As some of you may recall, my very first entry on Forms of Beauty told the story of how I found and kidnapped rescued my cat, Odin. Since the cat has his own post, I figured that, less than a week after bringing him home, the dog should probably get one too. His story, at least my part in it, is far less harrowing than Odin’s tale, as we went through the usual adoption channels to find him.
He came to us as Pistachio, a seven-month old tri-color border collie (mix?) from south Texas. My knowledge of his first few months on earth is limited to the fact that he was brought into a shelter with a broken back left leg. After efforts were made to save the leg, it was determined that his best option would be to have it amputated. The organization that rescued and was fostering him when we found his goofy little mug on an adoption site transported him, along with a truck full of other newly-adopted pups, from Texas up through Oregon and Washington to their new homes.
What’s in a name
A week later and Pistachio has transformed into Fenrir, no less gentle for the fierce name, despite his sometimes alarming fascination with the cat (peace-keeping efforts are still underway). In Norse mythology, Fenrir, son of Loki, is a fearsome wolf who bites off and swallows the god Tyr’s hand after he is tricked into being bound by Gleipnir, a shackle of incredible strength forged by the “black elves” of Svartálfaheimr. Though successful in amputating Tyr’s hand, Fenrir is unable to break free of his chains and remains bound to a great boulder with a sword shoved between his jaws to stifle his howls. There he remains until Ragnarök, when a great shaking of the earth tears apart his bindings. It is at this point in the story that any symbolism or comparisons – I hope – end. For, set loose once again, Fenrir finds and devours Odin, Allfather and chief of the Aesir gods, thus setting in motion the end of the cosmos.
Back to the here and now and Fenrir has yet to eat Odin, or anyone else for that matter. They don’t exactly get along either, but we’re gradually working on that. Having a new pet around has been an adjustment for the rest of us as well, what with the mealtime routines and the early morning and numerous potty breaks. Fortunately, Fen is overall a very easy and well-mannered puppy and is eager to please, which makes the transition that much more manageable. In the short time that he’s been here we’ve all learned a few things, me included. I’ve been around dogs my whole life, growing up with them in my parents’ house and holding various dog sitting gigs on the side over the years, but until now, I have not had my very own dog to look after and to be financially responsible for. In graduating to full-time canine caretaker, I’ve already taken a few of those lessons to heart.
Lesson One: Dogs are gross
This should come as no surprise to any dog owner or to anyone who has ever spent any amount of time with one. Having myself spent a great deal of time with them, I of course knew this, but I now have a full appreciation for just how disgusting they can be. I’ve already had to scold Fen twice for attempting to eat poop that other dogs have so graciously left behind. The first time, he took a couple big licks from a still-steaming pool of diarrhea before I could pull him away, horrified and slightly queasy. The second incident was at least less revolting, as it only involved a ball-shaped frozen turd, snatched from a pile half-buried in the snow and dropped after a swift “No sir!” from me. He does this, eats feces, and then he comes home and wants to lick you. I know it’s out of love but come on, it’s gross. It truly makes you appreciate the cats in your life.
Lesson Two: Don’t be offended if your dog gets more excited greeting strangers than he does you
Most dogs love people, but Fen like looooves people. The minute he spots a person, no matter how far down the sidewalk they are or that they’re on the opposite side of the street, he starts wiggling his whole body in anticipation. As they near, the excitement builds to the point where he seems to lose any ability to remain upright and scoots forward on his backside, wriggling like a maniac with tail trashing wildly.
If a display of interest or even a pet – oh the ecstasy! – seems promising, he’ll get lower still, crawling on his belly in such a pitifully hopeful manner that the stranger will inevitably throw him at least a sympathetic look and a kind word or two. Fortunately for Fen, most people seem to love him too. The daily exclamations of “What a cute/adorable/handsome dog!” and “Oh my god is he a tripawd?!” are really challenging my introverted sensibilities.
