, I’m sorry.  I just got tired of being the bug and not the windshield.  I love my son and can’t imagine feeling anything different for him, ever.  I’m sorry that after all these years it’s still comes down to communication breakdowns that alters relationships.  I’m learning that relationships change, even long term ones.  It’s part of the big story of life that I have to accept with aplomb and dignity.  I have to quiet the children on the bus when I go through these transitions and take lead.  I will walk through this by putting one foot in front of the other and see what other doors may be opening now that these doors are closing.

 

1.        I am grateful that I have gained some insight into my nature as part of the human experiment.

2.       I am grateful that my son is healthy, happy and in his first home.

3.       I am grateful that his mom’s side of the family loves him so much.