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| This is the first photo I ever took of Percy, the day he became legally ours, December 13, 2012 |
Most of you who have been faithful followers from the beginning will know that Percy is somewhat famous - famous for being dumped. I wrote an article about him that Modern Dog Magazine published and the rest is history. He occasionally gets recognized at the dog park, pet store, vet, whatever.
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| Watching me this morning as I was waking up. He literally will not let me out of his sight. |
Percy is "famous" for something awful. Percy is famous because some asshole decided he wasn't worth moving with... at least, I think.
We're moving. Like, our house is full of boxes, nothing is where it should be, the furniture is fucked up, a lot of shit is in the garage, cardboard is piled high... and my dog is in a fucking panic.
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| Fucking boxes. I fucking hate moving. |
I'm so sad for him, because I don't know how to convey to him that he's not going to get left behind. I don't know how to make my boy feel better. Today as I was packing he put his favorite toy in the box I was working on. I left it in there in hopes that it would calm him, and left the box open in case he decided he wanted it. He hasn't taken it out. I don't think he's going to, but he doesn't seem to feel any better at all.
Under that sadness, I'm angry. I'm a fucking pissed off mama bear looking for a fight, so I decided I would post a nasty, curse word filled blog entry tonight to get the anger out. Floating around social media there is a beautiful post... I think it went best of Craigslist... It's a rescuer who found two dogs who were obviously mistreated and neglected... I fucking wish to all that is holy that I had half the grace that the poster had - as it stands, I don't.
If you're going to get a dog, you need to know that it's a 10 - 20 year commitment, and yes, I've seen 20 year old dogs. I've seen older, too. It's not a "for now", it's not just a toy for your kids to get sick of in six months. It's not a fucking piece of furniture to be put on the goddamn sidewalk with your fucking couch when you move because it's inconvenient. Doom has moved with me nine times since I was eighteen. He never panics about the boxes because he knows that the morning we start moving those boxes, he's going to go hang out someplace fun as hell until we come pick him up with a full trailer to be unloaded in our new house, probably in a new state. Doom has never been abandoned. I don't imagine that Bridget or Piglet ever has either, because they're not like Percy.
From the first box that I started piling shit into, he has been glued to my side, he watches me like a hawk, he is constantly under foot, he freaks the fuck out if I walk out the door, or leave him in another room. He is the product of some fucking asshole who didn't know what forever meant.
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| Another pic in our "mid moving hell hole" |
If you're getting a dog, stop and think. If you move, where will your dog go? If the answer is anywhere but "with me" you have no business getting a dog. You have no business putting another soul through the bull shit that Percy has been through. He looks at boxes like his life is getting ready to end, and no amount of treats, snuggles, or love can convince him that I'm not going to run away and leave him in an empty back yard with the fucking gate open in hopes that he'll take off. The assholes who dumped him didn't even take him to a rescue. Don't fucking be that person. Don't fucking be an asshole. For the sake of fuck, don't get a fucking pet if you can't make that commitment. Dogs live longer than most marriages in my experience, and they're smart. They know things - they know that they love you, and they want to go with you, and they should be allowed to.
Don't ditch your responsibility for someone like me to come along and try to clean up. I spent hours and hours walking around our neighborhood just for Percy to repeatedly stop and check the same empty house with the back gate open - a house that had had people and cars buzzing around it the day before. I tell myself that maybe he's smelling drugs, or some shit like that, and that it wasn't really where he lived. I hope his story is less sad than I'm guessing it is, but the truth of the matter is that it probably isn't.
On the off chance that Percy's former people read this post (what are the chances, really? Pretty slim, I'm sure,) I'd like to say this: You are a fucking piece of shit. You shattered this beautiful dog's soul because you were a selfish idiot who had no business getting a dog in the first place, given how skinny and matted he was. I hope to fuck you don't have children because you're not fit to take care of them. You're not fit to care for anything. I have spent the last couple of years picking up the pieces of the dog that you couldn't be bothered to train and take care of only to have the poor guy fall apart every time we have to move again. I hope this is our last move for a very long time. I hope we can stay in this place for five or six years before we buy a house and make our last move, because I don't want him to have to go through in his head what you really put him through over and over. Fuck you. Fuck you for ruining a part of a perfectly good dog because you are selfish and lazy. I hope to fuck you didn't go out and get another dog to starve and make handshy, and dump... when you have to move again. I hope that someday, someone you love and trust abandons you out of nowhere.
I know. I'm assuming a lot. I don't care. HOWEVER, there is no fucking excuse to abandon a dog on the street to die. None. If you got him from a breeder, she should take him back. If you got him from a shelter, take him there. If you got him from anywhere else, see if they'll take him back, if not, find a fucking rescue. Don't put him out on the street like his fucking life doesn't matter. His life matters just as much as yours.
The last thing I would like to say to Percy's former owners is... Thank you. Thank you for giving me the dog that got me through my heart dog's death. Thank you for being stupid enough to let him go. Thank you for leaving me with a challenge that distracted me enough to get me through the shit storm that has been my life for the last three years. And, hopefully, thank you for never getting another dog.
All My Paws,
Annie
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