What We Say To Our Pets
**All names in this story have been changed… except my dog’s**
Opening up the back door my dog, Charlie, bolts out, mouth agape & tongue out, he bounds toward the backfield. I laugh at the Looney Toons manor his legs revolve around. Evening walks are a very exciting time.
“Are you going into the woods?” I hear my (now) Ex ask from behind me
“We are!.” I say, walking quickly in Charlie’s direction keeping him in my line of sight.
“Don’t go back there, a hunter shot one of John’s dogs”
“CHAR-LIE!” I screeched, running full speed toward him.
He must have heard the absolute panic in my voice. His feet planted to full stop. Mouth now closed and ears perked, he turned back. I calmed my voice and called Charlie back to me, he complied.
“Is the dog OK?” I asked as we made our way back to the door.
I was told he wasn’t, My heart sank for John.
John is a lovely man who lives a couple doors down. He owns a small pack of mismatched dogs and it wasn't uncommon for Charlie and I to run into the pack on our walks. He’s one of those people I was always delighted to see. We would chitty chat for a bit, while the dogs made a fuss amongst each other. One dog always stayed by John’s side, a massive Irish Wolfhound-esque pooch, the size of a small pony, with floppy brown hair and an inviting face.
Eventually all bellies had been rubbed and our conversation would wein. John and I would bid adieu till the next time, walking in opposite directions of the woods which lined the back of everyone’s property.
Seeing hunters up in trees back there happened from time to time. I was usually given warning of the start of deer season and would avoid the back woods until it ended. Occasionally the notification came a bit late and I’d be tootling along the trail when a little whistle or a “Hey, Sweetheart” would come from the sky. Once I spotted the camo clad man, we’d both laugh and with a “Sorry” I’d usher Charlie back to safety. They were all nice men, still, I was always happy I had most likely ruined any chance of a successful hunt that afternoon.
Knowing this, when the sweet wolfhound was shot we initially thought it was an accident. (Note: There will be no description of the death) With his size, body type, color and the fact that he would often trot a bit ahead of John and the pack, he could have easily been mistaken for a deer from a distance. However, with a close knit farming community and honorable men, we quickly found out... it wasn’t.
The offence was committed by a young man in his early 20’s, Jason. It came to light, Jason shot the Wolfhound on purpose. Sick of sharing the area with anyone not hunting, he let the shot fly so we’d stop scaring the deer away. Whether it was premeditated or in the heat of the moment, I’m not sure, but he knew trouble would come, because Jason ran. Fortunately, multiple hunters were out at the time, it wasn’t hard to track down the kid fleeing. His arrest was swift.
A week or so later I saw John out walking his dogs and I gave him my condolences. As we both leaned against the fence between us, he filled me in on what proceeded after Jason’s arrest:
Turns out, one of John’s daughters had gone to school with Jason. Jason was well known amongst his peers for his uncivil legacy. We’re not talking Ferris Bueller level shenanigans, but actual trouble, purposefully mean and hurtful. He tested the limits of what he could get away with and many times, didn’t. Punishment or not, the outcome made no impact on future behaviours. He trudged along the same path, remaining angry and aggressive into his young adulthood.
Listening to John I began to shake and tighten, the way I would as a preteen, seeing my bully walk down the hall toward me. Anger and fear wrapped around me, creating a shield. My muscle memory protecting me from abuse my body knew.
John continued, one elbow leaning against the old, damp, decaying wood. As he did, I realized his voice didn’t reflect my anger. Neither did his body language. His way wasn’t that of a man who just endured a horrible act of violence committed upon a beloved member of the family. It was distressed…. concerned..., more akin to a worried Father... Which still shakes me to this day.
John decided to do some digging. He spoke to members of the community and found out Jason had grown up with a pretty bad home life. I’ll leave out the specifics, but it was a laundry list that rattled on for a minute or two and ended with downcast huff.
What John found in front of him...was a troubled boy.
I have no doubt John felt immense sorrow for his sudden loss. I can’t imagine John didn’t feel anger. However, he recognized there was more to this story than his own anguish. He felt this young man's suffering. Instead of meeting anger with anger, he chose to meet it with a willingness to understand how they had found themselves together at this point. This was, after all, both of their narratives. And while John did not choose to be brought into this storyline, he decided to pen the next chapter.
The scene opens with two men across from each other, talking.
John told me he wasn’t sure if Jason had ever been heard. So, he constructed that space for Jason. He allowed Jason to be witnessed, his feelings validated and voice recognized. I don’t know what was said between the two men, but I do know this act allowed Jason to do the same for John.
I once listened to Sarah Silverman tell a story where she relayed a piece of advice given to her:
“Pay attention to what you say to your pets. It’s usually what you want to hear. ”
For me, every mew, and bark that comes my way is met with a “Yes baby, I hear you.”
Here was a man living my own words, through action …..and his dog.
It’s only many years later, in the middle of writing this blog, what kept me from considering Jason’s story dawned on me.
That damn shield. Drawn, without even a thought. I created it in adolescence when I needed a safe space where I could block out what was happening around me, because that’s what children do, they protect their world to survive.
It served me well then.
But I’m not a child now. I've learned the duality of being an adult. I can be confused while learning, feel anxious when I’m relieved, and I can be hurt, while finding compassion. That shield wasn’t meant for growth, it was only meant to keep hurt out. It left no room for anything to get in.
Yes, my feelings matter. However, I need to remember how it makes me feel when others negate them. How would I expect anyone else to feel differently when I do it to them? Blowing off their story, in truth, opens the potential to miss out on a beautiful part of my own. Our paths collided, yes hippies, maybe the universe conspired, but far more likely, it’s all random. Either way there’s a choice.
Please don’t misunderstand, we all need to know our boundaries and enforce them. However, had I been heard or had I listened to others, the way I wanted to be,….many things in my life could have turned out differently.
I have no doubt what Jason built kept him safe in the same way. We were fellow Armures fighting battles that didn’t serve us anymore.
The next time Charlie and I saw John with his sweet pups, Jason was strolling along with him.
His hands buried deep in the pockets of his bomber jacket he looked all the boy John had always seen him as.
John introduced Jason to me with a smile. One hand drew from his pocket and we shook hands. His eyes only met mine for a moment, Whether he was shy or embarrassed, I don’t know, but the smile was sincere. We proceeded on with our usual chit chat, only now there were three of us leaning against the fence, enjoying the pleasant conversation and a sunny fall afternoon.
Almost every time I saw John afterward, Jason was by his side. It now delighted me to share part of my day with both men. We’d bullshit about the latest happenings and soon enough, the conversation would wane. After saying our goodbyes we’d head in opposite directions. Charlie and I back through the open field. John and Jason walking along the worn, forest edge trail, just listening to each other.
It’s chaos, be kind. - Michele McNamera