Patch

Many years ago, when I was still married and living in West Virginia, my ex-wife and I owned two Dalmatians, Caesar and Cleo. I've written about Caesar previously in the stories "Hosed" and in "Who's the Boss?", but I've never written anything about Cleo.

While I've mentioned Caesar's casual insanity and the fact that he was just the worst dog ever (still loved him, though), Cleo had a heart of pure gold. Caesar was aggressive, hyperactive and just plain dumb, whereas Cleo was his complete opposite. She was sweet, gentle, intelligent and extremely well behaved.

We'd had Caesar for about a month and his behavior was making us crazy. As a possible solution, Medusa and I had talked about getting another puppy as a companion for Caesar and we hoped that having a friend might have somewhat of a calming influence on him. By the time we had finished our discussion, we had decided that we would get another Dalmatian, a female this time and I would be the one that would pick out the puppy that we would be bringing home. We also talked about the possibility of breeding the dogs, in the future.

We scoured the local newspaper, looking for local breeders that had a current litter and we found one right away. Even better, the puppies were weaned and ready to take home. I called the number and made an appointment to look at the puppies. Medusa and I were both in high spirits when the day of the appointment arrived. It's always tons of fun playing with a pack of puppies.

We drove out to the breeder's home, where we were greeted by a mother and her two very young children, a boy and a girl. We introduced ourselves and she asked the children to show us where the puppies were. The children led us over to an old car, explaining that they had just corralled the puppies so that we could look at them. We walked up to the car and the boy, who was around four, opened the rear door of the car. We were immediately assaulted by a gaggle of hyperactive puppies, the majority of which soon ran off to whatever mischief they could find to get into. Only one puppy remained and it had been sleeping on the back seat. The tiny white bundle of fur cocked its head, looked at us and yawned.

My kind of dog.

Medusa and I looked at each other and we both said, "We'll take that one."

"You don't want that one," the little girl said, "All she does is lie around all of the time. She's no fun."

"Oh, no," I said, "That's exactly what we want,"

I reached in and I picked up the puppy. I held her close to my face, so that I could take a good look at her. I gave her a good once over and I looked deeply into her eyes, searching for something that can't really be quantified, but I recognized it when I saw it and it was sweetness and gentleness and love. She licked the tip of my nose and wagged her tail. I was smitten; it was love at first sight.

We paid for the dog and Medusa drove us home, while I snuggled with my new puppy. I was as happy as could be and the little one and I became fast friends as I held her in my arms and tried to play with her. Since I had naming rights for the puppy, I decided to name her Cleopatra, because every Emperor needs an Empress to love.

When we arrived home, I set Cleo down to explore, but she wouldn't leave my side; she followed me everywhere. We had hidden Caesar away in our bedroom and he must have known that something was up, because he was chafing at the bit and scratching at the bedroom door like the maniac that he was, trying to escape and find out what was going on. Medusa released him from his puppy prison and he was out the door and down the hall in a flash, scampering downstairs in a little blur of black and white, just as fast as his little legs could carry him. He spotted Cleo and ran toward her. We held our breath, unsure of Caesar's reaction to the new puppy invading his territory, but we needn't have worried, because tails were wagging, butts were sniffed and a great love affair had begun. A love to last the ages.

The puppies ran around and played with each other until they were both exhausted and on the verge of collapsing. Caesar just stopped where he was and pretty much fell over, fast asleep. I was playing on my computer when I noticed that Cleo had decided to use my feet as a makeshift puppy bed. I reached down and picked her up, placing her on my lap, where she promptly fell asleep. She was so stinking cute.

We almost lost Cleo as a puppy, but after a long, determined and emotional roller coaster of a battle, and some very expensive treatment, we saved our girl. It only made us love her more.

Time passed by, the way it always does, and always much too fast. Our puppies grew up before we knew it.

