Chapter 3

I had a dog for 5 months. I wanted to try something new. I actually went to the shelter to get a kitten. I'm not a dog person. But my roommate convinced me to at least look at the dogs. And there he was. He picked me. He locked eyes with me and dogs don't usually do that with me. There's usually an unspoken/unbarked policy – don't mess with me and I won't mess with you. We visit in peace. This was different though. This dog was sweet, fun, playful, smart. A fairly good-sized dog. He was a Belgian Malinois mix – the type of dog bred for police work. The ones you see on videos where they run full speed, jump, and clamp their jaws onto the arm of some poor schmuck in a fat-suit, pretending to be a robber or rapist. The entire time the dog is attacking, its tail is happily and voraciously wagging back and forth. He was the kind of dog I could take on walks and no one would mess with me. I had such big dreams for me and this dog. The shelter had found him somewhere up in Paso I think and they suspected he was somewhere between 3 and 4 years of age. They had dubbed him “Hudson” but I didn't really like that name so I changed it to “Jackson” figuring it was similar enough. Although that never felt quite right. A part of me believed that a single girl with a dog named “Jackson” should be driving a Subaru and camping outside, forgoing showers and working on a wicked set of dreadlocks.

Jackson was a great excuse to ditch the holiday events when things got to be a bit much. Give me a break, after all it was my first Christmas, birthday, New Years, and Valentine's Day as a single person in 8 years. Not exactly where I'd pictured I'd be at the ripe age of 30/31. So Jackson provided an excellent "out." I'd excuse myself from events, promising to return as soon as I let him out of the house to relieve himself or as soon as I took him for a walk. On Valentine's Day, I bailed on the downtown scene to go home and frost hideously bright pink heart-shaped cookies that I'd made for the roommates and neighbors. Just me and the dog and some loud music. We had a really good time and there was no need to pretend I was having a good time amidst all the happy couples. I was able to frost freely while listening to whatever music I liked (I don't recall exactly but I doubt I was rocking out to love songs) and drink a couple of glasses of wine.

Unfortunately, I no longer have Jackson as an excuse to bail on such festivities. He had a bit of a biting problem. I tried training classes, treats, kennels, positive reinforcement, and even, sadly enough, a shock collar. He kept biting visitors. Mostly when they'd get too close to me. And eventually, if they got too close to my roommates. He was a good dog – our household was just too busy for him. He bit my Mom, my Dad, my roommate's dad, dates, friends.... He was ensuring me a long life alone.

I truly started to get paranoid. Here I was, putting myself out there yet again, only to adopt this creature that was supposed to provide unconditional love. I mean, they make movies about this shit – have you seen A Boy and His Dog? A true classic, one of Don Johnson's earlier movies (1975).

Side note – a worthwhile “cult classic” in my opinion. A post-apocalyptic science fiction film involving a telepathic dog, an underground society, and harvesting sperm from men. In a nutshell, it's pretty entertaining and the ending makes it all worthwhile.

Instead of a life-time companion, I got a psychotic biting beast who, in addition to the biting antics, had horrific, nose-hair curling gas no matter what food I gave him. Another failed relationship with a male. Although, this time it was a dog. But still, I couldn't help but wonder: was this a sign that I am destined to wander this earth alone??