A New Leash on Life: Lessons Learned from a Four-Legged Friend
Tango Mangio
The request was one only a mother could grant.
"Mom, how would you feel about me moving back home for a few months while my wife finishes her military training?"
"That would be great," I replied to Nick, my 28-year-old son, without even asking my husband. Once my son's wife finished her military training in Rhode Island, she and Nick would head to Hawaii for a three-year tour of duty. I jumped at a chance to spend some time with Nick before he moved five thousand miles away. I hung up the phone, returned to my seat at the kitchen island where we were having supper and watching the Philadelphia news, and told Charlie.
"What about the dog?" Charlie asked.
Oh. The dog.
The 70-pound, pit-bull boxer mix.
The Great Gatsby.
I could see a few small problems with having this big dog as our houseguest. One, I am afraid of dogs. Two, our elderly cat is afraid of dogs. And three, Charlie works at home during the day; in sales, he is always on the phone. Barking would not be tolerated. Nevertheless, we began to tackle the obstacles one by one.
Nathan, our middle son, agreed to keep the cat at his home. Now our cat hasn't known any other home but ours. On a Wednesday in September, I carefully orchestrated the day of his move, enlisting the help of my youngest son Neil. It didn't help that on that particular day, Neil's girlfriend broke up with him. We both felt badly as we rounded up our aging orange tabby and gently forced him into the cat carrier. We winced as we listened to the bewildered meows on the 90-minute drive to Nate's. "Don't worry mom, I'll take good care of him," Nate said, as we handed Jonas over. I thanked both Nate and Neil, and Neil went back to college with a broken heart. I overheard him talking to a friend on his cell phone. "This day sucks. My girlfriend left me and I had to give my cat away," he said.
As Jonas adapted to his new home, Nick and I got busy cleaning out my old home office, which had been used as storage. The plan was to make this room Gatsby's place, and he could stay in there during the day while my husband was on calls.
"Mom, why do you keep all this old stuff?" Nick asked, sifting through piles of papers from a public relations job I held 30 years ago and yellowed copies of old newspaper articles carrying my byline. We began shredding old bills, bank statements, and other things that had piled up over the years. As he fed the shredder multiple sheets at a time, I heard myself lecturing him,. "Nick, one sheet at a time; if this shredder breaks, Dad won't be happy." I had promised myself I would treat him as an adult. But my mouth just wouldn't cooperate.
"Look, Ma," he said. "It says 6 sheets at a time. Don't worry. You worry too much."
On cue, the shredder stopped working before we were a quarter of the way through the pile. I was steaming, and wanted to say "I told you so," but I forced a smile and remained quiet. We went back to cleaning the room. It turned out the shredder was overheated and shut itself off as a safety precaution. After it had cooled, it was fine. Nick was right.
I also cooled down; before we knew it, the room was cleaned, the doggie bowls were set up, and a nice comfy pillow was set out for Gatsby's bed. A gate was set up across the entryway between the kitchen and foyer so that Gatsby would have access to his room, our family room, and our kitchen. And we would take him outside through the laundry room and garage.
As soon as Gatsby arrived, he was excited. He checked everything out, then he stretched out and bowed low in front of me. Nick called it his "yoga" pose. He repeated this stretching move countless times during his stay with us and I think it was his way of controlling his urge to jump up on me. He was as cautious around me as I was around him.
I went on walks with Nick and Gatsby in the crisp fall weather, and when we were in our neighborhood, Nick showed me how to hold the leash and control the dog. "You put the leash collar high on his head, and if you control his head, you control the dog," Nick explained, as though I were one of his students. He had been a high school English teacher the past six years, and didn't return this year because of the move to Hawaii. He found temporary work painting and hanging drywall while staying with us.
In the mornings, I found I could let Gatsby out to do his business with no problem. I did learn the hard way not to wrap the leash around my hand. Rope burns across my fingers reminded me of this dog's great strength. Soon I was able to walk him halfway through the neighborhood and back by myself without incident.
One morning, though, I had just gotten a shower and put on clean clothes. I slipped on my flip-flops and took Gatsby outside, even though there was a light rain.
Not thinking, I stood on our lawn so he could reach a nearby tree. But he saw a squirrel on the neighbor's fence and before I knew what was happening, he had literally drug me through the mud. I held on to the leash with both hands, praying to God I wouldn't lose Gatsby. As I slid across the ground on my stomach and tumbled side to side as though I were jet skiing with Gatsby as the watercraft, I finally let go of the leash.
Crawling on all fours on the wet earth I got myself over to where it lay, muddied and within reach. The dog had suddenly stopped to look at something else, thank God, and I wrapped my hands tightly around the leash handle. As soon as I tried to get up he took off again, and managed to drag me another two feet. By the time I had recovered enough to stand up and get him inside the garage, I could not believe what had just happened. I looked like one of those mud wrestlers who entertain at gentlemen's clubs.
What a strong dog!
I wiped his feet off, put him in his room, and shed my mud-caked clothes in the laundry room. While taking another shower, I thanked God I had been lifting weights several times a week this past year. Now I know that all my strength was saved for that one encounter.