When the dogs were both two years old, we decided to mate them and have a litter of puppies. We thought it would be a great experience and we also thought that we might be able to make a little extra money by selling the puppies. It really was a great, if vexing experience and to be honest, we didn't really make all that much money. Cleo had nine puppies in her first litter, which was just in time for Christmas and as expected, Cleo was the perfect mother for her babies, who all seemed to have the extreme ADHD that is so typical of the Dalmatian breed. Poor Cleo! Surprisingly, Caesar turned out to be a great dad, but we were always nervous whenever he was around the puppies and I think that Cleo was a bit nervous too, but everything went smoothly. Having a houseful of puppies was a lot of fun, but it was also exhausting and cleaning up after them wasn't exactly a barrel full of monkeys, either. Nine puppies make piles and piles of puppy poop and cleaning up after them could be pretty gross. Trying to navigate their basement den when I got home was literally like playing hopscotch in a minefield, as I jumped around the little piles, trying to get the floor cleaned up.

After the last puppy had left, life went back to what passed for normal. Medusa and I discussed the possibility of Cleo having another litter and we were pretty unsure of putting all of us through the ordeal again. We decided that if we were going to let the dogs mate again, we would wait at least a year, in order for Cleo's body to have time to recover and that as soon as practical after her seconed litter, we would have Cleo spayed. We separated the dogs when necessary and all was going well. We revisited the topic of mating the dogs again and decided not to. We made a Cleo a veterinary appointment, to get her spayed.

Well, one day  before the appointment, Medusa and I went to a nearby wine festival and we didn't want to leave the dogs in the backyard, because they would always escape, get picked up by animal control and then I would have to go bail them out of the dog house. We decided to leave them out on our second floor balcony, which was spacious, sheltered, shaded and just as importantly, easy to clean, if the dogs had an accident. We left the dogs plenty of food and fresh water and we went off on our way.

The wine festival was a lot of fun. We sampled everything that we could, bought a few bottles of Blueberry Mead, Honey Mead and a Cabernet Sauvignon/Riesling blend from a winery in Virginia that was surprisingly excellent. We also bought a few baubles, listened to a little jazz, which wasn't very good, but we were glowing from the wine and so it was good enough. A little dancing and some food to top off a beautiful, early summer day and it was time to head back home to take care of our furry kids.

When we arrived home, Medusa and I went upstairs to let the dogs out. When Medusa opened the door, she and I found two exhausted dogs that could barely stand and both of them were literally quivering. Caesar and Cleo staggered inside the house, both wandering off and both immediately going to sleep. This behavior was so unlike the two of them, that I was slightly concerned and confused as to what was going on, but after a nap, the dogs were back to their usual selves, so we dismissed this aberration in their behavior.

After the dogs woke up from their nap, we quickly came to the sobering realization that Cleo was in heat and that the reason both dogs had been so exhausted was because they had evidently been going at it the entire time that we were at the wine festival, and as the days and weeks went by, Cleo started to sport a baby bump.

Great...

Once again we prepped our basement for a puppy invasion as we awaited the oh, so joyous day and when it came, we were ready. So we thought. Cleo started to deliver at a little after six o'clock in the morning. Medusa had the day off, but I had to be at work in just a few hours. Based upon our previous experience, I thought that everything would be over soon enough and that I would be able to get to work on time with no problem.

As we attended the birth, we counted the arrival of each puppy with excitement. "Another boy! Another girl!" I would announce. She hit nine puppies and kept going, surpassing her previous litter. Ten, eleven, twelve. It looked like Cleo was finally finished delivering her puppies. The poor dog was completely exhausted, but to our surprise, she wasn't finished just yet. A thirteenth puppy appeared and then a fourteenth, the runt; a tiny little patch puppy that could barely move and was less than half the size of the other puppies. The patch covered more than half of the puppy's head. It was so cute! It squealed. Cleo pushed it away. I pushed it closer. Cleo pushed it away again. The puppy struggled, seeking warmth and food. I picked it up,wrapping my hands around it to give it some warmth and I brought its mouth up to one of Cleo's nipple to nurse and I put it down on her belly. The puppy couldn't nurse, it was too weak. Cleo pushed it away again. I asked Medusa to get on the phone with the vet, so that we could get or do whatever it was that we needed to do to save this puppy.

