It would be a lie to claim that I am thinking or worrying about anything else today. Henry is front and center for me. Henry Bean, the dog with the serious eyes that pour forth love. For me. And mine -- for him. The most difficult dog on the planet to incorporate into the normal human world (if indeed we are even normal) and yet one that has begged me with his whole heart not to give up on him. He balked at being left alone. I stopped leaving him alone. He balked at having to share small spaces in the apartment building with others. I took him out of there. He balked at people coming near us. This I cannot remove from his environment. Not completely and the inadvertent encounters that remain are creating more and more anxiety for him, even as his meds go up and his training has intensified.
Henry is in trouble and my heart breaks for him.
There's no sweet way to write about this -- the dog I love so much cannot remain in the place I made for him -- in a house, with Sadey, in the blocks of the new development, with people next door, across the street, down the block.. His intensifying unstoppable protectiveness is leading him to choices that are unfortunately not acceptable.
What happens next? As I write this, I do not know. The consensus (among trainers, vets, dog daycare folks) is that he should be returned to the Shelter in town. I'm in discussion with them over that.
Since yesterday evening, when I saw him cross that line and knew he had gone too far, I am nothing but a sack of tears. Ed has tried to talk me through this, this morning I zoomed with Bee...
... and all this helps, but it wont take away the pain of losing my best dog pal.
Henry and I have been through so much together in these last five months! And every morning, he was there, reassuring me that the day was fresh, there were wonders to behold, we would face them together, he and I. How do you give up on a dog like that?
I walk him, he is calm. But it is a false hope. I've had so many with him -- they've always fizzled in the end.
At home, he plays with Sadey, with stuffies.
He knows I am sad. He snuggles next to me, taking my sadness onto his massive shoulders. Saying nothing, looking as serious as ever, so intensely, with so much love.
I eat breakfast and read endless papers on dogs with his problem.
None have a good solution. All point to the huge risk I take by keeping him with me. A dog that's meant to guard a property where no strangers should enter without invitation. A dog that protects his beloved owner. A dog who would give his life for her. Except now she has to let him down.
My best Henry Bean, my pooch whom I love so totally much, in trouble now.
I take him to daycare. I pick up the kids on autopilot. How do I tell them that Henry the Navigator should not be with us in the car? That he should not be going out for walks? Or to parks? Or anywhere at all? How do I tell them that the dog that nuzzles Snowdrop's hand again and again and again is not a good fit for the human world? How do I tell myself that?
We talk about all of it on the car ride to Sally's House. Both are sad, but Snowdrop is beyond consolation. Henry was her guy. In the car, she sought him out and he her. Did we really all give up on him? Just like that?
I haven't forgotten about or neglected Sadey. She is not one who would ever allow herself to be neglected! But I do have her take the back seat to Henry today. It's quite likely that she will have my full attention pretty soon. Just not today.
(my beloved boy...)
with so much love...
