Epic Fail
I've made a terrible mistake, probably out of grief. The dog I got, Walter, so beautiful, so loving, has turned out to be way, way, way too much to handle. He's cost several thousands of dollars in the last month, and I have not been able to leave the house while tending his recovery from the horribly botched neutering. Not to even mention the trauma of the night he chewed his stitches out and there was blood everywhere; on the bed sheets, on the floor, covering my hands. Christ, it's one thing to see it in the movies.
Every judgment I made about him at the shelter was completely wrong. The sweet, hypnotic, calm and handsome dog is, in reality, a hyperactive, unfocused, hysterical creature with debilitating separation anxiety and OCD behaviors. Pacing. Rapid respiration. Chewing out his fur.
I've emailed the rescue society.
I can already feel the physical heartache welling up inside me over this. I screw up often, but not usually on this scale.
Karen has been incredibly supportive, financially and emotionally, but when I broached the subject of rehoming just now the floodgates burst. I can tell she's been holding it all in: anger about the money, disdain at my efforts ("it's just a goddamn dog" she said.)
She's sleeping on the couch. Nothing to do with me, she says, or the dog, she just can't sleep. We get to sleep in the same bed only a few days a week, and now she's on the couch. This is bad.
Every judgment I made about him at the shelter was completely wrong. The sweet, hypnotic, calm and handsome dog is, in reality, a hyperactive, unfocused, hysterical creature with debilitating separation anxiety and OCD behaviors. Pacing. Rapid respiration. Chewing out his fur.
I've emailed the rescue society.
I can already feel the physical heartache welling up inside me over this. I screw up often, but not usually on this scale.
Karen has been incredibly supportive, financially and emotionally, but when I broached the subject of rehoming just now the floodgates burst. I can tell she's been holding it all in: anger about the money, disdain at my efforts ("it's just a goddamn dog" she said.)
She's sleeping on the couch. Nothing to do with me, she says, or the dog, she just can't sleep. We get to sleep in the same bed only a few days a week, and now she's on the couch. This is bad.