Only three days left until I leave for Israel, and I've hardly been emotional (I'm not exactly a crier, although I hear there is spotty anecdotal evidence to the contrary), but yesterday I broke down -- because of my dog.
The one last thing I had to do was get my dog's health cleared so he may be shipped overseas. Despite all my best efforts to make sure I was going through the proper procedures, I was told yesterday by a veterinarian that he does not have the proper paperwork to get on a plane or get out of customs. (Nevermind that I called her well in advance because I thought she would help me with the paperwork, which I now know she could've never acquired in the first place -- that's another story.) So now I will have to spend at least a month apart from Sage, which I haven't done since we adopted him. This, my friends, made my eyes nearly gush in public and in front of my dad, two things I try very hard not to do. And trust me, no hormones, steroids or otherwise, were involved.
The worst part is, I have no one to blame but myself. I put my faith in this veterinarian to guide me through the process, when I should've been trusting my instincts and taking the initiative myself. Of course, I hate confrontation, especially over the phone, which is how I dropped the ball in a big way. In other words, my own negligence is the reason why my dog will have to live in the foster care of Tim's mom for the next month.
Indeed, such pseudoparental failings were the reason for my last crying incident before yesterday. About three months ago, Sage attacked a small poodle at the dog park. Sage and said dog had already exchanged mannerly olfactory greetings, so I didn't think anything of it when he went back for a second round a little later. Out of nowhere, Sage attacked. Both made more noise -- Sage growling and the toy canine yelping -- than was warranted; there was no bleeding or broken skin. I can only assume that this snooty, frou-frou pooch said something offensive in doggy language, like "Get your slanty-eyed face out of my butt," which would make the onslaught totally justified. Nonetheless, I felt terrible. I shakily wrote down my phone number for the yuppie puppy owners and took Sage out of the park. I was so visibly rattled that a witness to the attack came up to comfort me as I started crying, telling me it's okay because sometimes dogs just don't get along.
Now imagine your 3-year-old son biting someone's face off at the playground, except he's mute so he can't tell you why he became so incensed. This is my dog at this very moment: licking my hands to calm me and wagging his tail to get the eyewitness' attention, like he wasn't 10 seconds away from being declared a public nuisance. And here I am, feeling as if I have entirely botched puppy rearing.
This clearly tells me I am not ready for children. These two incidents put me out of commission for the rest of the afternoon. Imagine what I would be like if, god forbid, an actual child of mine had to go to day care and bullied someone there. Sometimes having the best of intentions leads to the worst of outcomes. That might be why two-parent homes are cited as more stable. When one starts throwing wild pitches, the other can come in as reliever and earn the save. So the end of this story, of course, is Tim will be bringing the dog to Israel when he comes over in about a month. And the happy ending for all of you is: I will be incredibly far away from your progeny.
The one last thing I had to do was get my dog's health cleared so he may be shipped overseas. Despite all my best efforts to make sure I was going through the proper procedures, I was told yesterday by a veterinarian that he does not have the proper paperwork to get on a plane or get out of customs. (Nevermind that I called her well in advance because I thought she would help me with the paperwork, which I now know she could've never acquired in the first place -- that's another story.) So now I will have to spend at least a month apart from Sage, which I haven't done since we adopted him. This, my friends, made my eyes nearly gush in public and in front of my dad, two things I try very hard not to do. And trust me, no hormones, steroids or otherwise, were involved.
The worst part is, I have no one to blame but myself. I put my faith in this veterinarian to guide me through the process, when I should've been trusting my instincts and taking the initiative myself. Of course, I hate confrontation, especially over the phone, which is how I dropped the ball in a big way. In other words, my own negligence is the reason why my dog will have to live in the foster care of Tim's mom for the next month.
Indeed, such pseudoparental failings were the reason for my last crying incident before yesterday. About three months ago, Sage attacked a small poodle at the dog park. Sage and said dog had already exchanged mannerly olfactory greetings, so I didn't think anything of it when he went back for a second round a little later. Out of nowhere, Sage attacked. Both made more noise -- Sage growling and the toy canine yelping -- than was warranted; there was no bleeding or broken skin. I can only assume that this snooty, frou-frou pooch said something offensive in doggy language, like "Get your slanty-eyed face out of my butt," which would make the onslaught totally justified. Nonetheless, I felt terrible. I shakily wrote down my phone number for the yuppie puppy owners and took Sage out of the park. I was so visibly rattled that a witness to the attack came up to comfort me as I started crying, telling me it's okay because sometimes dogs just don't get along.
Now imagine your 3-year-old son biting someone's face off at the playground, except he's mute so he can't tell you why he became so incensed. This is my dog at this very moment: licking my hands to calm me and wagging his tail to get the eyewitness' attention, like he wasn't 10 seconds away from being declared a public nuisance. And here I am, feeling as if I have entirely botched puppy rearing.
