09.14.08
A failed adoption
For the past two weeks Chester has helped me fill an empty space I’ve had in my heart for five months. I had to have my other dog put to sleep this past April for what I believe was a brain tumor. She was my companion for fourteen and a half years, and to this day I continue to miss her. She took to Daniel immediately and loved him as much as she loved me. Daniel’s grief for her loss was more intense than mine, as I cried rarely and minimally until the week before we adopted Chester, then I sobbed for days. Chester was a rescue and a young adult male Jack Russell Terrier of between two and three years.
Since last night, Chester’s behavior and demeanor deteriorated to the point of trying to attack from within his cage. This occurred when Daniel had returned him to his cage after his second walk this morning. As Daniel closed the door, Chester lunged at the door, snarling, barking, and bearing his teeth. It was obvious he was trying to harm Daniel. I called the Vets office where we adopted him to come to take him away. It was no longer safe to have him in the house. It was four and a half hours before someone was able to come for him.
Chester showed great promise. He was adjusting well to his new home, and learning what his new boundaries were; e.g. not diving into my koi pond to catch a fish, not peeing in the house – he only did this once, coming when called, and lastly to not antagonize the cat who was living in the basement until we could figure out how to introduce them properly. Three days before he attached me, Chester saw his first deer in the back yard. Since that time his demeanor was off, yet he was still loving and, and full of young dog energy. He had become more resistant to commands to come, or sit, or the word no, and most importantly, to move away from the basement door and not growl at Gizzie the cat.
Since I was a toddler, I have shared my life with nine other dogs – one who had a litter of ten puppies – five cats, six pet ducks, one rabbit, five guinea pigs, five mallard ducklings who I hatched from their eggs when their mother had been killed by a car, one Canadian goose who was raised from one day old – she still had her egg tooth, two mice, and many baby birds who had fallen out of their nests. Chester was my tenth dog. Until Chester, I have never been afraid of a dog, nor have I ever had the slightest worry or fear that one of my dogs would turn on me and attack.
Today my hand is a little more swollen than last night, and the evidence of a bruise is making itself known. It is oozing serum and I am keeping it bandaged. It has become more tender than last night, and it now throbs and stings. There is no sign of infection, and Chester was up on all his inoculations. As a result of the wound, typing is a little tough. The mouse is putting pressure on the wound, but I want to keep the muscles moving to speed the reabsorption of the blood that is there.
O.P.W.