I don't think any of you knew anything about this. I didn't like to talk about it. I felt bad about it. Moki and I have had issues for several years now. When he was a puppy, something came up and the vet gave me bad advice . . . or, perhaps more to the point . . . incomplete advice. If I would have turned in the correct direction at this point, none of the rest of the story would have happened. But, I didn't. Was it something lacking in me or just ignorance or perhaps some of both? I don't know. Thoughts of it make me feel bad. But considering the way it all turned out, I feel like this whole thing . . . mistakes and all . . . were meant to be.
Nothing got any better and I was still trying to follow the vet's bad/incomplete advice. I was getting desperate. A friend told me a story that equated to more bad advice. Since I felt desperate, I decided to try it . . . nothing else had worked to fix the problem. Another bad, really horrible mistake. I did something bad to Moki (in trying to correct the problem) . . . only twice . . . but, twice too many. When he growled when I tried to pet him, I knew it was a horrible, horrible mistake, but it was too late to take it back. The damage had been done. His trust in me was gone.
He bit me several times after that, but I felt it was my fault for the bad thing that I had done to him. But, we didn't trust each other any more, and both of us lived in fear of the other. We still loved each other very much, though, despite the fear. We lived like that, afraid of each other, for three years.
Moki had always gotten along well with other dogs. Then, six months ago, at the parking lot of our hiking place, a dog "attacked" Moki. It was very brief, maybe ten seconds or less, and Moki didn't get hurt, but the damage was done, again. After this brief encounter, Moki was now wary of other dogs.
Our neighbors had two overgrown puppies who always ran up to Moki and overwhelmed him, but he always took it. After he got attacked, the next time he saw them and they did that, he growled and snapped at them. Bummer. Time passed and the neighbors gave one of the puppies away and got back a dog they had before. "Pete" was the big puppy, and he still terrified Moki. Every time he was around, Moki was scared. He would give me this look of wide-eyed terror and I would say, "Let's go in," and it broke the moment and everything was okay.
One night, about a month ago, it was too dark for me to see the wide-eyed look. Moki growled at Bandit, a friend of his, and I told him he was bad. But, I had missed the cue . . . the look. From what I've learned in the past month, this is called redirected aggression: Moki was so afraid of Pete that he attacked me. Yes, me. Luckily I had my heavy winter gloves on. He lunged at me and kept biting my hands. He backed me up about fifty feet and wouldn't stop biting. It was incredibly scary. When the neighbor, Pete's Dad, finally whistled for his dogs to come in, it broke the spell. Moki stopped.
I managed to get him into the house, into his kennel, with his leash still on. He was still growling. It was eight o'clock, and I knew I had to take him out again before we went to sleep. I waited an hour, started bouncing his ball, and talking in an upbeat way to him. Then, I opened the kennel and let him out. He immediately went to the ball, like I knew he would. I managed to get the leash off. We went outside without the leash, came in and I put him in his kennel for the night. He always came to my bed at night to say good-night and in the morning to say good-morning. I was too afraid to have him do that.
I knew that there was no way I could keep him after what he had done to me. I didn't think I'd ever get that horrible image out of my mind. I couldn't walk him with the leash anymore . . . didn't even have the courage to put it on him. The first thing I did was call the breeder and ask her to take him back. She's in Idaho and I was going to drive him up there. She refused. I begged her for twenty-five minutes to take this dog . . . the whole time crying hysterically . . . and she just refused and suggested that I put him down. I was devastated.
After that, I immediately started writing to every single Border Collie Rescue in the United States and some in Canada. I told them all that I would deliver him anywhere. Despite what had happened, I knew what a good dog he was . . . I felt certain that he could be fixed, but not by me. I was still very, very scared of him. The ones that answered my emails all said the same things . . . either they were already full or they couldn't accept a dog with a history of biting. Then, that evening, I received a call and an email from a friend of mine that I had asked if he knew anyone who would take him. There was a chance a friend of his would take and fix the dog. I went to sleep that night elated that Moki was saved.
The following day my friend wrote and said his friend already had two dogs and didn't want another one. Devastation again. But, he also said that the friend would be looking around because some dog whisperer out there would want this challenge. Well, the challenge part didn't sound good to me, but the dog whisperer part gave me an idea. I then searched for all the dog whisperers I could find on the internet, asking them to take Moki and what a good dog he'll be once fixed. The responses were they couldn't take another dog, or a sales pitch, or some other no. But, one person in NJ said that she could fix the dog, but what did I want her to do with him after he was fixed. She said to call her. She owned an organization that got shelter dogs, rehabilitated them, trained them to be service dogs, and then gave them to autistic children. I went to sleep that night thinking that it was a match made in heaven . . . Moki would be fixed and would go on to helping some kid. I was very happy at the way things were turning out.
The next day, I called the woman and she said she couldn't take him. She couldn't put a dog with a history of biting into the program. I was devastated. But, she kept talking to me for the next fifteen minutes . . . basically brutalizing me. She said that she normally doesn't do this, but she felt that I needed tough love. She said that no one would ever love Moki as much as I do. She said that she couldn't help me if I wouldn't help myself. Finally, she said she needed to get off the phone because she was out of breath. I was to call her that evening.
This woman saved my life. Tough love, indeed. It was EXACTLY what I needed. I got off the phone and researched EMDR therapists in Durango. EMDR is a therapy that they give to Viet Nam vets and others with PTSD. My ex-husband had it, and it changed his life dramatically. It involves rapid eye movement or other stimulus that works on both hemispheres of the brain. I knew that this would fix me. For someone who posts on Facebook, "Don't argue for your limitations," "You can do it," "You're stronger than you think," . . . I was totally arguing for my limitations and saying that I couldn't do it. After the tough love . . . I knew that I had to. I found a therapist who did EMDR for PTSD and made an appointment for that Thursday, two days away. That would fix me (not in just one session, but definitely in a short time - - EMDR therapy is not long-term therapy). And the dog whisperer would fix Moki. Everything was okay again.
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| Me and my boy. |
Next post . . . driving to Boulder to see the dog whisperer.
And in the future . . . very possibly leaving Durango . . .
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