Medusa ran upstairs to get the phone. I picked the puppy back up and held her in my hands to keep her warm. Medusa came back into the basement with the cordless phone. We were both frantic, the scene was chaotic and emotionally charged.

Medusa was saying something about getting the puppy to the vet and puppy formula and I remember saying, "Let's go!" I decided to take one last shot at getting the puppy to nurse from Cleo. I opened my hands, the puppy took a breath, shuddered and stopped breathing.

Oh, no! No, no, no, no, no. Not on my watch.

What I did next was instinctive. I leaned down over the puppy and I brought my mouth to hers. It was covered in viscera, but I didn't care and I very, very gently blew into her mouth, inflating her lungs. I did it again. And again. Finally, the breath of life and the puppy started breathing on her own again. I let out a sigh of relief as I reached for the towel that Medusa was handing to me. I wanted to get the puppy wrapped up and as warm as possible for her trip to the vet.

She stopped breathing again before I could wrap her up. Once more, I gave my breath to her. Over and over. I felt her tiny little chest and there was no discernible heartbeat, but I wasn't ready to give up just yet. I gently rubbed her chest and then I breathed for her again. I repeated these actions a few more times until finally, the puppy responded, breathing on her own again. I wrapped her up and we headed for the stairs.

"Medusa. " I said, "I know that we agreed that we weren't going to keep any of these puppies, but if this one lives, we're keeping it, because you'll never get it away from me."

I was too emotionally invested to give up on that puppy. If I managed to help save her, I would never let her go.

Before I could even make it to the first step, she stopped breathing for the third and final time. I shared my breath with her, I rubbed her chest, I wouldn't let up, wouldn't give in, couldn't give up. I tried and I tried and I tried and I cried and I cried and I cried. Tears of sadness. Tears of frustration; frustration at my inability to save the life of this beautiful little creature and I felt broken for it.

Medusa had to pull me away. Even old stone face had tears in her eyes.

I looked at the pathetic and sad little bundle in my hands and I cradled her to my chest, leaned over and gently kissed the top of her head.

"Rest easy, little one," I remember saying, as I walked out of the basement door with my head bowed and I stepped into the backyard. I placed my sad little bundle into the warm rays of the sun and I walked back inside of the basement, grabbed a small box and a shovel. I walked over to the back corner of the yard and I began to dig. When the hole was deep enough to accomodate the box, I placed the puppy inside and buried her deepy enough so that her sleep would be undisturbed. I then built a small stone cairn on top, to mark her resting place.

After I buried the puppy, Medusa and I held each other and we cried for a bit, letting our grief wash over us. Everything had been so emotionally overwhelming and the two of us needed the release. It helped. For the briefest of time, that puppy had become the center of our universe and we had both fallen in love with her and we had done everything in our power to try and save her, but it just wasn't meant to be.

I didn't go to work that day, I couldn't. My heart was broken, I was emotionally spent and I looked afright, covered in blood and other nasty things. I headed for the shower.

In retrospect, I realize that Cleo instinctively knew better than I did and she was right, when she pushed the puppy away, but I had to try to save her; I was compelled to, you see, because every life is important to me. All lives matter, even that of a runt puppy. I'd have been less of a man and much less of a human being had I never tried. We do what's right and we do it simply because it's the right thing to do.

Life is such a beautiful and tragic thing.

Thanks for stopping by!

A very special thank you for my new editors, Kristina and Lisa!

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Primal Forces

Who's The Boss?

