Love Bites

Being attacked by a dog is no fun if you've ever experienced it. I, unfortunately, would know for sure. Nothing sadder than the betrayal of your own dog. Sigh.

Shortly after we rescued Nash, a black Lab/Hound/Great Pyrenees mix, trouble came into the lives of my family. Nash (originally named Ducky by the rescuers) was featured on 9 News in the pet rescue segment. My mom, (who was not an animal person) immediately felt a special connection with then Ducky, and we made the decision to go get him. When we got to the rescue center and picked up our new pup, Nash was declared as 10-12 months old. The rescue center didn't have much information on him, other than that he was found in Austin, Texas and had previously broken a leg. From there, they brought him up to Colorado and put him on TV. Bet you can't say your puppy is famous like ours. Kidding... Not. Anyways, after we got him, we took him to a vet appointment. However, in contrary to what the employees at the rescue center said, veterinarians claimed our beloved Nash was only 8-10 months old. The beginning of our unrest had started without us knowing.

Nash was a big dog at his youthful age, with paws just short the size of a softball. Needless to say, we knew he was going to be a biggin'. Despite his massive size, kennel training had begun as soon as we brought him home. At the time, my twin sister and I were going to high school just a few blocks away from where we lived. This meant we could come visit him on our lunch break if we wanted or needed to. My mom, however, went to work during the day, leaving nobody at home with our dog when we weren't there for lunch. With a nanny cam installed to keep an eye on our new Nashy, all we could do was watch when things went awry.

It started with endless howling and barking, the opposite of sweet music to our poor neighbors' ears. For weeks, this continued. But after a while, Nash got used to the kennel and was good for us when we weren't home. With too much trust in our hearts, we eventually let him roam about the house when we were gone. That was our first mistake. Nash's counter surfing had started.

With the sweet taste of freedom, Nash began to wreck our poor kitchen while we were gone. Over the course of just a few days, bags of rice were drug about the house, whole Costco sized bags of cereal were eaten (including the bag itself), salt and pepper shakers shattered, and even the entire 20 pound bag of his own dog food was devoured without a single ounce of remorse. A not-so-quick trip to the doggy ER rolled out quicker than Nash's impulses. With a belly the size of the moon, Nash's adrenaline filled endeavors were over. Or so we thought.

We worked with Nash the best we could, training him as much as possible and to the best of our abilities. He was able to obey common commands like sit, shake, lay down and such. We were also able to train him to be off leash. Again, too much trust in our hearts for poor Nash.

We learned that running and going on walks with Nash worked as the perfect outlet for his craziness. Getting his energy out that way helped deescalate his adrenaline fueled episodes at home. We had taken him on walks plenty of times, and our condo just so happened to be backed up against an untouched field next to the foothills. We would let him walk, run and explore with us as we walked through the open space every night.

One evening , my sister and I drove to a near-by park to let Nash run. We were away at our dad's house, so we didn't have the open space there to let him run. We got to the park, and once we let him off leash (with nobody around of course), Nash took off, running around the softball field. Mistake number two. My sister called him over to her, which he obeyed. Then, things took a turn for the worst. She unleashed the Hell hound on me, telling him to, "Go get her!" I was across the field from them, and Nash sprinted with all his might straight in my direction. He had an evil look in his eye and I had a bad feeling. I started running, quite literally for my life, but his speed was unmatched. I turned around and sweet little Nash jumped and latched onto my forearm with his teeth. He wouldn't let go, even after I lifted him off the ground a few feet. Nash was a big dog, over sixty pounds, so his attack unleashed some superhuman strength in me. Lifting him up that high with my scrawny arms was quite the feat. Trying to get Nash to let go, I did whatever I could to get him off. Finally after a few seconds, he let go but didn't back down. He bit me anywhere he could; my legs, my arms, my shoulders and everything in between. My sister, still on the other side of the field, stood there laughing as Nash mauled me. I kicked him in the face a few times (sad, I know) to try to get him to stop, but he prevailed. This lasted about 4 or 5 minutes until my sister was able to get him to stop. I ran back to the car, adrenaline pumping, tears flowing and fear ridden. I got into our car, feeling my limbs throb with pain.

After getting home, I inspected my wounds. Puncture wounds and blood on my shoulders, scratches from his teeth all over my body. Within the next few days, gnarly green, yellow and purple bruises formed all over my body. I hated Nash for what he did, and quite frankly was scared of him.

For months I couldn't stand the sight of him, I only saw him as vicious. He could sense I didn't want anything to do with him, so Nash and I developed a mutual dislike for one another. This continued for a while; I showed disinterest in him and he did the same towards me.

Although this sounds like a sad story, it actually turned out to be okay. Over time, Nash and I put our differences aside and became friends. I tell this story like we were BFF's that got in a fight and then made back up, but that's essentially what happened. Except the fight was... actually a fight... not a metaphorical one... but anyways. Almost two and a half years later, Nash is the goodest boy there ever was. Needy, yes, but very sweet.

After Nash attacked me, my family and I learned he just needed a proper schedule and some stricter training. We fed him at the same time every day, gave him a treat halfway through the day, fed him dinner at the same time every night, and then took him on a walk after dinner. Today, we function on his schedule now, as much as my mom hates to admit it. Nash is the one who has us trained. Who's the boss now, huh humans?

I learned a lot about Nash over the years we've had him. During our "I'm not talking to you" stage, I noticed the way he interacted with the rest of the family, which made me sad. I wanted him to be like that around me, sweet and loving, but why would he? I learned that if I resented him, he would do the same back. Dogs have feelings, despite contrary belief, and Nash just wanted to be loved. Sure he attacked me, but behind those big scary teeth was a dog who was probably scared himself.

My family and I have learned that he has residual trauma from things that happened to him while he was in Texas. The sight of smoke makes him panic and shake, as well as porch grills, fire and smoke alarms that go off. We imagine he experienced something terrible, and his PTSD is there to prove that. Poor Nash has his own set of problems to deal with in his little head. Just like the rest of us.

Like humans, I learned sometimes dogs just need stability and love in order to thrive, which is what we gave Nash (and much more). The dog he is today is unrecognizable compared to his crazy puppy self, but he still has the same spunk. He really is the best dog we could ask for, and our whole family loves him like a little brother. We recently just rescued a new dog named Bailey; a Black Lab/Great Pyrenees/Rottweiler mix. She's about 4 months old, and has the exact same personality that little Nash did when he was a pup. Now, Nash gets a taste of his own medicine babysitting his new sister who is just like his younger, carefree self. Who's laughing now Nashy? But on a real note, dogs deserve a second chance because chances are, they just need some love. So if there's anything left I have to say about the matter, it's that dogs deal with things in their minds too, and extra TLC can transform an insane, destructive dog into a loving best friend.