This clearly tells me I am not ready for children. These two incidents put me out of commission for the rest of the afternoon. Imagine what I would be like if, god forbid, an actual child of mine had to go to day care and bullied someone there. Sometimes having the best of intentions leads to the worst of outcomes. That might be why two-parent homes are cited as more stable. When one starts throwing wild pitches, the other can come in as reliever and earn the save. So the end of this story, of course, is Tim will be bringing the dog to Israel when he comes over in about a month. And the happy ending for all of you is: I will be incredibly far away from your progeny.
12 comments:
Oh Kim, my dear Kim. Just think, when Sage arrives you'll be all adjusted and you will both be beyond thrilled to see each other again. Beating yourself up gets you nowhere and you'll soon see you're being way too hard on yourself, though I understand your heartache and why you're feeling the way you're feeling. And I do love your point about why two parent homes are more stable. Still, seeing a parent breakdown emotionally from time to time has its benefits. I think we both can attest to that.
Safe travels, friend! We miss you!
Kim, I'm so sorry. I know how incredibly awful you must feel. Sage (and any human child) is incredibly lucky to have such a devoted caregiver.
Sage is also lucky that he can stay with family. He doesn't have to go in a kennel or worse yet, not go with you ever and have to be adopted by a new family. I know it seems impossible to see now-- but things could be much worse for him. It's like the "dog whisperer" on the National Geographic channel says, "dogs only live in the moment." Once he is with you in Israel, he won't remember that he had to spend a month apart from you.
I feel worse for you than for him.I liked knowing that he was going to be with you for that first month. I know he would be a comfort for you.
I can understand your frustration about not being able to fully communicate with your dog. Oliver got really sick this week, and we spent a lot of time at the vet's office and I just wanted to ask him if it hurt, or if he was getting better, etc. The guilt of knowing that by not watching him for a few seconds could have led to all of his discomfort was the worst part for me. He isn't totally better yet and I had to go to AP training today and he will be staying with Eric's mom. I hate not being able to give him his medicine myself and not having any control over what happens to him over the next week.
I know it probably wouldn't work because of how far away we are, but Sage is welcome to come stay with us anytime.
You cried?
It is always scary to leave a child or a dog with the dad or a grandparent, but it will be okay in the end, I'm sure. Maybe Sage will eat pizza for breakfast and stay up past his bedtime watching age-inappropriate movies. He'll probably love it.
Seriously, you've probably already left now, so I hope you had a great trip.
hey, kim ...
true, i do not think of you as one who cries, but when it involves your pup, anyone who has had a dog understands.
i agree with erin (who i don't think i know?): a week after sage is back with you, the month apart will only be remembered by you.
so, be strong, my friend. try not to take in any strays over the next month.
and, of course, be safe.
Ahhh, Poor buddy sage. I'm sorry. I could stop and pet him when i'm in Ohio for the wedding.
I can't miss you till you leave!
Not true... I miss you already.
It sounds to me like Sage kicked some serious yuppy-puppy ass! As a former resident of your former 'hood all I can say is Sage gets mad street props. He da real O' G. My cracka!
I wish I could have seen the look on the owner's face, seriously... Sage can come hang with us anytime.
The upside of the attack is that he did it relatively close to your departure.
I am sorry for you that you two will be apart, but I think he'll be OK. And your reaction to it proves only that you are just like every parent I know and at least as emotionally normal.
It heartens me to know it.
Not saying you should spawn.
Have fun, be careful and stay in touch.
Kimmy,
I know the feeling and I am sorry you have to leave Sage behind. But once you see his little tail wagging like a helicopter again, it will be all over :) My dogs ARE my kids....Good luck over there girl and be safe.
Allison
Kim,
I have to say that after only a few weeks, I couldn't stand to leave Oliver with someone else for more than a few hours, and that is nothing compared to the time you and Sage have spent together. You couldn't have known how this would shape up with out more information and the unfortunate part is that the person you thought would provide that info dropped the ball.
All things considered, and Sage being a big consideration, I hope that your first few days and weeks in Tel Aviv go as well as can be possible.
Godspeed
In light of the outpouring of empathy for Sage the dog, I am happy to report that he is enjoying his (unplanned) hiatus in the Ohio countryside. He is busy cultivating his many hobbies and interests, among them chasing cats, looking out the window, romping in the woods, and receiving impromptu treats. I imagine that he is having so much fun that he has forgotten all about Kim by now ... :)
Aw, Kimmy,
The fact that you take this so seriously -- and I'm not saying you shouldn't -- is all the more indication that you've got a great maternal instinct. Sage is lucky to have someone who cares about him so much. If I were a dog, I'd totally attack a poodle as well. Sage is my landsmen, man.
Tim,
My friend, you are a genius...
Peace.
Evan
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