I've previously mentioned my Dalmatian, Caesar in the story "Hosed," but please indulge me for a moment and allow me to give you a little bit of background on that demon bastard of a dog,

Just before I married my ex-wife, Medusa, her aunt had purchased a Dalmatian puppy that Medusa fell in love with and she absolutely, positively had to have a Dalmatian puppy of her very own. I said no. She begged me. I said no again. She argued with me. I still said no. This went on for days. She broke down in tears, so I stuck to my guns; I don't negotiate with terrorists. That's all absolute bullshit, of course. Once Medusa turned on the water works, I completely folded and gave in. I surrendered so fucking fast that you'd think I was French. I promised her that she could have the puppy as my wedding gift to her and that when we came back from our honeymoon, we would go to the breeder and she could pick out the puppy that she wanted.

We went and got married and took off on a little whirlwind tour of the Mid-Atlantic coast; it was the honeymoon from hell. It was a honeymoon haunted by hurricanes, terrorized by demonic ponies and stricken with plagues of biblical proportions; a foreshadowing of the years to come. When we returned home, I took Medusa over to the breeder so that she could pick out her puppy, as promised. I suggested to her, over and over again, that it would be wise to pick out a female, as they are usually smarter, more docile and easier to train than males, but she had her heart set on a little boy and I do have to say that the little guy that she picked out was an amazing example of the breed, as far as coloring and spotting went.

We decided to let the puppy name himself, which is a tradition of mine and after a few days of strutting around the house as if it were his kingdom, with his head held high and an attitude of imperial disdain, we decided to name him Caesar.

Afer a few more days, I realized that Caesar was almost completely deaf and that he showed an extraordinary amount of aggression for a puppy. I wanted to take him back to the breeder and exchange him for a different puppy. Medusa disagreed, We fought about it. A lot. Eventually, I wore her down and I won; the puppy was going back.

We called the breeder, explained the situation and loaded Caesar into the car. Medusa held the puppy and whimpered the entire way there. When we arrived at the breeder's, she turned on the tears and refused to get out of the car, but after she calmed down a little, she relented and exited the vehicle.

Medusa reluctantly gave Caesar back to the breeder and we went to look at the other puppies that were still available. That was when Medusa decided to go for the gold and she turned the tears on again. It ws like a fucking faucet. She was so attached to that defective puppy that she just couldn't let him go. She looked at me as if I had just killed her best friend.

Without a word, I turned around, grabbed Caesar, put him in the car and we took him back home.

In time, our defective little puppy turned into a defective dog, a terrible dog, the worst dog that I've ever owned. Caesar was aggressive and unpredictable; as his hearing loss increased, so did his aggression and unpredictability. He had other issues as well, he constantly dribbled urine everywhere, he literally climbed the walls to chase bugs, he barked at shadows, became enraged by them and would try to attack them. Caesar jumped through the glass portions of both our front and back doors in order to chase neighborhood cats and he did this several times. If he found food, he ate it, including the top layer of our wedding cake as it defrosted on the kitchen counter th day of our first anniversary. That cake was horrible when it was fresh, so I can only imagine how bad it would have been after sitting in the freezer for a year. I also noted that Caesar hadn't finished it off. Smart dog. In a way, I was pretty thankful that he'd saved me from having to eat it, so I really wasn't all that mad at him for that particular episode. Caesar also liked to destroy things; anything and everything. Still, the dog was a complete and utter lunatic.

I have always trained my own dogs and they have always been well behaved. I had never had a problem with a dog before, but with Caesar, I had hit the proverbial brick wall. Everyone I knew had advice to offer and we tried everything tat everyone suggested;  we were aways open to suggestions, but nothing that we tried seemed to work.

That dog was completely of of control.

My friend Will was always telling me that I had to assert dominance over Caesar and I did, all day long. I would get him to lay down and roll over (I had trained him using hand signals, as I do with all of my dogs) and I would very lightly pinch his throat with my fingers, much like an Alpha dog would do with its jaws. Will didn't think that I was going far enough and he wanted me to take it to another level.

