The Last Goodbye

April 2009:
The woman from Catahoula Rescue half picked up, half dragged the large 65 pound puppy and pushed him into a crate in the van, like sausage meat into casing. There were at least a dozen other dogs in the van, barking, crying, whining. Then, she was gone and with her, my precious-turned-aggressive puppy, Chinook.

The last four months have been very difficult for me and I'm sure it has been hard for Chinook, too. He spend the first two weeks traveling up and down the Eastern seaboard in the van before finally getting dropped off with Vance in Franklin, TN. He used Catahoulas to help round up lost cattle. We though that Chinook might be re-trainable as a "cow dog." Apparently, that did not work. Vance said, "he was too much of a pet." He didn't really know how to work with the pack and kept running back to the human for reassurance. Ironic since he didn't do so well as a pet. At least, not with me. Vance is not a pet kinda guy. His dogs are pure working dogs and Chinook was essentially taking up space and eating, not earning his keep. He had failed as a cow dog and needed a new home.

From there, he went to Michelle's place. Michelle knew Vance and he told he had a dog he couldn't use. She met Chinook and really liked him. He was given to her and sometime after the fact, when I happened to call Vance for an update, he told me that he'd given Chinook away. Vance had never let on that there was any kind of problem. Obviously, I hadn't been told the whole story.

Michelle was very nice on the phone, sounded young, and trained horses for a living. In the evening, she went back to the 60-acre ranch on which she worked part time in exchange for housing. She seemed to really care about him and had plans for training him, keeping him busy and raising him with her other dog, a pointer-cattle dog mix. And so, they have been together for the last few months. She said, "sure" when I asked if I could come out and see how he was doing. And, sign the pedigree paperwork over to her, the final step in the transfer.

Last Friday, I left Asheville around 1pm, driving up through Knoxville and across the Appalachians to the rolling hills just east of Nashville. Kali came with me for company. I was worried the whole drive. How would he be? Would he be happy? Healthy? Could I see him without falling apart emotionally? I checked into the Motel 6 in Hermitage, TN, uncertain whether I'd be able to sleep for my thoughts & feelings. As it turned out, I didn't need to worry about that due to the raucous families above me and to either side. I think I got about 4 hours total.

We left first thing in the morning for the last 40 miles to Fairview, TN and, after a bit of trouble thanks to Mapquest, found the place. It was a beautiful, sprawling ranch. Deep green lawns contrasting with bright white, split rail fencing, sectioning off squares of fields and paddocks. I drove along the narrow drive, unsure where to go with all these buildings and areas. And then I saw him, in a chain link kennel under a tree. A very small dog house sat off to one side. I called him and he swung his head in my direction, too-long early flying. Michelle came out of her rustic log cabin and opened the kennel door. He came running to me, full speed then leaping up, licking my face before rolling on his back and squirming. I leant over him, rubbing, petting. I began sobbing as Michelle walked over with a casual greeting. I couldn't answer her at first. I managed a "hi" and tried to calm myself.

He looked good, clear eyes, healthy coat, not-too-skinny. He'd gotten taller. I glided my hands over him as if I were checking out a horse. Then I saw the thick circular scar around his neck. "What's this?," I demanded, "what happened to him?" Michelle explained that when Vance couldn't put him to work, he basically ignored him and Chinook's collar began to cut into his neck, unnoticed, as he grew. He became nasty and snippy and wouldn't let anyone touch him. Of course, nobody told me any of this. Eventually, they got a hold of him and discovered what had happened. I still don't know if he healed on his own or got any veterinary care. It was healed. I decided not to dwell on it and make the most of my time with him.

We threw some balls, ran around the yard and did some more snuggling. He went over to my car where Kali waited and they started snarling and growling at each other. We called him back and he came over readily. He seemed truly happy and Michelle seemed to really enjoy him. I got out his records and went over his vaccinaations and microchipping with her, reminding her of upcoming shot due dates. And then I signed him over to her and tried to be nonchalant as I handed her the pedigree form. Shortly after that, I left.