When I relayed the story to friends, co-workers and family, they all laughed, picturing the image. "Ma," Nick said. "You should have let go of the leash. Don't put him before your safety."
"I feel like he is my child," I replied. "I can't help it. I just feel responsible for him."
"He's just a dog, Ma. He's not your child."
And that's when it hit me. I had fallen in love with this dog. The great Gatsby had the most beautiful brown and white coat, and clear brown eyes. His head was so soft to the touch. I felt honored when he bowed at my feet, which was every time he saw me. When I sat working on my laptop at the kitchen table, he'd spread out at my feet, enjoying the sun. When we would cook dinner or prepare salad, he'd get all excited and do a bobble-head thing, looking one way then the other, waiting for a piece of carrot or other vegetable. I could swear he smiled on those occasions, after drooling and enjoying his treat.
I never knew a person could change so much, from being afraid of dogs to loving one, especially a 70 pound pit-bull mix. The night before my son flew to Hawaii, I cried as I petted Gatsby and talked to him. "You're going to fwy on a weally biiiiig pwane," I said, sounding like Tweety Bird. "And you're going to a vewee nice island!" I know the tears were for Nick, but I didn't want him to see. Gatsby stood very still and tolerated my separation anxiety. Again, the little bow.
On the day my son and Gatsby were to depart, the airline rejected the dog because of his breed. Charlie brought him back home, and I found myself secretly hoping we could keep him. A few days later, the dog got on a flight run by a pet-friendly airline. Ok, I admit it. I actually tracked Gatsby's flight on the Internet. I prayed he would get there safely and survive the 10-hour trip. He did, and after a night in quarantine, he was reunited with my son and daughter-in-law on a beautiful island.
Gatsby taught me a lot and I believe he changed my life. In my experiences with him I learned how strong I am, how accommodating I can be, how important family is. I learned how vital it is to not show fear, and how, in controlling fear, one can master it.
Taking the gate down between the kitchen and foyer after he left, I recalled Gatsby standing there watching the front door, waiting for me to come in from a day at the office. It struck me that in all his strength, Gatsby could have sailed over that gate or knocked it down without a problem. But he didn't. That gate is like so much of what holds us back, easily overcome if we were to discard preconceived notions and give it our best shot. We all have perceptions of barriers that can easily be broken, or are conditioned to think some things are insurmountable when they really aren't at all.
Gatsby taught me to be open to new experiences, to ignore that little voice of worry in my mind that always wants to say no and play it safe. He also made me see that there is still a little boy in my usually no-nonsense husband of 32 years, who displayed unwavering affection for Gatsby. (And also used his happy voice when he talked to the dog)
I learned to rely more on my senses. As Nick explained, dogs have highly acute senses. I have learned to be more watchful, to anticipate, and to try to prepare as life's little interruptions become great adventures. On a more practical note I learned not to stand with the dog on muddy ground in flip-flops, and to scout for squirrels like a hawk.
And, I learned to trust a sixth sense – that warm and fuzzy tugging in the heart called puppy love.
Reader Comments (3)
Your personal essays are enjoyable to read -- thank you.
Regardless of all the trouble Argos caused, my mother learned to love him nonetheless. He'd go crazy when she'd get home, greeting her more happily than any person ever could. Also, he protected the house better than any high priced security system. My mother did and still does love Argos, and although she won't admit it, she definitely misses him now that Argos and I have moved out.
And this to me is the heart of your story- change, both personal and familial. We all experience it, whether we're young and out of college, starting a new career in a new state or city, moving into a new home, or learning to love something we never thought we would. We have to be open to these changes because in most cases they're for the best. These changes teach us we can mature and adapt at any age and be the better for it. And finally, we have to accept that we can learn this change from anywhere and anyone, including a 70 lb. Pit bull or a 90 lb. Rottweiler. Thanks for sharing!
I can't tell you how much fun and frustration he can provide on a daily basis, and how much about life and love I've learned through him. He's taught me patience, unconditional love and he's taught me about parenting, which remains just on a canine level for me so far! But nonetheless, he's super sweet, low maintenance (he's a 6.5 lb yorkie) and I love him to pieces!
He has also taught me about economics and the art of saving as well (last year, he needed a knee replacement upwards of over $2,500 so I had to save a whole year ahead to be prepared for the bill). But it was certainly worth it.
I was not a dog lover in the least before this lovebug came into my life and actually hated dogs the most, although I always like little ones. But I was never a dog person and am allergic to most cats and dogs, so part of it was that, but another part was that being a pet owner was relatively foreign to me. We hadn't had a pet since I was a teenager and it was a cat. So this dog ownership came as quite a surprise to those who knew me well, since all they'd heard me do was complain and shirk around pets. There's nothing like this love I have for this little pooch though and I'd do anything for him.
I know how hard it is to keep him contained, and I can't imagine how much more difficult it must be with all that added weight and muscle, but I understand your love and admire you for taking on such a thoughtful task!
You sound like a great mom! And I'm sure your favorite granimal loves and misses you!
Thanks again for the post!