Almost a half of a year together with my dog, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m more of a cat person than I am a dog person. I feel a little bad saying that, but it’s true. Compared to cats, dogs are ridiculously high-maintenance. Sure, they do some goofy and funny things and sure they can be cute, but cats can be as funny (if not funnier) and as cute (if not cuter). My guy, Kimbrough – a tank of a pit bull, is big and clumsy and needy. He mopes around a lot and whines when he doesn’t get his way.
When I adopted him, I had envisioned that he and I would go on road trips and hikes and sit at outdoor patio bars. He’s not ready for any of those things – he may never be. When we go to the park, if we sit for too long (anything more than a few minutes) he gets bored and whines. When we go on walks in the neighborhood, he’s slow and sluggish after a mile. When we see other dogs, there’s a 50/50 chance he’ll bark and growl and need serious redirection. He’s skeptical of most strangers and he has a look that makes him a bit intimidating.
All of that said, he’s loyal to me and seems to like me more than most people. And while he often looks bored or depressed, he is excited when I get home and he usually wants to be by my side. I don’t know if he’ll ever be one of those happy dogs – always excited to meet new people and play – or if he can, what I can do to help him get there.
When I first got him and realized that he was partially trained, I thought I had really lucked out. Some people would tell me that I did a good thing by rescuing him, and inside I felt like I hadn’t really done anything special. He’s an attractive dog and was at a no-kill shelter. It felt fraudulent to think I saved his life – he would have been adopted within days had I not gotten there first. But… now having spent a bit of time with him and having observed his behaviors, I’m a little more willing to accept the praise for rescuing him. He was adopted out once before and returned for behavioral issues.
As an example of some of his challenges, tonight on our walk, another dog was approaching and I gave a quick tug to move Kimbrough along. I try to avoid direct contact or confrontation with other dogs – I don’t really know how friendly my guy is, and there’s no good way to find out. As I tugged the leash, one of the buckles on his harness came loose. I moved quickly to re-secure it, and that sudden movement sent Kimbrough cowering to the ground. I don’t know if he thought I was going to hit him or kick him, but I felt awful that he suddenly looked so terrified. This isn’t the first time he has flinched and cowered, but it was by far his most submissive flinch. For months I’ve suspected that he was abused… and when I see him like that, I wonder to what extent and I begin to understand his depression.
I admit, my reaction to the buckle coming lose was a little too quick and panicked. And I guess this is what they call burying the lede… but my justification for being jittery about it is that the night before, as he was out with me on the back deck, he got into a fight with three other dogs (technically two, I think one was just watching).
Honestly, the whole incident, the dog fight, is a bit of a blur. If you’ve never been in the middle of one – they’re awful.
We were both on the deck. Kimbrough had just peed and wanted to go in. The neighbor’s dogs were out front of their house. When Kimbrough saw them, he started to whine a bit and that’s when one of the neighbor’s dogs came running into our yard. Kimbrough ran down the steps and I ran after him. I was sure he’d end up hitting the end of his tether with a jerk and a thud, but the other dog had gotten too close and Kimbrough never reached the end of his line. I don’t know what Kimbrough’s intent was when he ran down. I don’t know which dog threw the first punch. I grabbed the steel cable and started to pull my guy back towards me and that’s when the neighbor’s other two dogs came crashing through the bushes and into the yard. By the time I had a hold of Kimbrough’s harness and was hoisting him up the stairs he and one of the other dogs were biting each other and had locked on to each other. The neighbor’s daughter was there, frozen and terrified. I know I said I don’t know what to do as I was holding Kimbrough back while the other dog was still attacking. I probably cursed. I know my shoe came off -though I have no idea how or why – I might have been tangled in Kimrough’s tether, but I could have just as easily taken it off to beat one of the dogs back. I hadn’t realized I lost my shoe until the daughter handed it back to me after the dust had settled. I know as I pulled, I could sense that their teeth were sunk in to each other. One of the dogs, either Kimbrough or his foe, started to cry out. The neighbor came over and did something like a tomahawk chop on the dogs’ snouts to get one or both of them to let go… and just as quickly as it started it ended. I pulled Kimbrough up to the top of the deck with me and the other dogs retreated to their yard. Everyone was out breath. Kimbrough sat at the door to the house, his legs were shaking. I tried to calm him down and examine his wounds. We went inside.
All things considered, it could have been a lot worse. Nobody (humans) got bit, and while a little nicked up, the dogs seem ok. After licking his wounds for a few minutes, Kimbrough returned to normal (or seemingly so). He ate his dinner and then bugged me to take him on a walk. Tonight, he was a little slower (maybe sore), and a little more alert when he heard the sounds of other dogs. He’s a little swollen – probably bruised. I’m a little extra cautious and on edge.
In my head, I’ve been replaying bits and pieces of the fight – sometimes trying to figure out what happened, sometimes trying to “get it out.” Which brings me back to why I think I’m more of a cat person. The cats I’ve had were all indoor cats.They mostly got along with each other. I didn’t have to worry about them fighting – and while cat fights can be bad, they’ll scatter at the sound of a can with some coins in it – they don’t get into these death-lock type of scenarios. They also don’t weigh 65 pounds or have the strength of a small horse. Cats also don’t need to go on walks twice a day – which means I don’t have to be vigilant twice a day. I knew some of this going into it when I adopted a dog. I don’t think I was prepared for trying to help him through whatever trauma he suffered before, and I certainly wasn’t prepared for the level of alertness I have to have for other dogs, humans, or any other threat lurking on otherwise calm afternoons.