pinkhairthing

Great, Big, Huge Failure.
or the Rottweiler who ate my house

Tuesday we adopted Polly the (ostensibly) house-trained, well-behaved, full-grown, mellow 2-year old who would be the doggy of our dreams. She is beautiful and sweet and shiny and affectionate and not house-trained nor well-behaved nor 2 years old. She is chewing and biting and eating everything and peeing everywhere, and even taking the occasional dump in the hallway between our bedroom and office. She needs constant supervision and probably 6 months of training to become what she surely could be, the doggy of our dreams. But we don't have 6 months. We are giving her back to her foster family and hoping that something better (for her) will come along. I am writing this as I wait for her foster family to come and get her to take her back. At their house, she will sleep in their bed with people and another dog, she will have a doggy friend all day long and a yard and free roaming in the house. No crate. No sad looks or sharp commands that she cannot comprehend. This is the deepest sense of personal failure I have ever felt. I don't know what the hell we were thinking getting a dog. I guess we thought our lives had quieted down, and they haven't. Or they did, but they are loud again. We ran her, we took her to the dog run, we had doggy play dates, but she is a dog, and she needs to be outside and free and with other dogs. Please, please join me in a prayer that she goes out into the world and finds a farm or at least a suburban family with a few dogs, a dog-proof family room, a yard, and people who can really help her become the dog she is meant to be, which is probably a gorgeous, well-behaved, 110 pound Rottweiler. I want so much for her to be OK, and remember her week at Camp CMMD with joy. I will remember this as the week I found a major limitation of mine, and a week I let a stray dog down, and a week I did something I find both weak and reprehensible. I am not writing this for support from you all, but for processing. The doorbell is ringing.

OK, I am back and Polly is gone, along with her brush and ball and leash and bone and wagging tail. I know it was the right thing, but I have never in my adult life cried like this or felt like this. I have had terrible losses in my life, but never any that I caused. Bye Polly. Have a happy ending.