Chud's Tale

In the spring of 2008, I was in a dark place mentally and had recently quit drinking to try to take control of my life. Between failed relationships, a lack of trust in friends, dead end jobs, all topped off with substance abuse issues, I found myself in a misanthropic state. Were it not for the few friends I still had around I would have been ready to give up on the entire human race. It was growing harder and harder to trust each new face that came into my life no matter how good their intentions may have been. I was becoming more isolated with each day that passed, longing for a companion who I trusted and cared for me as much as I cared for them. Something I was coming to believe was impossible. After some time living life like this, (which I hardly considered living), a coworker suggested I get a dog, this is how Chud came into my life.

I had owned dogs in the past but had to give them up because I did not have the means to take care of them anymore. I was in a better position financially at this point in my life, but I remembered how heartbreaking it had been to give up my dogs before and was not sure if I could go through that again. After a couple of weeks juggling the idea around in my head I began to check with local shelters, as well as other avenues such as Craig’s List and local newspapers to find the furry friend that was right for me. Before I found them however, they found me, my friend had adopted a beagle/lab mix rescued from an abusive home for his son but had quickly realized he was far too much work to keep him. He had spent the first year or so of his life chained up in the yard, beaten and traumatized. His tail had been broken at some point, left to heal on its own, and none of the usual vaccinations or general care were done for him until he had been rescued. Needless to say, he was far from right in the head, we were perfect for each other.

Still practically a puppy he was terrified of people spending his first couple days at my house hiding under the dining room table, only coming out to eat retreating at any sudden movements from my roommate or me. We had agreed to give him his space allowing him to warm up to us in his own time. The only reaction we did get anytime we got close to him was for him to shrink to the ground and pee himself. After spending weeks doing what we could to make him feel at home and getting nowhere I realized I would have to take a different approach. After doing some thinking and a little research I produced what I hoped to be the solution. I ended up taking some vacation time I had lined up with work and set my plan in motion.

Monday morning, the first day of my vacation, I woke up early with a pot of coffee, then made my way to my back porch for a cigarette ignoring Chud the whole time. Once I had finished with my coffee, I made my way to the living room and went about laying down upon the floor right past the threshold to dining room. Chud would poke his head out from under the table periodically to see what I was doing. Every so often making it as far as the doorway between the two rooms but if I did so much as look his way he would return to his safe space under the table. I remained on the floor until my roommate returned home from work that evening, Chud never making it past the doorway. The following morning I repeated this process, and like the day before Chud’s curiosity in the strange human laying on the floor emerged. Also just like the day before every time I looked his way he would run back under the table. The third day, once I had assumed my spot on the floor, I had decided to do my absolute best not to move when he made his way in to examine me on the floor, remaining completely still and staring at the ceiling. This turned out to be the key.

After a few hours he came right up to me and began to sniff me, the rise of my chest as I breathed sending him running for his hiding spot. I did everything I could to stay perfectly still so as not to scare him and after several close calls it finally worked. He came so close he stood directly above me, I let him hover there for what felt like hours, (no more than a couple of minutes in reality), examining me, sniffing me from head to toe. Then while he was turned away from me I sprung my attack, wrapping both arms around his belly and pulling him to the floor with me. I pet him as I told him everything was going to be ok, that there was nothing to be afraid of while he whined, pissed, and fought to get away but I would not let him go. I held him as the minutes turned to hours, as the time passed the pissing stopped, the whining stopped, and the fight gave way. Together we lay on the floor, me soaked in urine petting him, and him gently wagging his tail as he sniffed me more intensely. A little while later I let him go and instead of running for safety, he remained on the floor beginning to roll back and forth on the floor licking my face. The clean up was totally worth it. By the time I had to go back to work he spent his time at my side, following me room to room, sitting next to me on the couch only to collapse headfirst into my chest, then lay across me. I loved him and he loved me, finally I found that relationship I had been looking so long for.

It took my roommate a little longer to win him over, but with me by his side Chud came around, quickly growing into one of the friendliest dogs I have ever seen. After a few weeks with us the timid nature that he constantly showed in the beginning faded away, allowing the true work to begin. My roommate and I began working with him to help him behave like a dog. We spent the following months teaching the basics, as well as teaching him to do things some dog owners pay money to get them to stop. We taught him to jump up on us, to bark, to play, the more we worked with him the more the traumatized dog that showed up at my door faded from existence and the fun-loving buddy I have grown to know came out of his shell. Just like me, he still had his fair share of issues, but overall, he was a very well-behaved dog. He developed abandonment issues with me going back to work, howling at the window whenever I would leave the house, making walking out the door to go out for any reason a heartbreaking moment. He had a thing for chewing up DVD cases ignoring the many toys around him when left alone too long for the first year or so with me. He must have been an escape artist in a past life considering his uncanny ability to find the weakness in even the best of fences and on more than one occasion I had to replace a door after he chewed his way free from a room, he had no desire to spend his time in no matter how well furnished for him it may be. This behavior ended once his adopted sister Bella came into our home, except for the howling whenever leaving the home that is, this simply became a duo crying at the door for my return.

Now thirteen years later he still spends his time following at my heels, a little slower than he used to, followed closely by his adopted brother Oz. I feel guilty every time he gets up from his nice comfortable spot to watch me refill my drink, or use the bathroom, and I know it must be torturing every time I wander room to room to clean the house. On occasion I still see the puppy come out for brief moments when he begs for my food, or goes to battle with the vacuum, making me miss those days. I wonder as his life comes closer to the end if he has any understanding of just how grateful I am for his presence in my life. If he knows just how much he has done for me, if he knows how many challenging times in my life, he gave me the strength to survive, if he knows just how he saves me from the darkest places inside, if he knows how much I love him and always will. I cannot help but to think that we were meant for each other on some supernatural cosmic sense, that the gods put him here to look out for me. A guardian angel sent to rescue me from myself and the world around me.