My heart ached and again, I questioned what I could have done differently. And then, I just decided, "I can't do this to myself anymore. He is happy. He has a lovely home. She loves him. It is over." And, I drove the 350 miles back through the Smoky Mountains to my own log cabin with my dog.

Smile though your cart is aching

Late entry for July 25th, 2009

This would be the true test: I would drive to the North Seattle Costco, BBQ shopping list in hand on a busy summer Saturday. I would be patient, kind, friendly, polite, and most of all completely pleasant with a capital “P,” practicing all the skills I’d learned during my first 7 months in North Carolina. Could it work? Would it work?

The first thing that happened is that somebody pulled into the parking space I had been sitting waiting for, baking in the car during the hottest heat wave the city of Seattle has ever seen. Really. It got up to 103 degrees. If that is not evidence of global warming, I don’t know what is. Anyhow, I smiled a broad genuine smile as the driver looked at me while pretending not to see me. No problem. I’m bigger than that. I’m not going to get sucked into a hostility vortex so early in my experiment. I found another spot and walked towards the entrance, people cutting me off right and left in their rush to get in before me. I just breathed calmly and kept a slight Mona Lisa smile on my face. The first surprised response of got was when I warmly greeted the card checker at the door. “How are you holding up today?” The African American woman looked at me quizzically before venturing a response, “uh, fine, I guess.”

I started out in the produce area which is essentially a walk-in cooler. It’s got to be 30 degrees in there but certainly no colder than frigid expressions on the other shoppers faces as they scowled at prices, looking for the best deal. I hummed to myself and selected a few items for my cart. Then, it was off to the freezer section for burgers – beef, salmon & black bean. This is Seattle after all. As I ambled towards the glass doors, a man parked his cart directly in my path and walked a short distance away towards the quesadilla samples being given out. “Excuse me, sir,” I called out cheerily, “would you mind if I moved your cart just a bit?” He tilted his head ever so slightly in my direction and blinked slowly as if to say, “I didn’t hear anything, did I?” When he did not move his cart, I stood there calmly waiting, gazing patiently towards the sample cart with what I hoped was an understanding look on my face. When he came back, I smiled. “Looks good. Maybe I should try one.” He completely ignored me but did move his cart. I loaded up on burgers. The detour to the bun area was mostly uneventful (although I did manage to squeeze in a few smiles, nods and "how are you today"'s) so I headed towards the check out area. As I did, a tiny Asian woman speeding along with a loaded cart at about 40 miles per hour literally crashed right into me. “Oh,” I uttered with genuine surprise, “I’m so sorry, are you ok?” even though it was obviously and totally her fault. She back up a couple of inches, changed her trajectory and headed off towards the dietary supplements. I shook my head in disbelief but quickly regained my composure, determined to stay in character for my social experiment. Just as I got in line, an older man wearing a Hawaiian shirt came scurrying over to me. “I saw that whole thing – people are just so rude, especially those Orientals. I think they should go back to where they came from, don’t you?” This was a stretch for me. I wanted to call him a racist pig and tell him to mind his own damned business. What came out of my mouth surprised even me. I said, “oh, that’s ok, she’s probably got a lot on her mind; it’s no problem.” He stared at me, incredulously. “Are you nuts? She rammed right into you and didn’t say a word!” I just smiled stupidly, nodding. At that point, he turned on his heel and stomped off with frustration at not having found someone to collude with for his racial stereotyping. I stood in the check out line, chatting with the checker and making small talk with the person in line behind me. Then, I was out the door to the car, loading my groceries, proud of myself for keeping my promise, feeling somewhat holier-than-thou. I was also emotionally and physically exhausted from being so darned nice.

Does it count as truly “pleasant” with a capital “P” if one is smug with a capital “S” upon accomplishing one’s pleasantries?? Nope, probably not. Just goes to show, you can take the girl out of the city but you can’t take the city out of the girl. Still, my North Carolina friends would have been proud of me I think. I drove home, tailgating as many cars as I could get away with.