Lesson Three: If you want to scare away someone, tell them your dog has kennel cough
We took Fen into the vet yesterday for a check-up and to get him started on his flea and heartworm medication. Coincidentally, we noticed that morning that he was coughing and gagging quite a bit and sometimes retching up spit. We mentioned this to the vet, and after he learned that Fen had just made an interstate journey in the company of other dogs, he determined that Fen had a case of kennel cough. This, mind you, despite being vaccinated against two of the most common bacterial strains that cause it.
We were given a two-week course of antibiotics and told that they’d have to discharge us there in the room and that we’d have to carry Fen out so as to not come into contact with other dogs. The tech who came in to deliver Fen’s meds wouldn’t touch him, proclaiming that despite desperately wanting to pet him she just couldn’t for fear of spreading the infection to her dogs at home. Apparently the entire staff and even other customers were alerted right away to the contagious animal in room number one. As we carried Fen out to the car, a disgruntled customer in the waiting room watched us go all the way out the door, shielding his hideous poodle by his side.
With patient zero safely removed, we returned to pay and learned that one of the techs was busy deep-cleaning the room that we had been in. The staff, who at least were very understanding and sympathetic, informed us that protocol dictates the room couldn’t be used for the rest of the day in order to minimize the risk of infection spreading. So the bad news is that we might have unwittingly spread a highly contagious respiratory disease on our first day at the new vet… On a more positive note, I learned what to say if I want someone to leave in a hurry – “Oh sorry, my dog has kennel cough.”
Lesson Four: I am shallow
You know those people whose pets win the World’s Ugliest Dog Contest? Those people are better humans than I. Prior to coming to live with us, Fen stayed with a shelter family who arranged a “meet and greet” over FaceTime so that we could see him “in-person” before deciding to move ahead with the adoption. Over video he looked adorable, cuter than he did in the pictures on the adoption listing. After we made the leap and signed the adoption contract, his foster mom sent me regular updates and photos while we waited for the next transport to make the trek up to Seattle.
But in the pictures she sent me, he didn’t look as cute as I remembered him being. I hoped it was either because he’s just not a photogenic dog or she’s not a very good photographer. When I showed my boyfriend the photos, he agreed – “Maybe he’s just not that cute,” he ventured. My fear voiced out loud – that my new puppy, rather than being the adorable fluffball of my dreams, is just not that adorable – invoked in me feelings of shame and guilt for being so ridiculously shallow. And yet I couldn’t stop worrying that it might be true.
Of course, when the van arrived and we met Fen in-person for real, my fears were assuaged. The guy’s pretty darn cute. He is, however, not particularly photogenic due to his general uncooperativeness in posing for the camera and his near habitual expression of raised eyebrows and pulled back ears that causes him to look vaguely worried. While I’m sure my fondness for him would be just as strong if he did turn out to be lacking in the looks department, the fact that he is a handsome boy definitely doesn’t hurt.
Lesson Five: Dogs are pretty incredible
Dogs truly are devoted companions that love hard all the time and just want to please. Fen is certainly this, but he is even more amazing to me for his resilience after losing a limb and having to learn to get around on an odd three legs. I’ve read multiple accounts of dogs losing one and even two legs and not seeming to bat an eye. After some initial recovery period, they’re back at it, running and jumping and playing with other dogs like they somehow don’t even realize what they have lost. It seems it is only us, humans, who register this loss, this something short of a full dog.
And this has been my experience with Fen so far. Whether or not he is aware that he is short one leg, he certainly doesn’t act like it. He loves to zip around and chase after toys, but sometimes he will lose his footing on the hard floors and go sliding into the furniture or wipe out completely. We’ve also caught him several times attempting to scratch himself with his phantom limb, the little nub twitching fiercely back and forth in a way that’s both a touch heartbreaking and amusing but completely endearing.
My boyfriend thinks that Fen’s condition accounts at least partially for his sweet, submissive personality. He is rather unsure and meek, anxious even, with other dogs that he comes across. I tend to think it’s likely just his natural temperament and the fact that he’s still a puppy and probably under-socialized. While it is interesting to speculate if and how being a tripawd might affect his personality and behavior, I suppose we can never truly know for certain. But that’s okay. It’s enough just recognizing that Fen, that sweet and sensitive soul, is a pretty special guy. And he’s part of the family now, whether Odin likes it or not.