For seven years we had a golden retriever named Scooby whom I came to love as my little brother. That wasn’t just a cute moniker; he was my little brother. He was also epileptic. Despite taking medication, he had one seizure too many two months ago. His rear became paralyzed. He developed breathing problems. In the scope of two days he went from completely fine to dead.
I was in shock. Believe me when I tell you none of us saw it coming. I’d bought a fresh batch of treats for him on Tuesday. I’d taken him for a walk and played fetch with him on Wednesday. I buried him on Friday. It was, quite literally, sudden death.
The first week afterward, I stopped functioning. I didn’t attend classes, I didn’t write, I didn’t read. I got up, ate, defecated, maybe played a video game for an hour or so, and I slept. Then came the weekend getaway to some of my state’s premier beaches. Despite being a mountain person, the trip rejuvenated me.
By the time I returned, I knew. I knew I wanted another puppy. For some, dogs are a distraction. To me, they are a necessity. I have street dogs that always run up to me when I go for walks. Petting them makes me feel fulfilled. I love dogs. I need dogs. Way, way more than I need humans.
Besides, counting our first pet, I’ve lived with dogs more than half my life. You know how they say once you watch a movie alone there’s no going back? Same with puppies. Once you welcome one into your heart, you need them forever. And so I needed a new dog to love and be loved by.
. . .
The Most Difficult of Them All
The intent behind getting Kaju (cashew nut in my mother tongue) was never to replace Scooby. Scooby cannot and will not be replaced. I still miss him, I’d still give anything to hold him again. Sometimes I pretend he’s there with me. I stroke the air and make believe. He was special. He is special.
We got Kaju because, quite frankly, it turned out I wasn’t the only one dependent on dogs. Even my mother, who’d vehemently opposed taking in Scooby, now feels empty without a puppy running around the house. His purpose was never to be a substitute Scooby.
Any worries I might have harbored over that becoming the case was quickly dispelled the day we brought him home. Scooby had been shy and diffident. Kaju went straight for the bedcovers and chewed into them. That’s become a recurrent theme with him. Kaju sees object. Kaju bites.
He chews on shoes, cardboard, plastic, cloth, wood. Everything is fair game. He even gobbles up dust and grime if left unsupervised. I myself have stopped him from swallowing filth once or twice. He also chews on leather. My belt… and me. Both my hands are riddled with cuts. For a two-month old puppy, he has sharp, incisive teeth. Hurray.
I wouldn’t mind the cuts; except he’s relentless. He has no off switch. You wind him up and he’ll keep going until the key becomes still. Then he’ll sleep, recharge his diabolical little brain, get up, train his eyes on what to bite next, and we’re back to square one.
I’m a masochist with a high pain threshold. Sometimes, when I’m bored (which I thankfully am not anymore), I lift the front two legs of my chair, slide my feet underneath, and sit on them. So compared to my parents, I’m doing just peachy.
Still, I’d be lying if I said his neverending nibbling never needles my noggin. Super proud of myself for the alliteration there. You tell him not to do something and he’ll do exactly that. You give him a toy and he’ll play with it for thirty seconds before returning to your limbs. It becomes annoying.
The Purest of Loves
So why have I never so much as scolded him? I ask myself that all the time. Is it because Scooby’s sudden passing instilled in me a fear I might lose Kaju at any time? Is that why I always treat him with a patience and gentleness that infuriates my mother? She says I’m spoiling him. That I’m enabling his errant behavior.
I don’t look at it that way. He’s going to bite. That’s what he’s genetically programmed to do. He’ll bite you if you pet him, he’ll bite you if you kick him. And since I’m not nearly capable of the latter and don’t want to be, I choose to guide him. I let him bite me for two or three seconds. And then I softly push him away and redirect his attention to one of his toys.
The reason I wrote in the subtitle that I’m surprised by this is that I’m generally an impatient person. Except when I’m writing novels. Call it the bane of my generation, but I hate repeating myself. Okay, that sounded douchier than I’d meant it to. I simply mean I like people who behave. Immature and/or selfish behavior actively angers me.
Kaju’s antics are undeniably immature. He bit a hole into one of our washbasins’ piping. If we turn on the tap our feet get drenched in seconds. He’s annoying, he’s persistently destructive, he doesn’t listen to anybody. I should hate him. Logically, objectively, someone like me should hate him.
And yet I don’t. It’s the little things. I’ve outlined his less desirable facets probably in more detail than I should have. But I haven’t told you about his sleep. Whenever he grows sleepy and my feet are near him he approaches and lies down with his head on my foot. The tenderness, the tear-inducing emotion of those moments is beyond description.
Then there’s the fact that he’s obviously fond of me, something mom reminds me of a lot (I theorize she’s jealous). When he sees me in the morning he comes running and licks me all over the face as soon as I lift him up. When I’m around he seems to forget all else and hone in on me.
Yesterday when my parents were out I kept watch on him while reading a novel. I couldn’t read much of it. Even though he had all his toys on the floor he was clamoring to get up on the bed, where I was. Whenever we’re together I feel loved. Cherished. How can I get angry at that?
This became wholly apparent last night. I’d worked all day and desperately wanted to play a video game. But Kaju wouldn’t let me. He kept biting my feet. I carried him outside the room and came back and he was on me again. This happened a few times. My parents, who were having dinner, told me to put him in their room with all his toys.
I didn’t. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want him to be alone (and potentially scared). But I couldn’t take his nibbling anymore. And so, in a move that surprised even me, I took him up in my arms and rocked him for a solid ten minutes. I talked to him, sang to him, took him to the window and showed him all the things he could bite in a few months’ time.
The result? The Kaju that’d been biting me seconds ago was now licking my face and faintly smiling. By the end of the ten minutes he was practically half asleep from the rocking and my Elton John-esque voice (the second part is a lie). No longer restless. No longer striving to pierce. Content. At peace. I eventually deposited him with my mother and came back to enjoy my respite.
Those ten minutes were the highlight of yesterday. I’m still smiling over them.
. . .
Closing Thoughts
Yeah yeah, Chandrayan loves his puppy. What’s your point? My point is something I never would have imagined myself making two months ago. It’s simple. If you have a problem child, it’s okay to be frustrated. It’s natural. But try and look past the misbehavior and glimpse the person hiding beneath that mask of incorrigibility. Try and recognize why they wear that mask at all. Getting professional help is always a good idea.
Kaju bites to express his love. Unfortunately that means I’m the one with the most cuts on my arms and legs. Plus he’s two months old. Apparently now’s the time labradors develop their teeth and use them unabashedly. Their teeth literally ache to bite something, anything. So they do. This is hopefully not a longterm issue. If it is, I’m screwed.
For your child, human or otherwise, it might be something else. A need for affection masquerading as a need for attention, a behavioral trait, a mental illness, anything. But I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you should overlook and forgive their mistakes. Because if my experience is the experience, there is genuine love in your baby’s heart.
The worst thing any of us can do is snuff it out.
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This post was previously published on Hello, Love.
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You may also like these posts on The Good Men Project:
Escape the Act Like a Man Box | What We Talk About When We Talk About Men | Why I Don’t Want to Talk About Race | The First Myth of the Patriarchy: The Acorn on the Pillow |
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Photo credit: Chandrayan Gupta