"You have to be more assertive with him," Will told me.

"What do you mean?" I asked him.

"You have to hump him," Will said. "That's what the Alpha dog would do and that's what I do with my dogs."

"You hump your dogs?" I asked, incredulous.

"Only to assert dominance," he replied.

"You hump your dogs," I accused.

"Well..."

"I'm not humping my dog," I said. "No way, no how."

"That's what you need to do," Will said.

"Maybe that's what you need to do, but I can assure you that my needs are entirely different," I said. "I prefer the company of women, which is why I married one. You, on the other hand, are single and have four dogs, That and your words today lead me to believe that your "needs" are entirely different from mine.

The argument about whether I should hump my dog or not raged on for months. Every time that Will came over to my house, he argued his point of view and he would go on about how he humped his dogs all of the time and that I should hump my dog, if I knew what was good for the dog and my own peace of mind. Will was the most emphatic of my friends when it came to Caesar and he was just relentless about it; he never let up.

"Hump your dog," he said. "It will be a good thing."

Can someone please explain to me how fucking your dog could ever be considered a good thing?

I steadfastly refused to hump my dog. The peanut butter trick might be one thing, but fucking your dog is something else entirely.

One quite memorable time when Will was over, Caesar was misbehaving more than he usually did, Will started in on his old dog humping spiel all over again.

"I am not fucking my dog," I said for the umpteenth time.

"You're not fucking your dog," Will told me, "You're asserting dominance over the animal. Do you want me to do it for you?"

Well, I guess that Will had finally had enough of Caesar and something in his mind must have snapped, because Will suddenly jumped up and without another word, before I could even make a move to stop him, Will stood up, grabbed Caesar by the collar, got behind the dog and started humping him.

I couldn't believe it, that motherfucker was really humping my dog.

Holy shit!

You know, I've seen some really strange shit in my life, but this... this... I had no words for this shit and if that doesn't tell you how shocked I was, I don't know what would. I just... Fuck it.

I was stunned, the entire scene was surreal. Will was fucking my dog. No, that sick, crazy bastard was pumping away at my dog like a piston engine in overdrive. Sure, Will's clothes were still on, but that doesn't matter and it doesn't change the traumatizing event that I was forced to bear witness to; that freak was fucking my dog and I wasn't happy about it. Jesus, I think I have PTSD.

Apparently, Caesar wasn't happy about it either/

As fast as lightning, Caesar's head flew around and he bit the living shit out of Will's balls. Sank his teeth right in and let me tell you, it was somethung to behold. Too bad that's not what really happened.

The truth is that Caesar bit Will's hand, but saying that it was his balls just seems to invoke some sort of cosmic karmic justice, whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean. Caesar had taken a deep bite out of Will's hand and Will squealed like a little bitch. Blood was gushing everywhere and Will wasn't doing anything about it, he was just letting it drip onto my carpet. Not cool. I thought that was very inconsiderate of him. I mean, the guy tries to screw my dog and then when he gets what's coming to him, he has the audacity to bleed all over my stuff. Again, not cool.

Someone's going to have to clean that shit up and that someone is me. I'm the one who is going to get stuck with cleaning up the mess that Will's poor life choices made. How is that fair to me?

Asshole...

I helped Will clean his wound and then I bandaged his hand. It's a good thing that Caesar didn't bite his balls, because I'd have let Will bleed to death before I touched his junk, Seriously. Like, if we're ever in the woods together and a poisonous snake bites your dick, you're completely fucked. Hey, just letting you know where you stand.

Will apologized to me and acknowledged that the responsibility for the bite was his and that trying to hump my dog was a foolish thing to do and that he'd learned a valuable lesson.

And that valuable lesson was...

Don't fuck my dog.

Thanks for stopping by. I hope you've enjoyed what you read.

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Did You Really Just Say That?