It was an accident. I feel terrible. Riley is my dog, and he now looks like a mangy mutt. A mangy mutt who I love dearly by the way, even if current circumstances may point to the contrary.
Three and a half weeks ago, when I returned to school from Thanksgiving break, I left Riley at home, in the care of dear Sister and the Parents. I left detailed instructions on his feeding schedule, basic commands, potty needs, and even when to rotate his toys. I forgot to mention that he also needs routine brushing.
A week or so ago, when I came back home for Christmas break, I discovered (to much dismay) that Riley's once luscious long, white coat had become a tangled mess. The damage was pretty much irreversible. It wasn't just one or two patches of clumpy fur, oh no. He had become an energetic, white, unbrushable ball of filthy fluff. I waited a week, until after the very-much-anticipated family ski trip and the ever-exciting Christmas eve potluck and Christmas day gift openings before attempting to fix the mess. A thorough shave seemed the most efficient, effective solution, but I couldn't bear to leave the puppy with no hair at all. A short cut, I decided, should do the trick. For the most part, Riley is a most tolerant little puppy. Shots and nail clippings incur minimal disruptive behavior, and we already had a couple of successful trims under our belts. This, I thought, shouldn't be too terrible an endeavor. Never a good thought with puppies...never.
The cut started off okay, just like all our other trims, but shortly thereafter (okay, maybe more like 20, 30 minutes in), Riley was beginnging to get restless, and I realized that this little Shih-Tzu/Toy Aussie mix had much more fur and tangles than I had bargained for. Much, much more. Our previous trims had consisted of a few swipes of the pet clipper and minor fixes with trimming scissors, but this time, I couldn't pull the clipper through the fluff without stopping every few minutes to chop off obstructive tangle balls. Furthermore, chopping off the balls left patchy spots all over the poor puppy's body, and I was sure he would take one look in the mirror and hate me forever.
Turns out, he would have even more reason to blame Mommy before the hour was up.
I finished one fluffy side with relief and hurried to complete the cut on the other side of Riley's now squirming, jumpy body. As I attempted to attack a particularly large mass of ridiculous knots and twists, the little bugger leapt forward just as I cut through the last bit of fur. Pulling my scissors back in semi-victory, I looked to see, in horrific shock and disbelief, that there was a hole in my puppy's side. It was a perfect pink circle of naked flesh, already bloodied at the edges. Granted, the hole was small, no bigger than a dime, but I couldn't get over the fact that, I made that! He didn't yelp, didn't whine, didn't even try to run away, and I sat there and held him and apologized with more emotion and profusion than I thought a non-human could evoke. He peered up with disinterest and licked my hand absentmindedly. I just cut into your flesh! And all I could do was hug him tighter.
We finished the cut, somewhat. His fur is now patchy and uneven, and he has a bright red circle in his side, but Riley is still suprisingly trusting of me. It might have been that I guiltily fed him half my lunch as he sat beneath the table or that I pulled out all his favorite toys shortly after his surely painful trauma, but to have him forgive me with such little thought and convicted certainty was one of those moments of understanding from which people think, "This is why I have a dog."
When I first got Riley, some friends joked that he was like a therapy dog, as he came at a somewhat trying time in my life. Adjustment and relationship issues were constant distractors. For the first time in my life, I was thrown into a permanently strange, new enviornment without firm relational support and learning how to recover from romantic love, loss and unhealthy ways of coping. I like to think the hurts were accidents. And still, it felt terrible. Riley was meant to be the cuddly friend to love me through it all. He was, as it always happens, anything but. Riley's puppyhood naughtiness is a topic for its own blog entry to be titled, "The rise of the Demon Dog," but he has truly matured and fully bonded with me over the course of a few short months.
As I look at him now, sleeping in his favorite corner by the front door (he likes the cool marble), I still feel deeply indebted and regretful of this morning's incident. He has grown to be therapeutic, I've realized. He endured my hurts with me, my moods, tears, and complaints, suffered in my sadness, as I yelled and spanked and taught him to mind. He reaped the rewards of my being happy, as I hugged and rewarded his inclusion in my life. Hurts heal. Love much. Hi little one, I'd like to say, I hurt when you hurt. I'm sad when you're sad. Even in your patchy, mangy, ridiculous mess, I love you little bugger, very much. Get better soon. And next time you're tangled...two words: professional groomer.
Before cut
After cut (the side without the hole)
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